Caught In The Net

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> Caught In The Net


"My dear young friend, that is not the way to talk. If you do not have a
good opinion of yourself, all the world will judge you according to your
own estimation. Your inexperience has, up to this time, been the sole
cause of your failure. Poverty soon changes a boy into a man as straw
ripens fruit; but the first thing you must do is to put all confidence
in me. You can repay the five hundred francs at your convenience, but I
must have six per cent. for my money and your note of hand."

"But really--," began Paul.

"I am looking at the matter in a purely business light, so we can drop
sentiment."

Paul had so little experience in the ways of the world, that the mere
fact of giving his acceptance for the money borrowed put him at once
at his ease, though he knew well that his name was not a very valuable
addition to the slip of paper.

Daddy Tantaine, after a short search through his pockets, discovered
a bill stamp, and, placing it on the table, said, "Write as I shall
dictate:--

'On the 8th of June, 188-, I promise to pay to M. Tantaine or order the
sum of five hundred francs for value received, such sum to bear interest
at the rate of six per cent. per annum.

'Frs. 500.

'PAUL VIOLAINE.'"


The young man had just completed his signature when Rose made her
appearance, bearing a plentiful stock of provisions in her arms. Her
eyes had a strange radiance in them, which Paul, however, did not
notice, as he was engaged in watching the old man, who, after carefully
inspecting the document, secured it in one of the pockets of his ragged
coat.

"You will, of course, understand, sir," remarked Paul, "that there is
not much chance of my being able to save sufficient to meet this bill in
four months, so that the date is a mere form."

A smile of benevolence passed over Daddy Tantaine's features. "And
suppose," said he, "that I, the lender, was to put the borrower in a
position to repay the advance before a month had passed?"

"Ah! but that is not possible."

"I do not say, my young friend, that I could do this myself; but I have
a good friend whose hand reaches a long way. If I had only listened to
his advice when I was younger, you would not have caught me to-day in
the Hotel de Perou. Shall I introduce you to him?"

"Am I a perfect fool, to throw away such a chance?"

"Good! I shall see him this evening, and will mention your name to him.
Call on him at noon to-morrow, and if he takes a fancy to you,--decides
to push you, your future is assured, and you will have no doubts as to
getting on."

He took out a card from his pocket and handed it to Paul, adding, "The
name of my friend is Mascarin."

Meanwhile Rose, with a true Parisian's handiness, had contrived to
restore order from chaos, and had arranged the table, with its one or
two pieces of broken crockery, with scraps of brown paper instead of
plates. A fresh supply of wood crackled bravely on the hearth, and two
candles, one of which was placed in a chipped bottle, and the other in a
tarnished candlestick belonging to the porter of the hotel. In the eyes
of both the young people the spectacle was a truly delightful one, and
Paul's heart swelled with triumph. The business had been satisfactorily
concluded, and all his misgivings were at an end.

"Come, let us gather round the festive board," said he joyously. "This
is breakfast and dinner in one. Rose, be seated; and you, my dear
friend, will surely share with us the repast we owe to you?"

With many protestations of regret, however, Daddy Tantaine pleaded an
important engagement at the other end of Paris. "And," added he, "it is
absolutely necessary that I should see Mascarin this evening, for I must
try my best to make him look on you with a favorable eye."

Rose was very glad when the old man took his departure, for his
ugliness, the shabbiness of his dress, and his general aspect of dirt,
drove away all the feelings of gratitude she ought to have evinced, and
inspired in her loathing and repugnance; and she fancied that his eyes,
though veiled by his colored glasses, could detect the minutest secrets
of her heart; but still this did not prevent her putting on a sweet
smile and entreating him to remain.

But Daddy Tantaine was resolute; and after impressing upon Paul the
necessity of punctuality, he went away, repeating, as he passed through
the door, "May good appetite be present at your little feast, my dears."

As soon, however, as the door was closed he bent down and listened. The
young people were as merry as larks, and their laughter filled the
bare attic of the Hotel de Perou. Why should not Paul have been in good
spirits? He had in his pocket the address of the man who was to make his
fortune, and on the chimney-piece was the balance of the banknote, which
seemed to him an inexhaustible sum. Rose, too, was delighted, and could
not refrain from jeering at their benefactor, whom she stigmatized as
"an old idiot."

"Laugh while you can, my dears!" muttered Daddy Tantaine; "for this may
be the last time you will do so."

With these words he crept down the dark staircase, which was only
lighted up on Sundays, owing to the high price of gas, and, peeping
through the glass door of the porter's lodge, saw Madame Loupins engaged
in cooking; and, with the timid knock of a man who has learned his
lesson in poverty's grammar, he entered.

"Here is my rent, madame," said he, placing on the table ten francs
and twenty centimes. Then, as the woman was scribbling a receipt, he
launched into a statement of his own affairs, and told her that he had
come into a little property which would enable him to live in comfort
during his few remaining years on earth; and--evidently fearing that
his well-known poverty might cause Madame Loupins to discredit his
assertions--drew out his pocketbook and exhibited several banknotes.
This exhibition of wealth so surprised the landlady, that when the old
man left she insisted on lighting him to the door. He turned eastward as
soon as he had left the house, and, glancing at the names of the shops,
entered a grocer's establishment at the corner of the Rue de Petit Pont.
This grocer, thanks to a certain cheap wine, manufactured for him by a
chemist at Bercy, had achieved a certain notoriety in that quarter. He
was very stout and pompous, a widower, and a sergeant in the National
Guard. His name was Melusin. In all poor districts five o'clock is a
busy hour for the shopkeepers, for the workmen are returning from their
labors, and their wives are busy in their preparations for their evening
meal. M. Melusin was so busily engaged, giving orders and seeing that
they were executed, that he did not even notice the entrance of Daddy
Tantaine; but had he done so, he would not have put himself out for so
poorly dressed a customer. But the old man had left behind him in the
Hotel de Perou every sign of humility and servility, and, making his way
to the least crowded portion of the shop, he called out in imperative
accents, "M. Melusin!"

Very much surprised, the grocer ceased his avocation and hastened to
obey the summons. "How the deuce does the man know me?" muttered he,
forgetting that his name was over the door in gilt letters fully six
inches long.

"Sir," said Daddy Tantaine, without giving the grocer time to speak,
"did not a young woman come here about half an hour ago and change a
note for five hundred francs?"

"Most certainly," answered M. Melusin; "but how did you know that? Ah,
I have it!" he added, striking his forehead; "there has been a robbery,
and you are in pursuit of the criminal. I must confess that the girl
looked so poor, that I guessed there was something wrong. I saw her
fingers tremble."

"Pardon me," returned Daddy Tantaine. "I have said nothing about a
robbery. I only wished to ask you if you would know the girl again?"

"Perfectly--a really splendid girl, with hair that you do not see every
day. I have reason to believe that she lives in the Rue Hachette. The
police are not very popular with the shopkeeping class; but the latter,
desirous of keeping down crime, generally afford plenty of information,
and in the interests of virtue will even risk losing customers, who go
off in a huff at not being attended to while they are talking to the
officers of justice. Shall I," continued the grocer, "send one of the
errand boys to the nearest police station?"

"No, thank you," replied Daddy Tantaine. "I should prefer your keeping
the matter quiet until I communicate with you once more."

"Yes, yes, I see; a false step just now would put them on their guard."

"Just so. Now, will you let me have the number of the note, if you
still have it? I wish you also to make a note of the date as well as the
number."

"Yes, yes, I see," returned the grocer. "You may require my books as
corroborative evidence; that is often the way. Excuse me; I will be back
directly."

All that Daddy Tantaine had desired was executed with the greatest
rapidity, and he and the grocer parted on the best terms, and the
tradesman watched his visitor's departure, perfectly satisfied that he
had been assisting a police officer who had deemed it fit to assume a
disguise. Daddy Tantaine cared little what he thought, and, gaining the
Place de Petit Pont, stopped and gazed around as if he was waiting for
some one. Twice he walked round it in vain; but in his third circuit he
came to a halt with an exclamation of satisfaction, for he had seen the
person of whom he had been in search, who was a detestable looking
youth of about eighteen years of age, though so thin and stunted that he
hardly appeared to be fifteen.

The lad was leaning against the wall of the Quay St. Michel, openly
asking alms, but keeping a sharp lookout for the police. At the first
glance it was easy to detect in him the hideous outgrowth of the great
city, the regular young rough of Paris, who, at eight years of age,
smokes the butt ends of cigars picked up at the tavern doors and
gets tipsy on coarse spirits. He had a thin crop of sandy hair, his
complexion was dull and colorless, and a sneer curled the corners of
his mouth, which had a thick, hanging underlip, and his eyes had an
expression in them of revolting cynicism. His dress was tattered and
dirty, and he had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm, exhibiting a
deformed limb, sufficiently repulsive to excite the pity of the passers
by. He was repeating a monotonous whine, in which the words "poor
workman, arm destroyed by machinery, aged mother to support," occurred
continually.

Daddy Tantaine walked straight up to the youth, and with a sound cuff
sent his hat flying.

The lad turned sharply round, evidently in a terrible rage; but,
recognizing his assailant, shrank back, and muttered to himself,
"Landed!" In an instant he restored his arm to its originally healthy
condition, and, picking up his cap, replaced it on his head, and humbly
waited for fresh orders.

"Is this the way you execute your errands?" asked Daddy Tantaine,
snarling.

"What errands? I have heard of none!"

"Never you mind that. Did not M. Mascarin, on my recommendation, put you
in the way of earning your livelihood? and did you not promise to give
up begging?"

"Beg pardon, guv'nor, I meant to be on the square, but I didn't like to
waste time while I was a-waiting. I don't like a-being idle and I have
copped seven browns."

"Toto Chupin," said the old man, with great severity, "you will
certainly come to a bad end. But come, give your report. What have you
seen?"

During this conversation they were walking slowly along the quay, and
had passed the Hotel Dieu.

"Well, guv'nor," replied the young rogue, "I just saw what you said I
should. At four sharp, a carriage drove into the Place, and pulled
up bang opposite the wigmaker's. Dash me, if it weren't a swell
turnout!--horse, coachman, and all, in real slap-up style. It waited so
long that I thought it had taken root there."

"Come, get on! Was there any one inside?"

"I should think there was! I twigged him at once, by the description
you gave me. I never see a cove togged out as he was,--tall hat, light
sit-down-upons, and a short coat--wasn't it cut short! but in really
bang-up style. To be certain, I went right up to him, for it was getting
dark, and had a good look at him. He had got out of the trap, and was
marching up and down the pavement, with an unlighted cigar stuck in his
mouth. I took a match, and said, 'Have a light, my noble swell?' and
hanged if he didn't give me ten centimes! My! ain't he ugly!--short,
shrivelled up, and knock-kneed, with a glass in his eye, and altogether
precious like a monkey."

Daddy Tantaine began to grow impatient with all this rigmarole. "Come,
tell me what took place," said he angrily.

"Precious little. The young swell didn't seem to care about dirtying his
trotter-cases; he kept slashing about with his cane, and staring at
all the gals. What an ass that masher is! Wouldn't I have liked to have
punched his head! If you ever want to hide him, daddy, please think of
yours truly. He wouldn't stand up to me for five minutes."

"Go on, my lad; go on."

"Well, we had waited half an hour, when all at once a woman came sharp
round the corner, and stops before the masher. Wasn't she a fine gal!
and hadn't she a pair of sparklers! but she had awfully seedy togs on.
But they spoke in whispers."

"So you did not hear what they said?"

"Do you take me for a flat? The gal said, 'Do you
understand?--to-morrow.' Then the swell chap, says he, 'Do you promise?'
and the gal, she answers back, 'Yes, at noon.' Then they parted. She
went off to the Rue Hachette, and the masher tumbled into his wheelbox.
The jarvey cracked his whip, and off they went in a brace of shakes. Now
hand over them five francs."

Daddy Tantaine did not seem surprised at this request, and he gave over
the money to the young loafer, with the words, "When I promise, I pay
down on the nail; but remember Toto Chupin, you'll come to grief one
day. Good-night. Our ways lie in different directions."

The old man, however, lingered until he had seen the lad go off toward
the Jardin des Plantes, and then, turning round, went back by the way
he had come. "I have not lost my day," murmured he. "All the
improbabilities have turned out certainties, and matters are going
straight. Won't Flavia be awfully pleased?"



CHAPTER II.

A REGISTRY OFFICE.

The establishment of the influential friend of Daddy Tantaine was
situated in the Rue Montorgeuil, not far from the Passage de la Reine
Hortense. M. B. Mascarin has a registry office for the engagement of
both male and female servants. Two boards fastened upon each side of the
door announce the hours of opening and closing, and give a list of those
whose names are on the books; they further inform the public that the
establishment was founded in 1844, and is still in the same hands. It
was the long existence of M. Mascarin in a business which is usually
very short-lived that had obtained for him a great amount of confidence,
not only in the quarter in which he resided, but throughout the whole
of Paris. Employers say that he sends them the best of servants, and
the domestics in their turn assert that he only despatches them to good
places. But M. Mascarin has still further claims on the public esteem;
for it was he who, in 1845, founded and carried out a project which had
for its aim and end the securing of a shelter for servants out of place.
The better to carry out this, Mascarin took a partner, and gave him
the charge of a furnished house close to the office. Worthy as these
projects were, Mascarin contrived to draw considerable profit from them,
and was the owner of the house before which, in the noon of the day
following the events we have described, Paul Violaine might have been
seen standing. The five hundred francs of old Tantaine, or at any rate a
portion of them, had been well spent, and his clothes did credit to his
own taste and the skill of his tailor. Indeed, in his fine feathers he
looked so handsome, that many women turned to gaze after him. He however
took but little notice of this, for he was too full of anxiety, having
grave doubts as to the power of the man whom Tantaine had asserted
could, if he liked, make his fortune. "A registry office!" muttered he
scornfully. "Is he going to propose a berth of a hundred francs a month
to me?" He was much agitated at the thoughts of the impending interview,
and, before entering the house, gazed upon its exterior with great
interest. The house much resembled its neighbors. The entrances to the
Registry Office and the Servants' Home were in the courtyard, at the
arched entrance to which stood a vendor of roast chestnuts.

"There is no use in remaining here," said Paul. Summoning, therefore,
all his resolution, he crossed the courtyard, and, ascending a flight of
stairs, paused before a door upon which "OFFICE" was written. "Come in!"
responded at once to his knock. He pushed open the door, and entered
a room, which closely resembled all other similar offices. There were
seats all round the room, polished by frequent use. At the end was a
sort of compartment shut in by a green baize curtain, jestingly termed
"the Confessional" by the frequenters of the office. Between the windows
was a tin plate, with the words, "All fees to be paid in advance," in
large letters upon it. In one corner a gentleman was seated at a writing
table, who, as he made entries in a ledger, was talking to a woman who
stood beside him.

"M. Mascarin?" asked Paul hesitatingly.

"What do you want with him?" asked the man, without looking up from his
work. "Do you wish to enter your name? We have now vacancies for three
bookkeepers, a cashier, a confidential clerk--six other good situations.
Can you give good references?"

These words seemed to be uttered by rote.

"I beg your pardon," returned Paul; "but I should like to see M.
Mascarin. One of his friends sent me here."

This statement evidently impressed the official, and he replied almost
politely, "M. Mascarin is much occupied at present, sir; but he will
soon be disengaged. Pray be seated."

Paul sat down on a bench, and examined the man who had just spoken
with some curiosity. M. Mascarin's partner was a tall and athletic man,
evidently enjoying the best of health, and wearing a large moustache
elaborately waxed and pointed. His whole appearance betokened the old
soldier. He had, so he asserted, served in the cavalry, and it was
there that he had acquired the _soubriquet_ by which he was
known--Beaumarchef, his original name being David. He was about
forty-five, but was still considered a very good-looking fellow. The
entries that he was making in the ledger did not prevent him from
keeping up a conversation with the woman standing by him. The woman,
who seemed to be a cross between a cook and a market-woman, might be
described as a thoroughly jovial soul. She seasoned her conversation
with pinches of snuff, and spoke with a strong Alsatian brogue.

"Now, look here," said Beaumarchef; "do you really mean to say that you
want a place?"

"I do that."

"You said that six months ago. We got you a splendid one, and three days
afterward you chucked up the whole concern."

"And why shouldn't I? There was no need to work then; but now it is
another pair of shoes, for I have spent nearly all I had saved."

Beaumarchef laid down his pen, and eyed her curiously for a second or
two; then he said,--

"You've been making a fool of yourself somehow, I expect."

She half turned away her head, and began to complain of the hardness
of the terms and of the meanness of the mistresses, who, instead of
allowing their cooks to do the marketing, did it themselves, and so
cheated their servants out of their commissions.

Beaumarchef nodded, just as he had done half an hour before to a lady
who had complained bitterly of the misconduct of her servants. He was
compelled by his position to sympathize with both sides.

The woman had now finished her tirade, and drawing the amount of the fee
from a well-filled purse, placed it on the table, saying,--

"Please, M. Beaumarchef, register my name as Caroline Scheumal, and get
me a real good place. It must be a cook, you understand, and I want to
do the marketing without the missus dodging around."

"Well, I'll do my best."

"Try and find me a wealthy widower, or a young woman married to a very
old fellow. Now, do look round; I'll drop in again to-morrow;" and with
a farewell pinch of snuff, she left the office.

Paul listened to this conversation with feelings of anger and
humiliation, and in his heart cursed old Tantaine for having introduced
him into such company. He was seeking for some plausible excuse for
withdrawal, when the door at the end of the room was thrown open, and
two men came in, talking as they did so. The one was young and well
dressed, with an easy, swaggering manner, which ignorant people mistake
for good breeding. He had a many-colored rosette at his buttonhole,
showing that he was the knight of more than one foreign order. The other
was an elderly man, with an unmistakable legal air about him. He was
dressed in a quilted dressing-gown, fur-lined shoes, and had on his head
an embroidered cap, most likely the work of the hands of some one dear
to him. He wore a white cravat, and his sight compelled him to use
colored glasses.

"Then, my dear sir," said the younger man, "I may venture to entertain
hopes?"

"Remember, Marquis," returned the other, "that if I were acting alone,
what you require would be at once at your disposal. Unfortunately, I
have others to consult."

"I place myself entirely in your hands," replied the Marquis.

The appearance of the fashionably dressed young man reconciled Paul to
the place in which he was.

"A Marquis!" he murmured; "and the other swell-looking fellow must be M.
Mascarin."

Paul was about to step forward, when Beaumarchef respectfully accosted
the last comer,--

"Who do you think, sir," said he, "I have just seen?"

"Tell me quickly," was the impatient reply.

"Caroline Schimmel; you know who I mean."

"What! the woman who was in the service of the Duchess of Champdoce?"

"Exactly so."

M. Mascarin uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Where is she living now?"

Beaumarchef was utterly overwhelmed by this simple question. For the
first time in his life he had omitted to take a client's address. This
omission made Mascarin so angry that he forgot all his good manners, and
broke out with an oath that would have shamed a London cabman,--

"How could you be such an infernal fool? We have been hunting for this
woman for five months. You knew this as well as I did, and yet, when
chance brings her to you, you let her slip through your fingers and
vanish again."

"She'll be back again, sir; never fear. She won't fling away the money
that she had paid for fees."

"And what do you think that she cares for ten sous or ten francs? She'll
be back when she thinks she will; but a woman who drinks and is off her
head nearly all the year round----"

Inspired by a sudden thought, Beaumarchef made a clutch at his hat.

"She has only just gone," said he; "I can easily overtake her."

But Mascarin arrested his progress.

"You are not a good bloodhound. Take Toto Chupin with you; he is outside
with his chestnuts, and is as fly as they make them. If you catch her
up, don't say a word, but follow her up, and see where she goes. I want
to know her whole daily life. Remember that no item, however unimportant
it may seem, is not of consequence."

Beaumarchef disappeared in an instant, and Mascarin continued to
grumble.

"What a fool!" he murmured. "If I could only do everything myself. I
worried my life out for months, trying to find the clue to the mystery
which this woman holds, and now she has again escaped me."

Paul, who saw that his presence was not remarked, coughed to draw
attention to it. In an instant Mascarin turned quickly round.

"Excuse me," said Paul; but the set smile had already resumed its place
upon Mascarin's countenance.

"You are," remarked he, civilly, "Paul Violaine, are you not?"

The young man bowed in assent.

"Forgive my absence for an instant. I will be back directly," said
Mascarin.

He passed through the door, and in another instant Paul heard his name
called.

Compared to the outer chamber, Mascarin's office was quite a luxurious
apartment, for the windows were bright, the paper on the walls fresh,
and the floor carpeted. But few of the visitors to the office could
boast of having been admitted into this sanctum; for generally business
was conducted at Beaumarchef's table in the outer room. Paul, however,
who was unacquainted with the prevailing rule, was not aware of the
distinction with which he had been received. Mascarin, on his visitor's
entrance, was comfortably seated in an armchair before the fire, with
his elbow on his desk--and what a spectacle did that desk present! It
was a perfect world in itself, and indicated that its proprietor was a
man of many trades. It was piled with books and documents, while a great
deal of the space was occupied by square pieces of cardboard, upon each
of which was a name in large letters, while underneath was writing in
very minute characters.