Читать книгу The Blackmailers: Dossier No. 113 - Richard Dalby - Страница 9
ОглавлениеWHILE Madame Nina Gypsy was on her way to the Grand-Archange, Prosper Bertomy was at the police station.
He was kept waiting there for two hours, during which time he talked to the two policemen in whose charge he was. His expression never varied, his face was like marble. At midday he sent for lunch from a neighbouring restaurant, ate it with a good appetite, and drank almost a whole bottle of wine.
During this time ten other officers at least came to look at him, and they all expressed their views in similar terms. They said:
‘He is a stubborn fellow.’
When he was told that a carriage was waiting, he got up quickly, asked permission to light a cigar, and went downstairs. At the door he bought a buttonhole from a flower girl who wished him good luck.
He thanked her and got into the carriage which drove along the Rue Montmartre.
It was a lovely day, and he remarked to his guardians:
‘It is very strange, but I never felt so much like a walk before.’
One of them replied, ‘I can quite believe that.’
At the clerk’s office, while the entries were being made in the gaol book, Prosper answered the questions with disdainful hauteur. But when he was told to empty his pockets, a gleam of indignation shot from his eyes. He would perhaps have been subjected to further indignities but for the intervention of an oldish man of distinguished appearance, wearing a white necktie and gold-rimmed spectacles, who was warming himself at a stove and appeared quite at home. This was a noted member of the detective force, M. Lecoq, whose eyes had been intently fixed upon the cashier, and who had displayed considerable surprise at his entrance.
After the usual formalities had been completed the cashier was removed to a cell, where as soon as he was alone he burst into tears. His pent-up anger got beyond control; he shouted, cursed, blasphemed and beat the walls with his fists.
Prosper Bertomy was not what he appeared to be, he had ardent passions and a fiery temperament. One day at the age of twenty-four he was seized with ambition and a desire to be like the rich men he saw around him. He studied the careers of these financiers and discovered that at first they were worse off than he was, but that by energy, intelligence and audacity they had succeeded.
He swore to imitate them, and from that time he silenced his instincts and reformed not his character, but its outward appearance.
His efforts had not been wasted. Those who knew him said he was a coming man. But here he was in prison, and even if he were not guilty he would be marked as a suspected man.
The following morning—he had just gone to sleep after a sleepless night—he was awakened for his examination.
As the warder conducted him, he said:
‘You are fortunate; you have to deal with a good brave man.’
He was right. M. Patrigent possessed in a remarkable degree all the qualities necessary for a magistrate. He was keen, firm, unbiased, neither too lenient nor too severe, but a man of inexhaustible patience. This was the man before whom Prosper had to appear.
After walking a considerable distance the warder and his charge entered a long narrow gallery in which were several numbered doors, each of which admitted to the presence of a magistrate.
‘Here,’ the warder said, ‘your fate will be decided.’
The cashier and his guardian sat down upon an oak bench in the gallery which had already numerous occupants, to wait their turn. Groups of witnesses and gendarmes stood talking in low tones in the gallery, and at short intervals a door opened and an usher called out a name or number.
At last the usher called ‘Prosper Bertomy!’
The cashier on leaving the dark gallery suddenly found himself almost blinded by the light from the window of the courtroom.
The courtroom had nothing striking about it. It contained a large desk at which the magistrate sat with his face in shadow and with the light shining full in the faces of the accused and the witness. On his right was his clerk.
Prosper’s attention was, however, fixed upon the magistrate’s face, and he soon realized that the warder was right, for he had an attractive and reassuring face.
‘Take a chair,’ he said to Prosper, who was favourably impressed by this attention and took it as a good omen.
M. Patrigent made a sign to the clerk and said:
‘We are ready to begin, Sigault.’
Turning to Prosper, he asked:
‘What is your name?’
‘Auguste Prosper Bertomy, sir.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I shall be thirty-five on the fifth of May.’
‘What is your occupation?’
‘I am, or rather I was the cashier at the André Fauvel Bank.’
The magistrate stopped to consult his papers and then asked:
‘Where do you live?’
‘At 39, Rue Chaptal for the last four years. Before that I lived at No. 7, Boulevard des Bategnolles.’
‘Where were you born?’
‘At Beaucaire, in the Department du Gard.’
‘Are your parents alive?’
‘I lost my mother two years ago, but my father is still alive.’
‘Does he live in Paris?’
‘No, sir, he lives at Beaucaire with my sister, who married an engineer of the Midi Canal.’
Prosper replied to the last question in a troubled voice. There are times in a man’s life when the remembrance of his relations consoles him, but there are also times when he wishes to be alone in the world.
M. Patrigent noted his emotion and continued:
‘What is your father’s profession?’
‘He was, sir, employed on the Midi Canal; now he has retired.’
‘You are accused of stealing 350,000 francs from your employer. What have you to say?’
‘I am innocent, sir; I swear I am innocent!’
‘I hope so,’ M. Patrigent said, ‘and you can count on my assistance in proving your innocence. Have you any facts to mention in your defence?’
‘Sir, what can I say? I can only invoke my whole life.’
The magistrate interrupted. ‘Let us be precise; the robbery was committed in such a way that suspicion can only rest upon M. Fauvel and you. Can you throw suspicion on anyone else?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You say you are innocent, so M. Fauvel must be the criminal.’
Prosper made no answer.
‘Have you,’ M. Patrigent insisted, ‘any reason to think your employer robbed himself? Tell me it, however trifling it may be.’
As he made no reply the magistrate said:
‘I see you still need time for reflection. Listen to the reading of your evidence, and after you have signed it you will return to prison.’
The cashier was overwhelmed by these words. He signed the statement without hearing a word of the reading and staggered so on leaving the courtroom that the warder told him to lean upon him and take courage.
His examination was a formality carried out in obedience to the law, which ordered that a prisoner was to be examined within twenty-four hours of his arrest.
Had Prosper remained an hour longer in the gallery, he would have heard the same usher call out ‘number three’.
The witness who was number three was sitting on the bench in the person of M. Fauvel. He was a changed man. His ordinary benevolence had disappeared and he was full of resentment against his cashier.
He had hardly answered the usual questions before he launched out into such recriminations and invectives against Prosper that the magistrate had to silence him.
‘Let us take things in their proper order,’ he said to M. Fauvel, ‘and please confine yourself to answering my questions.
‘Did you doubt your cashier’s honesty?’
‘Certainly not; and yet a thousand reasons might have led me to do so.’
‘What reasons were they?’
‘M. Bertomy, my cashier, gambled and sometimes lost large sums. On one occasion, with one of my clients, he was mixed up in a scandalous gaming affair, which began with a woman and ended with the police.’
‘You must admit, sir,’ the magistrate said, ‘you were imprudent, if not culpable, to entrust your cash to such a man.’
‘But, sir,’ M. Fauvel replied, ‘he was not always like it. Till a year ago he was a model. He resided in my house and I believed him to be in love with my niece Madeleine.’
M. Patrigent had a way of knitting his brows when he thought he had made a discovery.
‘Perhaps that was the reason of his departure?’ the magistrate asked.
‘Why,’ the banker replied with a surprised look, ‘I would have willingly given him my niece’s hand, and she is a pretty girl with money.’
‘Then you can see no motive in your cashier’s conduct?’
‘Absolutely none,’ the banker replied, after a little thought. ‘I always thought he was led astray by a young man he knew at that time, M. Raoul de Lagors.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A relative of my wife’s, a charming fellow, but rich enough to pay for his amusement.’
The magistrate did not seem to be listening, he was adding Lagors to his long list of names.
‘Now,’ he resumed, ‘you are sure the robbery was not committed by anyone in your house?’
‘Quite sure, sir.’
‘Your key was never out of your possession?’
‘Very rarely; and when I did not carry it, it was in one of the drawers in my desk.’
‘Where was it on the evening of the robbery?’
‘In my desk.’
‘But then—’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ M. Fauvel interrupted, ‘but may I mention that with a safe like mine the key counts for little. One must know the word at which to set the five movable buttons.’
‘Did you tell anyone the word?’
‘No, sir. Besides, Prosper changed the word when he felt so disposed. He used to tell me and I often forgot.’
‘Had you forgotten it on the day of the robbery?’
‘No; the word was changed the previous evening, and its strangeness struck me.’
‘What was it?’
‘Gypsy. G-y-p-s-y.’ (The banker spelt it.)
This word M. Patrigent also wrote down.
‘One more question, sir,’ he said. ‘Were you at home the evening of the robbery?’
‘No, sir; I dined and spent the evening with a friend. When I returned, about one o’clock, my wife was in bed and I retired at once.’
‘You are not aware of the sum of money in the safe?’
‘No. My orders were that only a small sum should be kept there.’
M. Patrigent was silent. The important fact to him seemed to be that the banker was not aware there was 350,000 francs in the safe, and Prosper exceeded his duty in withdrawing it from the bank. The conclusion seemed obvious.
Seeing that he was not to be asked any more questions, the banker considered it a good opportunity to say what he had on his mind.
‘I consider myself above suspicion,’ he began, ‘but I shall not sleep in peace till the robbery is brought home to my cashier. The sum is quite a fortune, and I shall be glad if you will examine my business affairs and see that I have no object in robbing myself.’
‘That will do, sir,’ the magistrate interposed; ‘sign your statement, please!’
After the banker had gone, the clerk remarked:
‘It is a very obscure affair; if the cashier is firm and clever it will be difficult to convict him, I think.’
‘Perhaps,’ the magistrate replied, ‘but I will examine the other witness.’
Number four witness was Lucien, M. Fauvel’s eldest son. He was a fine fellow of twenty-two, who said he was very fond of Prosper and looked upon him as an honest man.
He said he could offer no explanation as to why Prosper should commit the theft. He was sure he did not gamble as much as people made out and did not live beyond his means.
With regard to his cousin Madeleine he said:
‘I always thought Prosper loved Madeleine and would marry her. I always attributed Prosper’s departure to a quarrel with her, but I felt sure they would make it up.’
Lucien signed his statement and withdrew.
Cavaillon was the next to be examined. He was in a pitiful state, but determined to repair the mistake he made the previous day if possible.
He did not exactly accuse M. Fauvel, but he said he was a friend of the cashier, and as sure of his innocence as of his own. But unfortunately he had no evidence to support his statement.
Six or eight of the bank staff also made statements, but they were not important.
One of them gave a detail which the magistrate noted. He made out that he knew that Prosper had made a good deal of money on the Stock Exchange through M. Raoul de Lagors.
After the witnesses had concluded M. Patrigent sent the usher to find Fanferlot, which he did after some delay. The detective gave an account of the incident of the letter, which he was able to produce, having stolen it from Madame Gypsy, and furnished a number of biographical details he had gathered concerning Prosper and Madame Gypsy.
At the conclusion of the detective’s story M. Patrigent murmured:
‘Evidently the young man is guilty.’
This was not Fanferlot’s opinion, and he was pleased to think the magistrate was upon the wrong track.
After he had furnished all the information possible, the detective was dismissed, the magistrate telling him to keep a careful eye upon Madame Gypsy as she probably knew something about the money.
The next day the magistrate took the evidence of Madame Gypsy and recalled M. Fauvel and Cavaillon. Only two of the witnesses who had been summoned failed to appear; the first was the messenger Prosper sent to the bank, who was ill, and M. Raoul de Lagors.
