LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      After M. Fanferlot had glanced round the inner room, he went into the waiting room, followed by all but Prosper.

      Prosper was in a state of utter bewilderment, but he was beginning to realize that the affair had resolved itself into a struggle between his employer and himself. At first he had not believed his master would carry out his threats, for though he realized how poor his chances of success were, on the other hand, in a case of the sort, the employer had much more at stake than his cashier.

      At that moment the door of the banker’s bedroom opened and a beautiful young girl entered. She was tall and slender and her morning wrapper showed off her beautiful figure. She was a brunette with large soft eyes and beautiful black hair. She was M. André Fauvel’s niece, and her name was Madeleine.

      Expecting to see her uncle alone, she uttered an exclamation of surprise at the sight of Prosper Bertomy.

      Prosper, who was as surprised as she was, could do nothing but murmur her name. After they had stood for a few moments with bent heads in silence, Madeleine murmured:

      ‘Is that you, Prosper?’

      These few words seemed to break the charm and Prosper replied in a bitter tone:

      ‘Yes, it is your old playfellow, Prosper, and he is accused of a cowardly and shameful theft; and before the day is over he will be in prison.

      ‘Good God!’ she cried with a gesture of affright. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Have not your aunt and cousins told you, mademoiselle?’

      ‘No, I have hardly seen them this morning. Tell me what has happened?’

      The cashier hesitated and sadly shook his head.

      ‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘for this proof of your interest; but allow me to spare you a sorrow by keeping silent.’

      Madeleine interrupted him with an imperious gesture.

      ‘I want to know,’ she said.

      ‘Alas, mademoiselle,’ the cashier replied, ‘you will learn soon enough my shame and misfortune.’

      She tried to insist, to command, and then pleaded, but he had made up his mind.

      ‘Your uncle is in the next room with the superintendent of police,’ he resumed, ‘and they will return in a minute. Please withdraw, so that they do not see you.’

      As he gently pushed her through the door the others returned from their search.

      But Fanferlot had kept observation on the cashier with the idea of finding out something from the expression of his face when he believed himself to be alone, and so had witnessed the interview. He at once formed a theory from it, which he decided to keep to himself for the present. He thought that they were lovers against the banker’s wish, and that the latter had himself committed the robbery in order to accuse this undesirable suitor of it and so get rid of him.

      The search of the upper part of the premises completed, the party descended to the cashier’s office, where the superintendent remarked that their search had simply confirmed the opinions they had first formed.

      The detective who was making a minute examination of the safe gave the most manifest signs of surprise, as if he had made a discovery of the utmost importance. The others at once gathered round and asked what he had discovered. After some hesitation he replied:

      ‘I have found out that the safe has been quite recently opened or shut in a hurry, and with some violence.’

      ‘How do you know that?’ the superintendent asked.

      The detective, as he handed him the magnifying-glass, pointed out a slight chafing which had marked the varnish for a distance of twelve or fifteen centimetres.

      ‘Yes, I can see it,’ the superintendent said, ‘but what does it prove?’

      ‘Nothing at all,’ Fanferlot replied, though he did not think so.

      This scratch seemed to him to confirm his theory, for the cashier could have taken millions without any need for haste. The banker, however, if he came downstairs quietly at night to rob his own safe, had a thousand reasons for haste and might easily have made the scratch with the key.

      The detective, who had quite made up his mind to solve the mystery, was now more determined than ever to keep his theories to himself, as well as the interview he had witnessed.

      ‘In conclusion,’ he said to the superintendent, ‘I declare that the robbery was not committed by an outsider. The safe has not been forced, nor has any attempt been made to force it. It was opened by someone who knew the word and had the key.’

      This formal declaration convinced the superintendent, who at once said:

      ‘I shall be glad of a minute’s private talk with M. Fauvel.’

      Prosper and the detective went into the next room, and the latter, in spite of his theories, was quite determined to keep his eye upon the cashier, who had taken a vacant chair.

      The other clerks were burning to know the result of the inquiry and at last Cavaillon ventured to ask Prosper, who replied with a shrug of the shoulders:

      ‘It is not decided.’

      His fellow clerks were surprised to see that he had lost all trace of emotion and had recovered his usual attitude, one of icy hauteur, which kept people at a distance and had made him many enemies.

      After a few minutes Prosper took a sheet of paper and wrote a few lines upon it.

      The detective seemed to suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep, and the thought came to him that now he would find out something positive.

      After finishing his short letter, Prosper folded it up as small as possible and threw it to Cavaillon, saying, as he did so, one word only:

      ‘Gypsy!’

      This was effected with such skill and sangfroid that even the detective was surprised.

      Before taking action the superintendent, either out of deference or from the hope of obtaining more information from a private conversation, decided to warn the banker.

      ‘There can be no doubt, sir,’ he said as soon as they were alone, ‘that this young man has robbed you. I should be neglecting my duty if I did not arrest him; afterwards the magistrate will either confirm his arrest or set him at liberty.’

      This statement appeared to touch the banker,

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