IV
The commissaries of police of Paris, as a general thing, are nosimpletons; and, if they are ever taken in, it is because it hassuited them to be taken in.
Their modest title covers the most important, perhaps, ofmagistracies, almost the only one known to the lower classes; anenormous power, and an influence so decisive, that the most sensiblestatesman of the reign of Louis Philippe ventured once to say, "Giveme twenty good commissaries of police in Paris, and I'll undertaketo suppress any government: net profit, one hundred millions."
Parisian above all, the commissary has had ample time to study hisground when he was yet only a peace-officer. The dark side of themost brilliant lives has no mysteries for him. He has received thestrangest confidences: he has listened to the most astoundingconfessions. He knows how low humanity can stoop, and whataberrations there are in brains apparently the soundest. Thework woman whom her husband beats, and the great lady whom her husbandcheats, have both come to him. He has been sent for by theshop-keeper whom his wife deceives, and by the millionaire who hasbeen blackmailed. To his office, as to a lay confessional, allpassions fatally lead. In his presence the dirty linen of twomillions of people is washed _en famille_.
A Paris commissary of police, who after ten years' practice, couldretain an illusion, believe in something, or be astonished at anything in the world, would be but a fool. If he is still capableof some emotion, he is a good man.
The one who had just walked into M. Favoral's apartment was alreadypast middle age, colder than ice, and yet kindly, but of thatcommonplace kindliness which frightens like the executioner'spoliteness at the scaffold.
He required but a single glance of his small but clear eyes todecipher the physiognomies of all these worthy people standingaround the disordered table. And beckoning to the agents whoaccompanied him to stop at the door,--"Monsieur Vincent Favoral?"he inquired. The cashier's guests, M. Desormeaux excepted,seemed stricken with stupor. Each one felt as if he had a shareof the disgrace of this police invasion. The dupes who aresometimes caught in clandestine "hells" have the same humiliatedattitudes.
At last, and not without an effort,
"M. Favoral is no longer here," replied M. Chapelain, the oldlawyer.
The commissary of police started. Whilst they were discussing withhim through the door, he had perfectly well understood that theywere only trying to gain time; and, if he had not at once burst inthe door, it was solely owing to his respect for M. Desormeauxhimself, whom he knew personally, and still more for his title ofhead clerk at the Department of Justice. But his suspicions didnot extend beyond the destruction of a few compromising papers.Whereas, in fact:
"You have helped M. Favoral to escape, gentlemen?" said he.
No one replied.
"Silence means assent," he added. "Very well: which way did he getoff?"
Still no answer. M. Desclavettes would have been glad to addsomething to the forty-five thousand francs he had just lost, to be,together with Mme. Desclavettes, a hundred miles away.
"Where is Mme. Favoral?" resumed the commissary, evidently wellinformed. "Where are Mlle. Gilberte and M. Maxence Favoral?"
They continued silent. No one in the dining-room knew what mighthave taken place in the other room; and a single word might be treason.
The commissary then became impatient.
"Take up a light," said he to one of the agents who had remained atthe door, "and follow me. We shall see."
And without a shadow of hesitation, for it seems to be the privilegeof police-agents to be at home everywhere, he crossed the parlor,and reached Mlle. Gilberte's room just as she was withdrawing fromthe window.
"Ah, it is that way he escaped!" he exclaimed.
He rushed to the window, and remained long enough leaning on hiselbows to thoroughly examine the ground, and understand the situationof the apartment.
"It's evident," he said at last, "this window opens on the courtyardof the next house."
This was said to one of his agents, who bore an unmistakableresemblance to the servant who had been asking so many questions inthe afternoon.
"Instead of gathering so much useless information," he added, "whydid you not post yourself as to the outlets of the house?"
He was "sold"; and yet he manifested neither spite nor anger. Heseemed in no wise anxious to run after the fugitive. Upon thefeatures of Maxence and of Mlle. Gilberte, and more still in Mme.Favoral's eyes, he had read that it would be useless for the present.
"Let us examine the papers, then," said he.
"My husband's papers are all in his study," replied Mme. Favoral.
"Please lead me to it, madame."
The room which M. Favoral called loftily his study was a small roomwith a tile floor, white-washed walls, and meanly lighted through anarrow transom.
It was furnished with an old desk, a small wardrobe with grated door,a few shelves upon which were piled some bandboxes and bundles ofold newspapers, and two or three deal chairs.
"Where are the keys?" inquired the commissary of police.
"My father always carries them in his pocket, sir," replied Maxence.
"Then let some one go for a locksmith." Stronger than fear,curiosity had drawn all the guests of the cashier of the MutualCredit Society, M. Desormeaux, M. Chapelain, M. Desclavettes himself;and, standing within the door-frame, they followed eagerly everymotion of the commissary, who, pending the arrival of the locksmith,was making a flying examination of the bundles of papers left exposedupon the desk.
After a while, and unable to hold in any longer:
"Would it be indiscreet," timidly inquired the old bronze-merchant,"to ask the nature of the charges against that poor Favoral?"
"Embezzlement, sir."
"And is the amount large?"
"Had it been small, I should have said theft. Embezzling commencesonly when the sum has reached a round figure."
Annoyed at the sardonic tone of the commissary:
"The fact is," resumed M. Chapelain, "Favoral was our friend; and,if we could get him out of the scrape, we would all willinglycontribute."
"It's a matter of ten or twelve millions, gentlemen." Was itpossible? Was it even likely? Could any one imagine so manymillions slipping through the fingers of M. de Thaller's methodiccashier?
"Ah, sir!" exclaimed Mme. Favoral, "if any thing could relieve myfeelings, the enormity of that sum would. My husband was a man ofsimple and modest tastes."
The commissary shook his head.
"There are certain passions," he interrupted, "which nothing betraysexternally. Gambling is more terrible than fire. After a fire, somecharred remnants are found. What is there left after a lost game?Fortunes may be thrown into the vortex of the bourse, without a traceof them being left."
The unfortunate woman was not convinced.
"I could swear, sir," she protested, "that I knew how my husbandspent every hour of his life."
"Do not swear, madame."
"All our friends will tell you how parsimonious my husband was."
"Here, madame, towards yourself and your children, I have no doubt;for seeing is believing: but elsewhere--"
He was interrupted by the arrival of the locksmith, who, in lessthan five minutes, had picked all the locks of the old desk.
But in vain did the commissary search all the drawers. He foundonly those useless papers which are made relics of by people whohave made order their religious faith,--uninteresting letters,grocers' and butchers' bills running back twenty years.
"It is a waste of time to look for any thing here," he growled.
And in fact he was about to give up his perquisitions, when a bundlethinner than the rest attracted his attention. He cut the threadthat bound it; and almost at once:
"I knew I was right," he said. And holding out a paper to Mme. Favoral:
"Read, madame, if you please."
It was a bill. She read thus:
"Sold to M. Favoral an India Cashmere, fr. 8,50
0. Received payment, FORBE & Towler."
"Is it for you, madame," asked the commissary, "that this magnificentshawl was bought?"
Stupefied with astonishment, the poor woman still refused to admitthe evidence.
"Madame de Thaller spends a great deal," she stammered. "My husbandoften made important purchases for her account."
"Often, indeed!" interrupted the commissary of police; "for hereare many other receipted bills,--earrings, sixteen thousand francs;a bracelet, three thousand francs; a parlor set, a horse, two velvetdresses. Here is a part, at least, if not the whole, of the tenmillions."
Other People's Money Page 4