Richard Dalby - The Blackmailers - Dossier No. 113

THE first two days of his imprisonment had not seemed very long to Prosper. He had been provided with writing materials and drawn up his defence. After that he became impatient at not being re-examined.

On Monday morning the door of his cell opened and his father, an old man with white hair, entered.

Prosper went forward to embrace him, but his father repulsed him.

‘Keep away,’ he said.

‘You, too,’ Prosper cried. ‘You believe me to be guilty.’

‘Spare me this shameful comedy,’ his father interrupted, ‘I know everything.’

‘But, father, I am innocent, I swear it by my mother’s sacred memory.’

‘Wretch,’ M. Bertomy cried, ‘do not blaspheme! I am glad your mother is dead, Prosper, for your crime would have killed her.’

There was a long silence and then Prosper said:

‘You overwhelm me, father, when I need all my courage and am the victim of an odious plot.’

‘The victim!’ said M. Bertomy. ‘Are you making insinuations against your employer, the man who has done so much for you? It is bad enough to rob him; do not slander him. Was it a lie, too, when you wrote and told me to prepare to come to Paris, and ask M. Fauvel for his niece’s hand for you?’

‘No,’ Prosper said in a faint voice.

‘That is a year ago,’ his father continued, ‘and yet the thought of her could not keep you from bad companions and crime.’

‘But, father, I love her still; let me explain—’

‘That is enough, sir. I have seen your employer and know all about it. I have also seen the magistrate, and he gave me permission to visit you. I have seen your rooms and their luxury, and I can understand the reason of your crime; you are the first thief in the family.’

M. Bertomy, seeing his son was no longer listening to him, stopped.

‘But,’ he continued, ‘I am not come to reproach you. Listen to me. How much have you left of the 350,000 francs you have stolen?’

‘Once more, father, I am innocent.’

‘I expected that reply. Now it rests with your relatives to repair your fault. The day I learned of your crime, your brother-in-law brought me your sister’s dowry, 70,000 francs. I have 140,000 francs besides, making 210,000 francs in all. This I am going to hand to M. Fauvel.’

This statement roused Prosper.

‘Don’t do that!’ he cried.

‘I shall do so before night. M. Fauvel will give me time in which to pay the balance. My pension is 1,500 francs and I can live on 500. I am still strong enough to obtain employment.’

M. Bertomy said no more, stopped by his son’s expression of anger.

‘You have no right, father,’ he cried, ‘to do this. You can refuse to believe me if you like; but an action like that would ruin me. I am upon the edge of a precipice and you want to push me over. While justice hesitates, father, you condemn me without a hearing.’

Prosper’s tones at last made an impression upon his father, who murmured:

‘But the evidence against you is very strong.’

‘That does not matter,’ Prosper replied; ‘I will prove myself innocent or perish in the attempt, whether I am convicted or not. The author of my misfortune is in the house of M. Fauvel and I will find him. Why did Madeleine tell me one day to think no more of her? Why did she exile me, when she loves me as much as I do her?’

The hour granted for the interview had expired. M. Bertomy left his son almost convinced of his innocence. Father and son embraced with tears in their eyes.

The door of Prosper’s cell reopened almost immediately after his father’s departure and the warder entered to conduct him to his examination. This time he went with his head high and a firm step.

As he passed through the room where the detectives and police were, the man with the gold spectacles said:

‘Be brave, M. Bertomy, if you are innocent we will help you.’

Prosper, in surprise, asked the warder who the gentleman was.

The warder replied:

‘Surely you know the great Lecoq! If your case had been in his hands instead of Fanferlot’s it would have been settled long ago. But he seems to know you.’

‘I never saw him till I saw him here.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that, for he is a master of disguises.’

This time Prosper did not have to wait upon the wooden bench. M. Patrigent had arranged for his examination to immediately follow his interview with his father, with the object of getting the truth from him while his nerves were still vibrating with emotion.

The magistrate was, therefore, very surprised at the cashier’s proud and resolute attitude.

The first question was:

‘Have you reflected?’

‘Being innocent,’ Prosper replied, ‘I have nothing on which to reflect.’

‘Ah,’ the magistrate said, ‘you forget that sincerity and repentance are necessary to obtain lenient treatment.’

‘I have need, sir, neither of pardon or leniency.’

‘How would you answer,’ the magistrate resumed, ‘if I told you what had become of the money?’

Prosper shook his head sadly. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I should not be here.’

The ordinary method of examination employed by the magistrate often succeeds, but it did not do so in this case.

‘Then you persist in accusing your employer?’

‘Either him or someone else.’

‘Excuse me, it could only be he. No one else knew the word. Had he any reason to rob himself?’

‘I know of none, sir.’

‘Ah, well,’ the magistrate said, ‘I will tell you the reason you had to rob him.’

This was the magistrate’s last effort to break through the cashier’s calm and determined resistance.

‘Will you tell me,’ the magistrate began, ‘how much you spent last year?’

Prosper answered promptly: ‘About 50,000 francs.’

‘Where did you get the money?’

‘I inherited 12,000 francs from my mother. My salary and commission came to 14,000. I made about 8,000 on the Stock Exchange, and the rest I borrowed. I can repay the latter item as I have 15,000 francs to my credit with M. Fauvel.’

‘Who lent you the money?’

‘M. Raoul de Lagors.’

This gentleman had gone away on the day of the robbery, so he could not be examined.

‘Now, tell me,’ the magistrate said, ‘what made you withdraw the money from the bank the day before it was required?’

‘Because M. de Clameran gave me to understand, sir, that he required the money early in the morning.’

‘Was he a friend of yours, then?’

‘No, I did not like him, but he was a friend of M. de Lagors.’

‘How did you spend the evening of the robbery?’ the magistrate asked.

‘After leaving the office at five, I went by train to Saint Germain and to M. Raoul de Lagors’ country house with 1,500 francs he required. As he was not at home I left the money with the servant.’

‘Did you know M. de Lagors was going to travel?’

‘No, I do not know whether he is in Paris or not.’

‘What did you do when you left your friend’s house?’

‘I returned to Paris and dined with a friend at a Boulevard restaurant.’

‘After that?’

Prosper hesitated.

‘As you won’t say,’ M. Patrigent went on, ‘I will tell you how you spent your time. You went to the Rue Chaptal, dressed and went to a party given by a woman named Wilson, one of those women who disgrace the theatres by calling themselves dramatic artistes.’

‘That is quite right, sir.’

‘There is a good deal of play there, is there not?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘You frequent those kind of places, do you not? Were you not mixed up in a scandalous adventure with a woman of that class named Crescenzi?’

‘I thought I was giving evidence concerning a robbery.’