Richard Dalby - The Blackmailers - Dossier No. 113

‘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 CONTENTS COVER TITLE PAGE COPYRIGHT INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV ABOUT THE BOOK THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

IF there is one man in the world whom no event ought to surprise or move, that man is a superintendent of police in Paris.

The one sent for by M. Fauvel came in at once, followed by a little man dressed in black.

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.