The Blackmailers: Dossier No. 113. Richard Dalby

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СКАЧАТЬ one but I could have taken the money, or you.’

      ‘You rascal!’ the banker cried with a threatening gesture. Just then there was the noise of an argument outside. A client insisted upon coming in. It was M. de Clameran. He entered with his hat on and said:

      ‘It is after ten, gentlemen.’

      No one replied, but he espied the banker and went to him.

      ‘I am delighted to see you, sir,’ he said. ‘I called once before this morning, but the cashier had not arrived and you were out.’

      ‘You are mistaken, sir. I was in my private room.’

      ‘This young man,’ pointing to Cavaillon, ‘told me so; but on my return just now I was refused admittance. Will you be good enough to tell me whether I can withdraw my money or not.’

      M. Fauvel listened to him, trembling with rage the while, and then replied:

      ‘I shall be glad of a little delay. I have just become aware of a theft of 350,000 francs.’ M. de Clameran bowed ironically. ‘Shall I have long to wait?’ he asked.

      ‘The time it will take to send to the bank,’ M. Fauvel said, as he turned to his cashier and instructed him to write a note and send a messenger as quickly as possible to the bank.

      Prosper made no movement.

      ‘Don’t you hear me?’ the banker shouted.

      The cashier shuddered, as if awakening out of a dream, and answered:

      ‘That is useless, there is not a hundred thousand francs to your credit.’

      At that time Paris was in a state of financial panic. Many old and honourable firms had gone to the wall, ruined by the wave of speculation which had swept over the country.

      M. Fauvel noticed the impression produced on the ironmaster and, turning to him, said:

      ‘Have a little patience, sir, I have plenty of other securities. I shall be back in a minute.’

      He went upstairs to his private room and returned in a few minutes with a letter and a packet of securities in his hand.

      ‘Take this, he said to Couturier, one of the clerks, ‘and go to Rothschild’s with this gentleman. Give them the letter and they will hand you 300,000 francs, which you are to give to this gentleman.’

      The ironmaster seemed anxious to excuse his impertinence, but the banker cut him short.

      ‘All I can do,’ he said, ‘is to offer you my apologies. In business a man has neither friends nor acquaintances. You are quite within your rights. Follow my clerk and you will receive your money.’

      Turning to the clerks who had gathered round, he ordered them to get on with their work, and then found himself face to face with Prosper, who had remained standing quite still.

      ‘You must explain,’ he said; ‘go into your room.’

      The cashier did so without a word, and was followed by his employer. The room showed no signs of the robbery having been committed by anyone not familiar with the place. Everything was in order, the safe was open, and upon the upper shelf was a little gold, which had been either forgotten or disdained by the thieves.

      ‘Now we are alone, Prosper,’ M. Fauvel, who had recovered his usual calm, began, ‘have you nothing to tell me?’

      The cashier trembled but replied:

      ‘Nothing, sir; I have told you everything.’

      ‘What, nothing? You persist in this absurd story which no one will believe! Trust me, it is your only chance. I am your employer, but I am your friend as well. I cannot forget that you have been with me for fifteen years and done good and loyal service.’

      Prosper had never before heard his employer speak so gently and in such a fatherly way, and an expression of surprise came into his face.

      ‘Have I not,’ continued M. Fauvel, ‘always been like a father to you? You were even a member of my family circle for a long time, till you wearied of that happy life.’

      These souvenirs of the past made the unhappy cashier burst into tears, but the banker continued:

      ‘A son can tell his father everything. Am I not aware of the temptations which assail a young man in Paris? Speak, Prosper, speak!’

      ‘Ah, what would you have me say?’

      ‘Tell the truth. Even an honest man can make a mistake, but he always redeems his fault. Say to me: “Yes, the sight of the gold was too much for me, I am young and passionate.”’

      ‘I,’ Prosper murmured. ‘I—!’

      ‘Poor child,’ the banker said sadly, ‘do you think I am ignorant of the life you have been leading? Your fellow clerks are jealous of your salary of 12,000 francs a year. I have learned of every one of your follies by an anonymous letter. It is quite right, too, that I should know how the man lives who is entrusted with my life and honour.’

      Prosper tried to make a gesture of protest.

      ‘Yes, my honour,’ M. Fauvel insisted; ‘my credit might have today been compromised by this man. Do you know the cost of the money I am giving to M. de Clameran?’

      The banker stopped for a moment as if expecting a confession, which did not come, and then continued:

      ‘Come, Prosper, courage! I am going out, and by my return this evening I am sure you will be able to replace at least a large part of the money, and tomorrow we shall both have forgotten this false step.’

      M. Fauvel got up and went to the door, but Prosper seized him by the arm.

      ‘Your generosity is useless, sir,’ he said in bitter tones; ‘having taken nothing, I can return nothing. I have searched high and low, and the banknotes have been stolen.’

      ‘By whom, poor fool, by whom?’

      ‘I swear by all I hold sacred that it is not by me.’

      A flush spread over the banker’s face.

      ‘Rascal,’ he cried, ‘what do you mean? You mean by me!’

      Prosper bent his head and made no answer.

      ‘In that case,’ M. Fauvel, who was unable to contain himself, said, ‘the law shall decide between us. I have done all I can to save you. A police officer is waiting in my private room, must I call him in?’

      Prosper made a gesture of despair and said: ‘Do so.’

      The banker turned to one of the boys and said: ‘Anselme, ask the superintendent of police to come down.’

       CHAPTER III

      IF there is one man in the world whom no event ought to surprise or move, that СКАЧАТЬ