now drew from his desk a large portfolio, crammed full of letters, receipts, bills, deeds of property, and old parchments. “I can certainly discover the necessary pretext here,” he murmured, rummaging through the mass of papers. But he did not at once find what he sought, and he was growing impatient, as could be seen by his feverish haste, when all at once he paused with a sigh of relief. “At last!”
He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by a pin to a huissier’s protest, thus proving conclusively that it had been dishonored. M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, and with a satisfied air exclaimed: “It is here that I must strike; it is here—if Casimir hasn’t deceived me—that I shall find the indispensable information I need.”
He was in such haste that he did not wait to put his portfolio in order. He threw it with the papers it had contained into the drawer of his desk again, and, approaching Chupin, he asked, “It was you, was it not, Victor, who obtained that information respecting the solvency of the Vantrassons, husband and wife, who let out furnished rooms?”
“Yes, monsieur, and I gave you the answer: nothing to hope for——”
“I know; but that doesn’t matter. Do you remember their address?”
“Perfectly. They are now living on the Asnieres Road, beyond the fortifications, on the right hand side.”
“What is the number?”
Chupin hesitated, reflected for a moment, and then began to scratch his head furiously, as he was in the habit of doing whenever his memory failed him and he wished to recall it to duty. “I’m not sure whether the number is eighteen or forty-six,” he said, at last; “that is——”
“Never mind,” interrupted M. Fortunat. “If I sent you to the house could you find it?”
“Oh—yes, m’sieur—at once—with my eyes shut. I can see the place perfectly—a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of unoccupied land on one side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear.”
“Very well; you shall accompany me there.”
Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. “What, m’sieur,” said he, “do you think of going there at this time of night?”
“Why not? Shall we find the establishment closed?”
“No; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn’t merely keep furnished rooms; he’s a grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open until eleven o’clock at least. But if you are going there to present a bill, it’s perhaps a little late. If I were in your place, m’sieur, I should wait till to-morrow. It’s raining, and the streets are deserted. It’s an out-of-the-way place too; and in such cases, a man has been known to settle his account with whatever came handiest—with a cudgel, or a bullet, for instance.”
“Are you afraid?”
This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not in the least offended by it; his only answer was a disdainful shrug of the shoulders.
“Then we will go,” remarked M. Fortunat. “While I’m getting ready, go and hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse.”
Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a tempest. There was a cab-stand only a few steps from the house, but he preferred to run to the jobmaster’s stables in the Rue Feydeau.
“Cab, sir!” shouted several men, as they saw him approaching.
He made no reply, but began to examine the horses with the air of a connoisseur, until at last he found an animal that suited him. Thereupon he beckoned to the driver, and going to the little office where a woman sat reading: “My five sous, if you please,” he said, authoritatively.
The woman looked at him. Most jobmasters are in the habit of giving five sous to any servant who comes in search of a cab for his master; and this was the custom here. But the keeper of the office, who felt sure that Chupin was not a servant, hesitated; and this made the young fellow angry. “Make haste,” he cried, imperiously. “If you don’t, I shall run to the nearest stand.”
The woman at once threw him five sous, which he pocketed with a satisfied grin. They were his—rightfully his—since he had taken the trouble to gain them. He then hastily returned to the office to inform his employer that the cab was waiting at the door, and found himself face to face with a sight which made him open his eyes to their widest extent.
M. Fortunat had profited by his clerk’s absence, not to disguise himself—that would be saying too much—but to make some changes in his appearance. He had arrayed himself in a long overcoat, shiny with grease and wear, and falling below his knees; in place of his elegant satin cravat he had knotted a gaudy silk neckerchief about his throat; his boots were worn, and out of shape; and his hat would have been treated with contempt even by a dealer in old clothes. Of the prosperous Fortunat, so favorably known round about the Place de la Bourse, naught remained save his face and his hands. Another Fortunat had taken his place, more than needy in aspect—wretched, famished, gaunt with hunger, ready for any desperate deed. And, yet, he seemed at ease in this garb; it yielded to his every movement, as if he had worn it for a long time. The butterfly had become a chrysalis again. Chupin’s admiring smile must have repaid him for his trouble. Since the young clerk evinced approval, M. Fortunat felt sure that Vantrasson would take him for what he wished to appear—a poor devil of an agent, who was acting on some other person’s behalf. “Let us start at once,” said he.
But just as he was leaving the ante-room, he remembered an order of great importance which he wished to give. He called Madame Dodelin, and without paying the slightest heed to her astonishment at seeing him thus attired: “If the Marquis de Valorsay comes, in my absence,” said he—“and he WILL come—ask him to wait for me. I shall return before midnight. Don’t take him into my office—he can wait in the drawing-room.”
This last order was certainly unnecessary, since M. Fortunat had closed and double-locked his office door and placed the key carefully in his own pocket. But perhaps he had forgotten this circumstance. There were now no traces of his recent anger and disappointment. He was in excellent humor; and you might have supposed that he was starting on an enterprise from which he expected to derive both pleasure and profit.
Chupin was climbing to a place on the box beside the driver when his employer bade him take a seat inside the vehicle. They were not long in reaching their destination, for the horse was really a good one, and the driver had been stimulated by the promise of a magnificent gratuity. In fact, M. Fortunat and his companion reached the Asnieres Road in less than forty minutes.
In obedience to the orders he had received before starting, the cabman drew up on the right hand side of the road, at about a hundred paces from the city gate, beyond the fortifications. “Well, sir, here you are! Are you satisfied?” he inquired, as he opened the door.
“Perfectly satisfied,” replied M. Fortunat. “Here is your promised gratuity. Now, you have only to wait for us. Don’t stir from this place. Do you understand?”
But the driver shook his head. “Excuse me,” he said, “but if it’s all the same to you, I will station myself over there near the gate. Here, you see, I should be afraid to go to sleep, while over there——”
“Very well; suit yourself,” M. Fortunat replied.
This precaution on the driver’s part convinced him that Chupin had not exaggerated the evil reputation of this quarter of
