The Blackmailers: Dossier No. 113. Richard Dalby

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      The banker hardly troubled to greet him, but began:

      ‘I dare say you have heard what painful circumstances have compelled me to send for you?’

      ‘I was told it was robbery.’

      ‘Yes, an odious and inexplicable robbery, committed here from that safe you see open, of which only my cashier’—pointing to Prosper—‘has the word and the key.’

      ‘Excuse me, officer,’ the cashier said in a low voice, ‘my chief, too, has the word and the key.’

      ‘To be sure, of course I have.’

      The officer could see that it was a case in which each accused the other, and though one was the banker and the other the cashier, he observed them both very closely to try and draw a profitable conclusion from their manner.

      The cashier was pale and drooping in his chair with his arms inert, while the banker was standing red and animated, expressing himself with extraordinary violence.

      ‘The importance of the loss is enormous, 350,000 francs is a fortune. Such a loss might have serious consequences for the wealthiest of firms. Today, too, I had a large sum to pay away.’

      There was no mistaking the tone in which the superintendent of police said: ‘Oh, really?’ The first suspicion had crossed his mind.

      The banker noticed it and quickly continued: ‘I met my obligations, though at a disagreeable sacrifice. I ought to add that if my orders had been carried out the money would not have been in the safe. I do not care to keep large sums here, and my cashier has orders to wait till the last moment before obtaining money from the Bank of France.’

      ‘Do you hear?’ the superintendent said to Prosper.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ the cashier replied, ‘it is quite right.’ This explanation dispelled the police officer’s suspicion.

      The officer continued: ‘A robbery has been committed. By whom? Did the thief come from outside?’

      After a little hesitation the banker said: ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘I am certain,’ Prosper declared, ‘he did not.’

      Turning to the man who had accompanied him, the superintendent of police said:

      ‘See if you can discover, M. Fanferlot, any clue which has escaped these gentlemen.’

      M. Fanferlot, nicknamed the squirrel on account of his agility, had a turned up nose, thin lips and little round eyes. He had been employed for five years by the police and was ambitious, as he had not yet made himself famous. He made a careful examination and said:

      ‘It appears to me very difficult for a stranger to get in here.’

      He looked round.

      ‘Is that door,’ he asked, ‘shut at night?’

      ‘Always locked.’

      ‘Who keeps the key?’

      ‘The porter,’ Prosper replied. ‘I leave it with him every night when I go.’

      ‘Is he here?’ the superintendent asked.

      ‘Yes,’ the banker replied.

      He opened the door and called:

      ‘Anselme.’

      This young fellow had been for ten years in M. Fauvel’s service and was above suspicion, but he trembled like a leaf as he entered the room.

      ‘Did you sleep last night in the next room?’ the superintendent of police asked him.

      ‘Yes, sir, as usual.’

      ‘What time did you go to bed?’

      ‘About half past ten; I spent the evening at a restaurant with the valet.’

      ‘Did you hear any noise in the night?’

      ‘No! And yet I am a very light sleeper, and the master’s light footsteps, when he goes down to the strong room in the night, awaken me.’

      ‘Does M. Fauvel often come down in the night?’

      ‘No, sir, very rarely.’

      ‘Did he come down last night?’

      ‘No! I am quite sure he did not, for I hardly closed my eyes last night, as I had been drinking coffee.’

      The superintendent dismissed him, and M. Fanferlot resumed his search.

      He opened a door and said:

      ‘Where does this staircase lead to?’

      ‘To my private room,’ M. Fauvel replied, ‘the room into which you were shown on your arrival.’

      ‘I should like to have a look round it,’ M. Fanferlot declared.

      ‘Nothing can be easier,’ M. Fauvel replied. ‘Come along, gentlemen, and you too, Prosper.’

      M. Fauvel’s private office was divided into two parts: a sumptuously furnished waiting room, and plainly furnished room for his own use. These two rooms had only three doors: one opened on to the staircase they had ascended, another opened into the banker’s bedroom, and the third opened on to the vestibule of the grand staircase; by this door his clients entered.

      After M. Fanferlot had glanced round the inner room, he went into the waiting room, followed by all but Prosper.

      Prosper was in a state of utter bewilderment, but he was beginning to realize that the affair had resolved itself into a struggle between his employer and himself. At first he had not believed his master would carry out his threats, for though he realized how poor his chances of success were, on the other hand, in a case of the sort, the employer had much more at stake than his cashier.

      At that moment the door of the banker’s bedroom opened and a beautiful young girl entered. She was tall and slender and her morning wrapper showed off her beautiful figure. She was a brunette with large soft eyes and beautiful black hair. She was M. André Fauvel’s niece, and her name was Madeleine.

      Expecting to see her uncle alone, she uttered an exclamation of surprise at the sight of Prosper Bertomy.

      Prosper, who was as surprised as she was, could do nothing but murmur her name. After they had stood for a few moments with bent heads in silence, Madeleine murmured:

      ‘Is that you, Prosper?’

      These few words seemed to break the charm and Prosper replied in a bitter tone:

      ‘Yes, it is your old playfellow, Prosper, and he is accused of a cowardly and shameful theft; and before the day is over he will be in prison.

      ‘Good God!’ she cried with a gesture of affright. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Have СКАЧАТЬ