Caught In The Net

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> Caught In The Net


"What idiot is coming here to annoy me?" roared he, as soon as the door
was opened.

"I have come by appointment," answered Andre, and the contractor's brow
cleared as he saw who his visitor was.

"Ah, it is you, is it? Take a seat; that is, if there is a sound chair
left in the room. I like you, for you have an honest face and don't
shirk hard work. You needn't color up, though; modesty is no fault. Yes,
there is something in you, and when you want a hundred thousand
francs to go into business with, here it is ready for you; and had I a
daughter, you should marry her, and I would build your house for you."

"I thank you much," said Andre; "but I have learned to depend entirely
on myself."

"True," returned Gandelu, "you never knew your parents; you never knew
what a kind father would do for his child. Do you know my son?" asked
he, suddenly turning upon Andre.

This question at once gave Andre the solution of the scene before him.
M. Gandelu was irritated at some folly that his son had committed. For
a moment Andre hesitated; he did not care to say anything that might
revive the old man's feeling of anger, and therefore merely replied that
he had only met his son Gaston two or three times.

"Gaston," cried the old man, with a bitter oath; "do not call him that.
Do you think it likely that old Nicholas Gandelu would ever have been
ass enough to call his son Gaston? He was called Peter, after his
grandfather, but it wasn't a good enough one for the young fool; he
wanted a swell name, and Peter had too much the savor of hard work in
it for my fine gentleman. But that isn't all; I could let that pass,"
continued the old man. "Pray have you seen his cards? Over the name of
Gaston de Gandelu is a count's coronet. He a count indeed! the son of a
man who has carried a hod for years!"

"Young people will be young people," Andre ventured to observe; but the
old man's wrath would not be assuaged by a platitude like this.

"You can find no excuse for him, only the fellow is absolutely ashamed
of his father. He consorts with titled fools and is in the seventh
heaven if a waiter addresses him as 'Count,' not seeing that it is not
he that is treated with respect, but the gold pieces of his old father,
the working man."

Andre's position was now a most painful one, and he would have given a
good deal not to be the recipient of a confidence which was the result
of anger.

"He is only twenty, and yet see what a wreck he is," resumed Gandelu.
"His eyes are dim, and he is getting bald; he stoops, and spends his
nights in drink and bad company. I have, however, only myself to blame,
for I have been far too lenient; and if he had asked me for my head, I
believe that I should have given it to him. He had only to ask and have.
After my wife's death, I had only the boy. Do you know what he has in
this house? Why, rooms fit for a prince, two servants and four horses. I
allow him monthly, fifteen hundred francs, and he goes about calling
me a niggard, and has already squandered every bit of his poor mother's
fortune." He stopped, and turned pale, for at that moment the door
opened, and young Gaston, or rather Peter, slouched into the room.

"It is the common fate of fathers to be disappointed in their offspring,
and to see the sons who ought to have been their honor and glory the
scourge to punish their worldly aspirations," exclaimed the old man.

"Good! that is really a very telling speech," murmured Gaston
approvingly, "considering that you have not made a special study of
elocution."

Fortunately his father did not catch these words, and continued in a
voice broken by emotion, "That, M. Andre, is my son, who for twenty
years has been my sole care. Well, believe it or not, as you like, he
has been speculating on my death, as you might speculate on a race-horse
at Vincennes."

"No, no," put in Gaston, but his father stopped him with a disdainful
gesture.

"Have at least the courage to acknowledge your fault. You thought me
blind because I said nothing, but your past conduct has opened my eyes."

"But, father!"

"Do not attempt to deny it. This very morning my man of business, M.
Catenac, wrote to me, and with that real courage which only true
friends possess, told me all. I must tell you, M. Andre," resumed the
contractor, "I was ill. I had a severe attack of the gout, such as a man
seldom recovers from, and my son was constant in his attendance at my
sick couch. This consoled me. 'He loves me after all,' said I. But it
was only my testamentary arrangements that he wanted to discover, and
he went straight to a money-lender called Clergot and raised a hundred
thousand francs assuring the blood-sucker that I had not many hours to
live."

"It is a lie!" cried Gaston, his face crimsoning with shame.

The old man raised the leg of the chair in his hand, and made so
threatening a movement that Andre flung himself between father and son.
"Great heavens!" cried he, "think what you are doing, sir, and forbear."

The old man paused, passed his hand round his brow, and flung the weapon
into a remote corner of the room. "I thank you," said he, grasping
Andre's hand; "you have saved me from a great crime. In another moment I
should have murdered him."

Gaston was no coward, and he still retained the position he had been in
before.

"This is quite romantic," muttered he. "The governor seems to be going
in for infanticide."

Andre did not allow him to finish the sentence, for, grasping the young
man's wrist, he whispered fiercely, "Not another word; silence!"

"But I want to know what it all means?" answered the irrepressible
youth.

"I had in my hands," said the old man, addressing Andre, and ignoring
the presence of his son, "the important paper he had copied. Yes; not
more than an hour ago I read it. These were the terms: if I died within
eight days from the date of signature, my son agreed to pay a bonus of
thirty thousand francs; but if I lived for one month, he would take up
the bill by paying one hundred and fifty thousand. If, however, by any
unforeseen chance, I should recover entirely, he bound himself to pay
Clergot the hundred thousand francs."

The old man tore the cravat from his swelling throat, and wiped the
beads of cold sweat that bedewed his brow.

"When this man recovers his self-command," thought Andre, "he will never
forgive me for having been the involuntary listener to this terrible
tale." But in this Andre was mistaken, for unsophisticated nature
requires sympathy, and Nichols Gandelu would have said the same to the
first comer.

"Before, however, delivering the hundred thousand francs, the usurer
wished to make himself more secure, and asked for a certificate from
some one who had seen me. This person was his friend. He spoke to me of
a medical man, a specialist, who would understand my case at once. Would
I not see him? Never had I seen my son so tender and affectionate. I
yielded to his entreaties at last, and one evening I said to him, 'Bring
in this wonderful physician, if you really think he can do anything for
me,' and he did bring him.

"Yes, M. Andre, he found a medical man base and vile enough to become
the tool of my son, and a money-lender; and if I choose, I can expose
him to the loathing of the world, and the contempt of his brethren.

"The fellow came, and his visit lasted nearly an hour. I can see him
now, asking questions and feeling my pulse. He went away at last, and my
son followed him. They both met Clergot, who was waiting in the street.
'You can pay him the cash; the old man won't last twenty-four hours
longer,' said the doctor; and then my son came back happy and radiant,
and assured me that I should soon be well again. And strange as it may
seem, a change for the better took place that very night. Clergot had
asked for forty-eight hours in which to raise the sum required. He heard
of my convalescence, and my son lost the money.

"Was it courage you lacked?" asked the old man, turning for the first
time to his son. "Did you not know that ten drops instead of one of the
medicine I was taking would have freed you from me for ever?"

Gaston did not seem at all overwhelmed. Indeed, he was wondering how the
matter had reached his father's ears, and how Catenac had discovered the
rough draft of the agreement.

The contractor had imagined that his son would implore forgiveness; but
seeing that he remained obdurate, his violence burst forth again. "And
do you know what use my son would make of my fortune? He would squander
it on a creature he picked up out of the streets,--a woman he called
Madame de Chantemille,--a fit companion for a noble count!"

The shaft had penetrated the impassability which Gaston had up to this
displayed. "You should not insult Zora," said he.

"I shall not," returned his father with a grim laugh, "take the trouble
to do that; you are not of age, and I shall clap your friend Madame de
Chantemille into prison."

"You would not do that!"

"Would I not? You are a minor; but your Zora, whose real name is Rose,
is much older; the law is wholly on my side."

"But father--"

"There is no use in crying; my lawyer has the matter in hand, and by
nightfall your Zora will be securely caged."

This blow was so cruel and unexpected, that the young man could only
repeat,--

"Zora in prison!"

"Yes, in the House of Correction, and from thence to Saint Lazare.
Catenac told me the very things to be done."

"Shameful!" exclaimed Gaston, "Zora in prison! Why, I and my friends
will lay siege to the place. I will go to the Court, stand by her side,
and depose that this all comes from your devilish malignity. I will say
that I love and esteem her, and that as soon as I am of age I will marry
her; the papers will write about us. Go on, go on; I rather like the
idea."

However great a man's self-control may be, it has its limits. M. Gandelu
had restrained himself even while he told his son of his villainous
conduct; but these revolting threats were more than he could endure,
and Andre seeing this, stepped forward, opened the door, and thrust the
foolish youth into the corridor.

"What have you done" cried the contractor; "do you not see that he will
go and warn that vile creature, and that she will escape from justice?"

And as Andre, fearing he knew not what, tried to restrain him, the old
man, exerting all his muscular strength, thrust him on one side with
perfect ease, and rushed from the room, calling loudly to his servants.

Andre was horrified at the scene at which, in spite of himself, he had
been compelled to assist as a witness. He was not a fool, and had lived
too much in the world of art not to have witnessed many strange scenes
and met with many dissolute characters; but, as a rule, the follies of
the world had amused rather than disgusted him. But this display of want
of feeling on the part of a son toward a father absolutely chilled his
blood. In a few minutes M. Gandelu appeared with a calmer expression
upon his face.

"I will tell you how matters now stand," said he, in a voice that
quivered in spite of his efforts. "My son is locked up in his room,
and a trustworthy servant whom he cannot corrupt has mounted guard over
him."

"Do you not fear, sir, that in his excitement and anger he may----?"

The contractor shrugged his shoulders.

"You do not know him," answered he, "if you imagine that he resembles
me in any way. What do you think that he is doing now? Lying on his bed,
face downward, yelling for his Zora. Zora, indeed! As if that was a name
fit for a Christian. How is it that these creatures are enabled to drug
our boys and lead them anywhere? Had his mother not been a saint on
earth, I should scarcely believe that he was my son."

The contractor sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"You are in pain, sir?" said Andre.

"Yes; my heart is deeply wounded. Up to this time I have only felt as a
father; now I feel as a man. To-morrow I send for my family and consult
with them; and I shall advertise that for the future I will not be
responsible for any debts that my son may contract. He shall not have a
penny, and will soon learn how society treats a man with empty pockets.
As to the girl, she will disappear in double quick time. I have
thoroughly weighed the consequences of sending this girl to gaol, and
they are very terrible. My son will do as he has threatened, I am sure
of that; and I can picture him tied to that infamous creature for life,
looking into her face, and telling her that he adores her, and glorying
in his dishonor, which will be repeated by every Parisian newspaper."

"But is there no other way of proceeding?" asked Andre.

"No, none whatever. If all modern fathers had my courage, we should not
have so many profligate sons. It is impossible that this conferring with
the doctor and the money-lender could have originated in my son's weak
brain. He is a mere child, and some one must have put him up to it."

The poor father was already seeking for some excuse for the son's
conduct.

"I must not dwell on this longer," continued Gandelu, "or I shall get as
mad as I was before. I will look at your plans another day. Now, let us
get out of the house. Come and look at the new building in the Champs
Elysees."

The mansion in question was situated at the corner of the Rue de
Chantilly, near the Avenue des Champs Elysees, and the frontage of it
was still marked by scaffolding, so that but little of it could be
seen. A dozen workmen, engaged by Andre, were lounging about. They had
expected to see him early, and were surprised at his non-appearance,
as he was usually punctuality itself. Andre greeted them in a friendly
manner, but M. Gandelu, though he was always on friendly terms with his
workmen, passed by them as if he did not even notice their existence. He
walked through the different rooms and examined them carelessly, without
seeming to take any interest in them, for his thoughts were with his
son,--his only son.

After a short time he returned to Andre.

"I cannot stay longer," said he; "I am not feeling well; I will be here
to-morrow;" and he went away with his head bent down on his chest.

The workmen noticed his strange and unusual manner.

"He does not look very bright," remarked one to his comrade. "Since
his illness he has not been the same man. I think he must have had some
terrible shock."



CHAPTER XXIV.

AN ARTFUL TRICK.

Andre had removed his coat and donned his blouse, the sleeves of which
were rolled up to his shoulders. "I must get to business," murmured he,
"to make up for lost time." He set to work with great vigor, but had
hardly got into the swing, when a lad came actively up the ladder and
told him that a gentleman wished to see him, "and a real swell, too,"
added the boy. Andre was a good deal put out at being disturbed, but
when he reached the street and saw that it was M. de Breulh-Faverlay
who was waiting for him, his ill-humor disappeared like chaff before the
wind.

"Ah, this is really kind of you," cried he; for he could never forget
the debt of gratitude he owed to the gentleman. "A thousand thanks for
remembering me. Excuse my not shaking hands, but see;" and he exhibited
his palms all white with plaster. As he did so the smile died away on
his lips, for he caught sight of his friend's face.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed he, anxiously. "Is Sabine worse? Has she
had a relapse?"

De Breulh shook his head, but the expression of his face clearly said,--

"Would to heavens it were only that!"

But the news that Sabine was not worse relieved Andre at once, and he
patiently waited for his friend to explain.

"I have seen her twice for you," answered De Breulh; "but it is
absolutely necessary that you should come to a prompt decision on an
important affair."

"I am quite at your service," returned Andre a good deal surprised and
troubled.

"Then come with me at once, I did not drive here, but we shall not be
more than a quarter of an hour in reaching my house."

"I will follow you almost immediately. I only ask five minutes' grace to
go up to the scaffold again."

"Have you any orders to give?"

"No, I have none."

"Why should you go, then?"

"To make myself a little more presentable."

"Is it an annoyance or inconvenience for you to go out in that dress?"

"Not a bit, I am thoroughly used to it; but it was for your sake."

"If that is all, come along."

"But people will stare at seeing you in company with a common workman."

"Let them stare." And drawing Andre's arm through his, M. de Breulh set
off.

Andre was right; many persons did turn round to look at the fashionably
dressed gentleman walking arm in arm with a mason in his working attire,
but De Breulh took but little heed, and to all Andre's questions simply
said, "Wait till we reach my house."

At length they arrived, without having exchanged twenty words, and
entering the library closed the door. M. de Breulh did not inflict
the torture of suspense upon his young friend a moment longer than was
necessary.

"This morning, about twelve o'clock, as I was crossing the Avenue de
Matignon, I saw Modeste, who had been waiting for you more than an
hour."

"I could not help it."

"I know that. As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me at once. She was
terribly disappointed at not having seen you; but knowing our intimacy,
she intrusted me with a letter for you from Mademoiselle de Mussidan."

Andre shuddered; he felt that the note contained evil tidings, with
which De Breulh was already acquainted. "Give it to me," said he, and
with trembling hands he tore open the letter and perused its contents.

"DEAREST ANDRE,--

"I love you, and shall ever continue to do so, but I have duties--most
holy ones--which I must fulfil; duties which my name and position demand
of me, even should the act cost me my life. We shall never meet again in
this world, and this letter is the last one you will ever receive from
me. Before long you will see the announcement of my marriage. Pity me,
for great as your wretchedness will be, it will be as nothing compared
to mine. Heaven have mercy upon us both! Andre, try and tear me out
of your heart. I have not even the right to die, and oh, my darling,
this--this is the last word you will ever receive from your poor unhappy

"SABINE."


If M. de Breulh had insisted upon taking Andre home with him before he
handed him the letter, it was because Modeste had given him some inkling
of its contents. He feared that the effect would be tremendous upon
nerves so highly strung and sensitive as those of Andre. But he need
not have been alarmed on this point. As the young painter mastered the
contents of the letter his features became ghastly pale, and a shudder
convulsed every nerve and muscle of his frame. With a mechanical gesture
he extended the paper to M. de Breulh, uttering the one word, "Read."

His friend obeyed him, more alarmed by Andre's laconism than he could
have been by some sudden explosion of passion.

"Do not lose heart," exclaimed he.

But Andre interrupted him. "Lose heart!" said he; "you do not know me.
When Sabine was ill, perhaps dying, far away from me, I did feel cast
down; but now that she tells me that she loves me, my feelings are of an
entirely different nature."

M. de Breulh was about to speak, but Andre went on.

"What is this marriage contract which my poor Sabine announces to me, as
if it was her death-warrant? Her parents must all along have intended
to break with you, but you were beforehand with them. Can they have
received a more advantageous offer of marriage already? It is scarcely
likely. When she confided the secret of her life to you, she certainly
knew nothing of this. What terrible event has happened since then? My
brave Sabine would never have submitted unless some coercion had been
used that she could not struggle against; she would rather have quitted
her father's house for ever."

As Andre uttered these words De Breulh's mind was busy with similar
reflections, for Modeste had given him some hint of the approaching
marriage, and had begged him to be most careful how he communicated the
facts to Andre.

"You must have noticed," continued the young painter, "the strange
coincidence between Sabine's illness and this note. You left her happy
and full of hope, and an hour afterward she falls senseless, as though
struck by lightning; as soon as she recovers a little she sends me this
terrible letter. Do you remember that Madame de Bois Arden told us that
during Sabine's illness her father and mother never left her bedside?
Was not this for fear lest some guilty secret of theirs might escape her
lips in a crisis of delirium?"

"Yes, I remember that, and I have long had reason to imagine that there
is some terrible family secret in the Mussidans' family, such as we too
often find among the descendants of noble houses."

"What can it be?"

"That I have no means of ascertaining, but that there is one I am sure."

Andre turned away and paced rapidly up and down the room. "Yes," said
he, suddenly, "there is a mystery; but you and I will leave no stone
unturned until we penetrate it." He drew a chair close to the side
of his friend, who was reclining on a couch. "Listen," said he, "and
correct me if you fancy that I am not right in what I am saying. Do you
believe that the most terrible necessity alone has compelled Sabine to
write this letter?"

"Most certainly."

"Both the Count and Countess were willing to accept you as their
son-in-law?"

"Exactly so."

"Could M. de Mussidan have found a more brilliant match for his
daughter, one who could unite so many advantages of experience and
education to so enormous a fortune?"

De Breulh could hardly repress a smile.

"I am not wishing to pay you a compliment," said Andre impatiently.
"Reply to my question."

"Very well then, I admit that according to the opinion of the world, I
was a most eligible suitor, and that M. de Mussidan would find it hard
to replace me."

"Then tell me how it comes about that neither the Count nor the Countess
has made any effort to prevent this rupture?"

"Their pride, perhaps, has been wounded."

"Not so, for Modeste tells us that on the very day you sent the letter
the Count was going to call on you to break off the engagement."

"Yes, that is so, if we are to believe Modeste."

As if to give more emphasis to his words, Andre started to his feet.
"This," cried he, "this man, who has so suddenly appeared upon the
scene, will marry Sabine, not only against her own will, but against
that of her parents, and for what reason? Who is this man, and what is
the mysterious power that he possesses? His power is too great to spring
from an honorable source. Sabine is sacrificing herself to this man for
some reason or other, and he, like a dastardly cur, is ready to take
advantage of the nobleness of her heart."

"I admit the correctness of your supposition," said he; "and now, how do
you propose to act?"

"I shall do nothing as yet," answered the young man, with a fierce gleam
in his eyes. "Sabine asks me to tear her from my heart. I will affect
to do so for the time. Modeste believes in me, and will help me. I have
patience. The villain who has wrecked my life does not know me, and
I will only reveal myself upon the day that I hold him helpless in my
hand."

"Take care, Andre," urged De Breulh; "a false step would ruin your hopes
for ever."

"I will make none; as soon as I have this man's name, I will insult him;
there will be a duel, and I shall kill him--or he me."

"A duel will be the height of madness, and would ruin all your hopes of
marriage with Sabine."

"The only thing that holds me back is that I do not wish that there
should be a corpse between Sabine and myself. Blood on a bridal dress,
they say, brings misery; and if this man is what I suspect him to be, I
should be doing him too much honor if I crossed swords with him. No, I
must have a deeper vengeance than this, for I can never forget that he
nearly caused Sabine's death."

He paused for a few seconds, and once again broke the silence which
reigned in the room.

"To abuse the power that he must possess shows what a miserable wretch
he must be; and men do not attain such a height of infamy by a single
bound. The course of his life must be full of similar crimes, growing
deeper and deadlier as he moves on. I will make it my business to unmask
him and to hold him up to the scorn and contempt of his fellow-men."

"Yes; that is the plan to pursue."

"And we will do so, sir. Ah! heaven help me! I say 'we,' for I have
relied on you. The generous offer that you made to me I refused, and I
was in the right in doing so; but I should now be a mere madman if I
did not entreat you to grant me your aid and advice. We have both known
hardship and are capable of going without food or sleep, if necessity
requires it of us. We have both graduated in the school of poverty and
sorrow. We can keep our plans to ourselves and act."

Andre paused, as if waiting for a reply, but his friend remained silent.

"My plan is most simple," resumed the young painter. "As soon as we know
the fellow's name we shall be able to act. He will never suspect us,
and we can follow him like his very shadow. There are professional
detectives who, for a comparatively small sum, will lay bare a man's
entire life. Are we not as clever as this fine fellow? We can work well
together in our different circles; you, in the world of fashion, can
pick up intelligence that I could not hope to gain; while I, from my
lowly position, will study the hidden side of his life, for I can
talk to the servants lounging at the front doors or the grooms at the
public-houses without suspicion."