LITMIR.BIZ

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you receive this, take everything belonging to you—everything, and go and live in a furnished house at the other end of Paris. Do not show yourself; disappear as much as possible. On your obedience my life perhaps depends. I am accused of a large robbery and I am going to be arrested. There should be 500 francs in the drawer; take it. Give your address to Cavaillon and he will explain to you what I cannot tell you.

      ‘PROSPER.’

      Had Cavaillon been less occupied with his own thoughts, he would have noticed a look of disappointment on the detective’s face. Fanferlot had hoped that this note was of importance, but it seemed to be merely a love-letter. The word ‘everything’ was, it was true, underlined, but that might mean anything.

      ‘Is Madame Nina Gypsy,’ the detective asked Cavaillon, ‘a friend of M. Prosper Bertomy?’

      ‘She is his mistress.’

      ‘She lives at No. 39, does she not?’

      ‘You know very well she does, for you saw me go in.’

      ‘Does she occupy rooms in her own name?’

      ‘No, she lives with Prosper.’

      ‘On what floor?’

      ‘The first.’

      M. Fanferlot carefully refolded the note and put it in his pocket.

      ‘I am much obliged,’ he said, ‘for your information, and in return I will deliver the letter for you.’

      Cavaillon offered some resistance to this, but M. Fanferlot cut him short with these words:

      ‘I will give you some good advice. If I were in your place, I would go back to the office and have no more to do with this affair.

      ‘But he is my friend and protector.’

      ‘All the more reason you should keep quiet. How can you help him? You are more likely to do him harm.’

      ‘But, sir, I am sure Prosper is innocent.’

      That was, too, Fanferlot’s opinion; but he did not consider it wise to tell the young man this, so he said:

      ‘It is quite possible, and I hope it is so for M. Bertomy’s sake, and also for your sake, for if he is found guilty, you may be suspected too. So, go back to your work.’

      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.’

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