Caught in the Net

  CHAPTER V.

  A FORGOTTEN CRIME.

  Baptiste Mascarin had been in so many strange situations, from which hehad extricated himself with safety and credit, that he had the fullestself-confidence, but as he ascended the wide staircase of the Hotel deMussidan, he felt his heart beat quicker in anticipation of the strugglethat was before him. It was twilight out of doors, but all within wasa blaze of light. The library into which he was ushered was a vastapartment, furnished in severe taste. At the sound of the unaristocraticname of Mascarin, which seemed as much out of place as a drunkard's oathin the chamber of sleeping innocence, M. de Mussidan raised his headin sudden surprise. The Count was seated at the other end of the room,reading by the light of four candles placed in a magnificently wroughtcandelabra. He threw down his paper, and raising his glasses, gazed withastonishment at Mascarin, who, with his hat in his hand and his heartin his mouth, slowly crossed the room, muttering a few unintelligibleapologies. He could make nothing, however, of his visitor, and said,"Whom do you wish to see, sir?"

  "The Count de Mussidan," stuttered Mascarin; "and I hope that you willforgive this intrusion."

  The Count cut his excuse short with a haughty wave of his hand. "Wait,"said he imperiously. He then with evident pain rose from his seat, andcrossing the room, rang the bell violently, and then reseated himself.Mascarin, who still remained in the centre of the room, inwardlywondered if after all he was to be turned out of the house. In anothersecond the door opened, and the figure of the faithful Florestanappeared.

  "Florestan," said the Count, angrily, "this is the first time that youhave permitted any one to enter this room without my permission; if thisoccurs again, you leave my service."

  "I assure your lordship," began the man.

  "Enough! I have spoken; you know what to expect."

  During this brief colloquy, Mascarin studied the Count with the deepestattention.

  The Count Octave de Mussidan in no way resembled the man sketched byFlorestan. Since the time of Montaigne, a servant's portrait of hisemployer should always be distrusted. The Count looked fully sixty,though he was but fifty years of age; he was undersized, and he lookedshrunk and shrivelled; he was nearly bald, and his long whiskers wereperfectly white. The cares of life had imprinted deep furrows on hisbrow, and told too plainly the story of a man who, having drained thechalice of life to the bottom, was now ready to shiver the goblet. AsFlorestan left the room the Count turned to Mascarin, and in the sameglacial tone observed, "And now, sir, explain this intrusion."

  Mascarin had often been rebuffed, but never so cruelly as this. Hisvanity was sorely wounded, for he was vain, as all are who think thatthey possess some hidden influence, and he felt his temper giving way.

  "Pompous idiot!" thought he; "we will see how he looks in a short time;"but his face did not betray this, and his manner remained cringingand obsequious. "You have heard my name, my lord, and I am a generalbusiness agent."

  The Count was deceived by the honest accents which long practicehad taught Mascarin to use, and he had neither a suspicion nor apresentiment.

  "Ah!" said he majestically, "a business agent, are you? I presume youcome on behalf of one of my creditors. Well, sir, as I have before toldthese people, your errand is a futile one. Why do they worry me when Iunhesitatingly pay the extravagant interest they are pleased to demand?They know that they are all knaves. They are aware that I am rich, for Ihave inherited a great fortune, which is certainly without encumbrance;for though I could raise a million to-morrow upon my estates inPoitiers, I have up to this time not chosen to do so."

  Mascarin had at length so recovered his self-command that he listened tothis speech without a word, hoping to gain some information from it.

  "You may tell this," continued the Count, "to those by whom you areemployed."

  "Excuse me, my lord--"

  "But what?"

  "I cannot allow--"

  "I have nothing more to say; all will be settled as I promised, when Ipay my daughter's dowry. You are aware that she will shortly be unitedto M. de Breulh-Faverlay."

  There was no mistaking the order to go, contained in these words,but Mascarin did not offer to do so, but readjusting his spectacles,remarked in a perfectly calm voice,--

  "It is this marriage that has brought me here."

  The Count thought that his ears had deceived him. "What are you saying?"said he.

  "I say," repeated the agent, "that I am sent to you in connection withthis same marriage."

  Neither the doctor nor Florestan had exaggerated the violence of theCount's temper. Upon hearing his daughter's name and marriage mentionedby this man, his face grew crimson and his eyes gleamed with a luridfire.

  "Get out of this!" cried he, angrily.

  But this was an order that Mascarin had no intention of obeying.

  "I assure you that what I have to say is of the utmost importance," saidhe.

  This speech put the finishing touch to the Count's fury.

  "You won't go, won't you?" said he; and in spite of the pain that at themoment evidently oppressed him, he stepped to the bell, but was arrestedby Mascarin, uttering in a warning voice the words,--

  "Take care; if you ring that bell, you will regret it to the last day ofyour life."

  This was too much for the Count's patience, and letting go the bellrope, he snatched up a walking cane that was leaning against thechimneypiece, and made a rush toward his visitor. But Mascarin did notmove or lift his hand in self-defence, contenting himself with sayingcalmly,--

  "No violence, Count; remember Montlouis."

  At this name the Count grew livid, and dropping the cane from hisnerveless hand staggered back a pace or two. Had a spectre suddenlystood up before him with threatening hand, he could not have been morehorrified.

  "Montlouis!" he murmured; "Montlouis!"

  But now Mascarin, thoroughly assured of the value of his weapon, hadresumed all his humbleness of demeanor.

  "Believe me, my lord," said he, "that I only mentioned this name onaccount of the immediate danger that threatens you."

  The Count hardly seemed to pay attention to his visitor's words.

  "It was not I," continued Mascarin, "who devised the project of bringingagainst you an act which was perhaps a mere accident. I am only aplenipotentiary from persons I despise, to you, for whom I entertain thevery highest respect."

  By this time the Count had somewhat recovered himself.

  "I really do not understand you," said he, in a tone he vainlyendeavored to render calm. "My sudden emotion is only too easilyexplained. I had a sad misfortune. I accidentally shot my secretary, andthe poor young man bore the name you just now mentioned; but the courtacquitted me of all blame in the matter."

  The smile upon Mascarin's face was so full of sarcasm that the Countbroke off.

  "Those who sent me here," remarked the agent, slowly, "are wellacquainted with the evidence produced in court; but unfortunately, theyknow the real facts, which certain honorable gentlemen had sense toconceal at any risk."

  Again the Count started, but Mascarin went on implacably,--

  "But reassure yourself, your friend did not betray you voluntarily.Providence, in her inscrutable decrees----"

  The Count shuddered.

  "In short, sir, in short----"

  Up to this time Mascarin had remained standing, but now that he saw thathis position was fully established, he drew up a chair and sat down.The Count grew more livid at this insolent act, but made no comment, andthis entirely removed any doubts from the agent's mind.

  "The event to which I have alluded has two eye-witnesses, the Baron deClinchain, and a servant, named Ludovic Trofin, now in the employ of theCount du Commarin."

  "I did not know what had become of Trofin."

  "Perhaps not, but my people do. When he swore to keep the matter secret,he was unmarried, but a few years later, having entered the bonds ofmatrimony, he told all to his young wife. This woman turned out badly;she had several lovers, and
through one of them the matter came to myemployer's ears."

  "And it was on the word of a lackey, and the gossip of a dissolutewoman, that they have dared to accuse me."

  No word of direct accusation had passed, and yet the Count sought todefend himself.

  Mascarin saw all this, and smiled inwardly, as he replied, "We haveother evidence than that of Ludovic."

  "But," said the Count, who was sure of the fidelity of his friend, "youdo not, I suppose, pretend that the Baron de Clinchain has deceived me?"

  The state of mental anxiety and perturbation into which this man of theworld had been thrown must have been very intense for him not tohave perceived that every word he uttered put a fresh weapon in hisadversary's hands.

  "He has not denounced you by word of mouth," replied the agent. "He hasdone far more; he has written his testimony."

  "It is a lie," exclaimed the Count.

  Mascarin was not disturbed by this insult.

  "The Baron has written," repeated he, "though he never thought that anyeye save his own would read what he had penned. As you are aware,the Baron de Clinchain is a most methodical man, and punctilious to adegree."

  "I allow that; continue."

  "Consequently you will not be surprised to learn that from his earliestyears he has kept a diary, and each day he puts down in the most minutemanner everything that has occurred, even to the different conditions ofhis bodily health."

  The Count knew of his friend's foible, and remembered that when theywere young many a practical joke had been played upon his friend on thisaccount, and now he began to perceive the dangerous ground upon which hestood.

  "On hearing the facts of the case from Ludovic's wife's lover,"continued Mascarin, "my employers decided that if the tale was a trueone, some mention of it would be found in the Baron's diary; and thanksto the ingenuity and skill of certain parties, they have had in theirpossession for twenty-four hours the volume for the year 1842."

  "Scoundrels!" muttered the Count.

  "They find not only one, but three distinct statements relating to theaffair in question."

  The Count started again to his feet with so menacing a look, that theworthy Mascarin pushed back his chair in anticipation of an immediateassault.

  "Proofs!" gasped the Count. "Give me proofs."

  "Everything has been provided for, and the three leaves by which you areso deeply compromised have been cut from the book."

  "Where are these pages?"

  Mascarin at once put on an air of injured innocence.

  "I have not seen them, but the leaves have been photographed, and aprint has been entrusted to me, in order to enable you to recognize thewriting."

  As he spoke he produced three specimens of the photographic art,wonderfully clear and full of fidelity. The Count examined them with theutmost attention, and then in a voice which trembled with emotion, hesaid, "True enough, it is his handwriting."

  Not a line upon Mascarin's face indicated the delight with which hereceived this admission.

  "Before continuing the subject," he observed placidly, "I consider itnecessary for you to understand the position taken up by the Baron deClinchain. Do you wish, my lord, to read these extracts, or shall I doso for you?"

  "Read," answered the Count, adding in a lower voice, "I cannot see to doso."

  Mascarin drew his chair nearer to the lights on the table. "I perceive,"said he, "that the first entry was made on the evening after the--well,the accident. This is it: 'October 26, 1842. Early this morning wentout shooting with Octave de Mussidan. We were accompanied by Ludovic, agroom, and by a young man named Montlouis, whom Octave intends one dayto make his steward. It was a splendid day, and by twelve o'clock I hadkilled a leash of hares. Octave was in excellent spirits, and by oneo'clock we were in a thick cover not far from Bevron. I and Ludovic werea few yards in front of the others, when angry voices behind attractedour attention. Octave and Montlouis were arguing violently, and allat once the Count struck his future steward a violent blow. In anothermoment Montlouis came up to me. 'What is the matter?' cried I. Insteadof replying to my question, the unhappy young man turned back tohis master, uttering a series of threats. Octave had evidently beenreproaching him for some low intrigue he had been engaged in, andwas reflecting upon the character of the woman. 'At any rate,' criedMontlouis, 'she is quite as virtuous as Madame de Mussidan was beforeher marriage.'"

  "'As Octave heard these words, he raised the loaded gun he held in hishand and fired. Montlouis fell to the ground, bathed in blood. Weall ran up to him, but he was quite dead, for the charge of shot hadpenetrated his heart. I was almost beside myself, but Octave's despairwas terrible to witness. Tearing his hair, he knelt beside the dead man.Ludovic, however, maintained his calmness. "We must say that it was anaccident," observed he quickly. "Thinking that Montlouis was not near,my master fired into cover."

  "'This was agreed to, and we carefully arranged what we should say. Itwas I who went before the magistrate and made a deposition, which wasunhesitatingly received. But, oh, what a fearful day! My pulse is ateighty, and I feel I shall not sleep all night. Octave is half mad, andHeaven knows what will become of him.'"

  The Count, from the depths of his armchair, listened without apparentemotion to this terrible revelation. He was quite crushed, and wassearching for some means to exorcise the green spectre of the past,which had so suddenly confronted him. Mascarin never took his eyes offhim. All at once the Count roused himself from his prostration, as a manawakes from a hideous dream. "This is sheer folly," cried he.

  "It is folly," answered Mascarin, "that would carry much weight withit."

  "And suppose I were to show you," returned the Count, "that all theseentries are the offspring of a diseased mind?"

  Mascarin shook his head with an air of affected grief. "There is nouse, my lord, in indulging in vain hopes. We," he continued, wishingto associate himself with the Count, "we might of course admit thatthe Baron de Clinchain had made this entry in his diary in a moment oftemporary insanity, were it not for the painful fact that there wereothers. Le me read them."

  "Go on; I am all attention."

  "We find the following, three days later: 'Oct. 29th, 1842. I am mostuneasy about my health. I feel shooting pains in all my joints. Thederangement of my system arises entirely from this business of Octave's.I had to run the gauntlet of a second court, and the judge's eyes seemedto look me through and through. I also saw with much alarm that mysecond statement differs somewhat from the first one, so I havenow learned it by heart. Ludovic is a sharp fellow, and quiteself-possessed. I would like to have him in my household. I keep myselfshut up in my house for fear of meeting friends who want to hear all thedetails of the accident. I believe I may say that I have repeated thestory more than a couple of dozen times.' Now, my lord," added Mascarin,"what do you say to this?"

  "Continue the reading of the extracts."

  "The third allusion, though it is short, is still very important:'November 3rd, 1842. Thank Heaven! all is over. I have just returnedfrom the court. Octave has been acquitted. Ludovic had behavedwonderfully. He explained the reason of the misadventure in a way thatwas really surprising in an uneducated man, and there was not an atomof suspicion among judge, jury, or spectators. I have changed my mind;I would not have a fellow like Ludovic in my service; he is much toosharp. When I had been duly sworn, I gave my evidence. Though I was muchagitated, I went through it all right; but when I got home I feltvery ill, and discovered that my pulse was down to fifty. Ah, me! whatterrible misfortunes are wrought by a momentary burst of anger. I nowwrite this sentence in my diary: _"Never give way to first impulses."_'These words," continued Mascarin, "were inscribed on every one of thepages following,--at least so those who examined the entries informedme."

  Mascarin persisted in representing himself as the agent of others, butstill the Count made no allusion to the persons in the background.

  After a few moments the Count rose and limped up and down, as though hehoped by this means t
o collect his ideas, or perhaps in order to preventhis visitor from scanning his face too closely.

  "Have you done?" asked he, all at once.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Have you thought what an impartial judge would say?"

  "I think I have."

  "He would say," broke in the Count, "that no sane man would have writtensuch things down, for there are certain secrets which we do not whispereven to ourselves, and it is hardly likely that any man would make suchcompromising entries in a diary which might be lost or stolen, and whichwould certainly be read by his heir. Do you think that a man of highposition would record his perjury, which is a crime that would send himto penal servitude?"

  Mascarin gazed upon the Count with an air of pity.

  "You are not going the right way, my lord, to get out of your trouble.No lawyer would adopt your theory. If the remaining volumes of M. deClinchain's diaries were produced in court, I imagine that other equallystartling entries would be found in them."

  The Count now appeared to have arrived at some decision, and to continuethe conversation simply for the purpose of gaining time.

  "Well," said he, "I will give up this idea; but how do I know thatthese documents are not forgeries? Nowadays, handwritings are easilyfacsimilied, when even bankers find it hard to distinguish between theirown notes and counterfeit ones."

  "That can be settled by seeing if certain leaves are missing from theBaron's diary."

  "That does not prove much."

  "Pardon me, it proves a great deal. This new line of argument, I assureyou, will avail you as little as the other. I am perfectly aware thatthe Baron de Clinchain will utter whatever words you may place in hismouth. Let us suppose that the leaves which have been torn out shouldfit into the book exactly. Would not that be a strong point?"

  The Count smiled ironically, as though he had a crushing reply inreserve.

  "And so this is your opinion, is it?" said he.

  "It is indeed."

  "Then all I have to do is to plead guilty. I did kill Montlouis, justas Clinchain describes, but----" and as he spoke he took a heavy volumefrom a shelf, and opening it at a certain place laid it before Mascarin,remarking,--"this is the criminal code; read. 'All proceedings incriminal law shall be cancelled after a lapse of ten years.'"

  The Count de Mussidan evidently thought that he had crushed hisadversary by this shattering blow; but it was not so, for instead ofexhibiting any surprise, Mascarin's smile was as bland as ever.

  "I, too, know a little of the law," said he. "The very first day thismatter was brought to me, I turned to this page and read what you havejust shown me to my employers."

  "And what did they say?"

  "That they knew all this, but that you would be glad to compromise theaffair, even at the expense of half your fortune."

  The agent's manner was so confident that the Count felt they haddiscovered some means of turning this crime of his early days toadvantage; but he was still sufficiently master of himself to show noemotion.

  "No," replied he, "it is not such an easy matter as you think to gethold of half my fortune. I fancy that your friends' demands will assumea more modest tone, the more so when I repeat that these morsels ofpaper, stolen from my friend's diary, are absolutely worthless."

  "Do you think so?"

  "Certainly, for the law on this matter speaks plainly enough."

  Mascarin readjusted his glasses, a sure indication that he was going tomake an important reply.

  "You are quite right, my lord," said he, slowly. "There is no intentionof taking you before any court, for there is no penalty now for a crimecommitted twenty-three years ago; but the miserable wretches whom Iblush to act for have arranged a plan which will be disagreeable in thehighest degree both for you and the Baron."

  "Pray tell me what this clever plan is."

  "Most certainly. I came here to-day for this very purpose. Let us firstconclude that you have rejected the request with which I approachedyou."

  "Do you call this style of thing a request?"

  "What is the use of quarrelling over words. Well, to-morrow, myclients--though I am ashamed to speak of them as such--will send toa well known morning paper a tale, with the title, 'Story of a Day'sShooting.' Of course only initials will be used for the names, but nodoubt will exist as to the identity of the actors in the tragedy."

  "You forget that in actions for libel proofs are not admitted."

  Mascarin shrugged his shoulders.

  "My employers forget nothing," remarked he; "and it is upon this verypoint that they have based their plans For this reason they introduceinto the matter a fifth party, of course an accomplice, whose name isintroduced into the story in the paper. Upon the day of its appearance,this man lodges a complaint against the journal, and insists on provingin a court of justice, that he did not form one of the shooting-party."

  "Well, what happens then?"

  "Then, my lord, this man insists that the journal should give aretraction of the injurious statement and summons as witnesses bothyourself and the Baron de Clinchain, and as a conclusion, Ludovic;and as he claims damages, he employs a lawyer, who is one of theconfederates and behind the scenes. The lawyer will speak something tothis effect: 'That the Count de Mussidan is clearly a murderer; thatthe Baron de Clinchain is a perjurer, as proved by his own handwriting;Ludovic has been tampered with, but my client, an honorable man, mustnot be classed with these, etc., etc.' Have I made myself understood?"

  Indeed, he had, and with such cold and merciless logic that it seemedhopeless to expect to escape from the net that had been spread.

  As these thoughts passed through the Count's brain, he saw at a glancethe whole terrible notoriety that the case would cause, and societygloating over the details. Yet such was the obstinacy of hisdisposition, and so impatient was he of control, that the more desperatehis position seemed, the fiercer was his resistance. He knew the worldwell, and he also knew that the cutthroats who demanded his money withthreats had every reason to dread the lynx eye of the law. If he refusedto listen to them, as his heart urged him, perhaps they would not dareto carry out their threats. Had he alone been concerned in the matter,he would have resisted to the last, and fought it out to the last dropof his blood, and as a preliminary, would have beaten the sneering roguebefore him to a jelly; but how dared he expose his friend Clinchain, whohad already braved so much for him? As he paced up and down the library,these and many other thoughts swept across his brain, and he wasundecided whether to submit to these extortions or throw the agent outof the window. His excited demeanor and the occasional interjectionsthat burst from his lips showed Mascarin that the account of him wasnot exaggerated, and that when led by passion he would as soon shoota fellow-creature as a rabbit. And yet, though he knew not whether heshould make his exit by the door or the window, he sat twirling hisfingers with the most unconcerned air imaginable. At last the Count gaveear to prudence. He stopped in front of the agent, and, taking no painsto hide his contempt, said,--

  "Come, let us make an end of this. How much do you want for thesepapers?"

  "Oh, my lord!" exclaimed Mascarin; "surely you do not think that I couldbe guilty----?"

  M. de Mussidan shrugged his shoulders. "Pray, do not take me for afool," said he, "but name your sum."

  Mascarin seemed a little embarrassed, and hesitated. "We don't wantmoney," answered he at length.

  "Not money!" replied the Count.

  "We want something that is of no importance to you, but of the utmostvalue to those who despatched me here. I am commissioned to inform youthat my clients desire that you should break off the engagement betweenyour daughter and M. de Breulh-Faverlay, and that the missing paper willbe handed to you on the completion of her marriage with any else whomyou may deem worthy of such an honor."

  This demand, which was utterly unexpected, so astonished the Count thathe could only exclaim, "Why, this is absolute madness!"

  "No; it is plain, good sense, and a _bona fide_ offer."
r />   An idea suddenly flashed across the Count's mind. "Is it yourintention," asked he, "to furnish me with a son-in-law too?"

  "I am sure, my lord," answered Mascarin, looking the picture ofdisinterested honesty, "that, even to save yourself, you would neversacrifice your daughter."

  "But--"

  "You are entirely mistaken; it is M. de Breulh-Faverlay whom my clientswish to strike at, for they have taken an oath that he shall never wed alady with a million for her dowry."

  So surprised was the Count, that the whole aspect of the interviewseemed to have changed, and he now combated his own objections insteadof those of his unwelcome visitor. "M. de Breulh-Faverlay has mypromise," remarked he; "but of course it is easy to find a pretext. TheCountess, however, is in favor of the match, and the chief opposition toany change will come from her."

  Mascarin did not think it wise to make any reply, and the Countcontinued, "My daughter also may not view this rupture withsatisfaction."

  Thanks to the information he had received from Florestan, Mascarin knewhow much importance to attach to this. "Mademoiselle, at her age andwith her tastes, is not likely to have her heart seriously engaged." Forfully a quarter of an hour the Count still hesitated. He knew that hewas entirely at the mercy of those miscreants, and his pride revolted atthe idea of submission; but at length he yielded.

  "I agree," said he. "My daughter shall not marry M. de Breulh-Faverlay."

  Even in his hour of triumph, Mascarin's face did not change. He bowedprofoundly, and left the room; but as he descended the stairs, he rubbedhis hands, exclaiming, "If the doctor has made as good a job of it as Ihave, success is certain."