Richard Dalby - The Blackmailers - Dossier No. 113

The poor fellow obeyed with a heavy heart, wondering how he could help Prosper and warn Madame Gypsy.

As soon as he had disappeared, Fanferlot went over to the house and rang the first-floor bell. It was answered by a page to whom he showed the note when he asked to see the lady. He was shown into a beautifully-furnished drawing-room, and Madame Nina Gypsy came in at once.

She was a frail, delicate little woman, a brunette or rather golden, like a Havanna quadroon, with the feet and hands of a child. She had long silky lashes and large black eyes, and her lips, which were a little thick, displayed when she smiled the most beautiful white teeth.

She was not yet dressed, but appeared very charming in a velvet wrapper, and the detective was at first quite dazzled. She seemed surprised to see this shabby looking person in her drawing-room and at once assumed her most disdainful manner.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘I have a note to give you,’ said the detective in his most humble voice, ‘from M. Bertomy.’

‘From Prosper! Do you know him?’

‘I have the honour, and if I dare use the expression, I am one of his friends, one of the few who now have the courage to admit their friendship.’

The detective looked so serious that Madame Gypsy was impressed.

‘I am not clever at riddles,’ she said dryly; ‘what do you mean to insinuate?’

He took the letter from his pocket and handed it to the lady, saying as he did so:

‘Read this.’

Adjusting an eye-glass to her charming eyes she read the note at one glance. First she turned pale, then she became flushed and trembled as if she were about to faint. But in an instant she pulled herself together, and seizing the detective’s wrists in a grip which made him cry out:

‘Explain,’ she said; ‘what does it mean? You know what this letter says?’

Brave as he was, Fanferlot was almost afraid of Madame Nina’s anger.

‘Prosper is accused of taking 350,000 francs from his safe,’ he murmured.

‘Prosper a thief!’ she said; ‘how foolish. Why should he be a thief? He is well off, isn’t he?’

‘No; people say he is not rich, but has to live upon his salary.’

This reply seemed to confuse Madame Gypsy’s ideas.

‘But,’ she insisted, ‘he always has plenty of money—’

She dared not finish her sentence, for it suddenly occurred to her that if he were a thief it would be for her. But after a few seconds’ reflection her doubts disappeared.

‘No,’ she cried, ‘Prosper has never stolen a half-penny for me. A cashier might steal for the woman he loved, but Prosper does not love me and has never done so.’

‘Beautiful lady,’ protested the polite Fanferlot, ‘you don’t mean that.’

‘I do,’ she replied with tears in her eyes, ‘and it is true. He humours my fancies, but that proves nothing. I am nothing in his life—hardly an accident.’

‘But why—?’

‘Yes,’ Madame Gypsy interrupted, ‘why? You will be clever if you can tell me. I have tried to find out for a year. It is impossible to read the heart of a man who is so far master of himself that what is passing in his heart never mounts to his eyes. People think he is weak, but they are mistaken. This man with blonde hair is like a bar of steel painted like a reed.’

Carried away by the violence of her sentiments, Madame Nina was laying bare her heart to this man whom she believed was a friend of Prosper’s, while the detective was complimenting himself upon his skill in obtaining all this valuable information.

‘It has been said,’ he suggested, ‘that M. Bertomy is a great gambler.’

Madame Gypsy shrugged her shoulders.

‘Yes, that is true,’ she replied. ‘I have seen him win or lose considerable sums without a tremor, but he is not a gambler. He gambles in the same way that he sups and gets drunk—without passion and pleasure, but with a profound indifference which sometimes seems to me almost like despair. Nothing will ever remove the idea from my mind that he has a terrible secret in his life.’

‘Has he never spoken to you of the past?’

‘Did you not hear me tell you that he did not love me?’

Madame Nina began to weep, but after a few minutes her generous impulses told her that it was no time for despair.

‘But I love him,’ she cried, ‘and I must save him. I will speak to his employer and the judges, and before the day is over he will be free, or I shall be prisoner with him.’

This plan, though dictated by the most noble motives, did not meet with the detective’s approval, for he did not propose that the lady should appear till what he considered to be the proper moment. He therefore set to work to calm her and show the weakness of her plan.

‘What will you gain, dear lady?’ he said; ‘you have no chance of success and may be seriously compromised and treated as an accomplice.’

‘What does the danger matter?’ she cried. ‘I don’t think there is any; but if it exists, so much the better: it will give a little merit to a natural effort. I am sure Prosper is innocent, but if by any possible chance he is guilty, I wish to share his punishment.’

Madame Gypsy put on her hat and called upon Fanferlot to accompany her. But he had still several strings to his bow. As personal considerations had no weight with this lady he decided to introduce as an argument Prosper’s own interests.

‘I am ready, lady,’ he replied; ‘let us go. Only, while there is still time, let me tell you we shall probably do M. Bertomy more harm than good by taking a step he did not anticipate when he wrote to you.’

‘Some people,’ the young woman answered, ‘have to be rescued against their will. I know Prosper; he is the man to allow himself to be killed without a struggle—’

‘Excuse me, dear madame,’ the detective interrupted, ‘M. Bertomy does not seem to me that kind of man. I believe he has already fixed upon his line of defence, and perhaps by showing yourself at the wrong time you will destroy his most certain way of justifying himself.’

Madame Gypsy delayed her answer to consider Fanferlot’s objections.

‘But I cannot,’ she said, ‘remain inactive without trying to contribute to his safety.’

The detective, feeling that he had gained his point, said:

‘You have a simple way to serve the man you love, and that is to obey him; that is your sacred duty.’

She hesitated, so he picked up Prosper’s letter from the table and continued:

‘M. Bertomy when he is just about to be arrested writes to you and tells you to go away and hide, if you love him, and yet you hesitate. He has reasons for saying so you may be sure.’

M. Fanferlot had himself guessed the reason as soon as he entered the room, but he was keeping that in reserve.

Madame Gypsy was intelligent enough also to divine the reason.

‘Reasons!’ she began; ‘perhaps Prosper wished our liaison to remain a secret! No. I understand now. My presence here would be a serious charge against him. They would ask how he could give me all these things, and where he obtained the money to do so.’

The detective bowed his head in assent.

‘Then I must fly at once! Perhaps the police know already and will be here directly.’

‘Oh,’ Fanferlot said, ‘there is plenty of time.’

She rushed out of the room, calling her servants, and told them to put everything into her boxes as quickly as possible. She herself set the example. Suddenly an idea struck her and she went back to Fanferlot.

‘Everything is ready,’ she said, ‘but where am I to go?’

‘M. Bertomy said furnished rooms at the other end of Paris.’

‘But I do not know any.’

The detective seemed to reflect for a moment, and then, making every effort to conceal his joy at the idea, said: