clamorously offered their services to the lady who had come among them.
When the individual Israelite to whom she applied saw the pearls, he
appeared to take leave of his senses. He screamed; he clapped his hands;
he called upon his wife, his children, his sisters, his lodgers, to come
and feast their eyes on such a necklace as had never been seen since
Solomon received the Queen of Sheba.
The first excitement having worn itself out, a perfect volley of
questions followed. What was the lady's name? Where did she live? How had
she got the necklace? Had it been given to her? and, if so, who had given
it? Where had it been made? Why had she brought it to the Judengasse? Did
she want to sell it? or to borrow money on it? Aha! To borrow money on
it. Very good, very good indeed; but--and then the detestable invitation
to produce the reference made itself heard once more.
Madame Fontaine's answer was well conceived. "I will pay you good
interest, in place of a reference," she said. Upon this, the Jewish
excitability, vibrating between the desire of gain and the terror of
consequences, assumed a new form. Some of them groaned; some of them
twisted their fingers frantically in their hair; some of them called on
the Deity worshipped by their fathers to bear witness how they had
suffered, by dispensing with references in other cases of precious
deposits; one supremely aged and dirty Jew actually suggested placing an
embargo on the lady and her necklace, and sending information to the city
authorities at the Town Hall. In the case of a timid woman, this sage's
advice might actually have been followed. Madame Fontaine preserved her
presence of mind, and left the Judengasse as freely as she had entered
it. "I can borrow the money elsewhere," she said haughtily at parting.
"Yes," cried a chorus of voices, answering, "you can borrow of a receiver
of stolen goods."
It was only too true! The extraordinary value of the pearls demanded, on
that account, extraordinary precautions on the part of moneylenders of
every degree. Madame Fontaine put back the necklace in the drawer of her
toilette-table. The very splendor of Minna's bridal gift made it useless
as a means of privately raising money among strangers.
And yet, the money must be found--at any risk, under any circumstances,
no matter how degrading or how dangerous they might be.
With that desperate resolution, she went to her bed. Hour after hour she
heard the clock strike. The faint cold light of the new day found her
still waking and thinking, and still unprepared with a safe plan for
meeting the demand on her, when the note became due. As to resources of
her own, the value of the few jewels and dresses that she possessed did
not represent half the amount of her debt.
It was a busy day at the office. The work went on until far into the
evening.
Even when the household assembled at the supper-table, there was an
interruption. A messenger called with a pressing letter, which made it
immediately necessary to refer to the past correspondence of the firm.
Mr. Keller rose from the table. "The Abstracts will rake up less time to
examine," he said to Mrs. Wagner; "you have them in your desk, I think?"
She at once turned to Jack, and ordered him to produce the key. He took
it from his bag, under the watchful eyes of Madame Fontaine, observing
him from the opposite side of the table. "I should have preferred opening
the desk myself," Jack remarked when Mr. Keller had left the room; "but I
suppose I must give way to the master. Besides, he hates me."
The widow was quite startled by this strong assertion. "How can you say
so?" she exclaimed. "We all like you, Jack. Come and have a little wine,
out of my glass."
Jack refused this proposal. "I don't want wine," he said; "I am sleepy
and cold--I want to go to bed."
Madame Fontaine was too hospitably inclined to take No for an answer.
"Only a little drop," she pleaded. "You look so cold."
"Surely you forget what I told you?" Mrs. Wagner interposed. "Wine first
excites, and then stupefies him. The last time I tried it, he was as dull
and heavy as if I had given him laudanum. I thought I mentioned it to
you." She turned to Jack. "You look sadly tired, my poor little man. Go
to bed at once."
"Without the key?" cried Jack indignantly. "I hope I know my duty better
than that."
Mr. Keller returned, perfectly satisfied with the result of his
investigation. "I knew it!" he said. "The mistake is on the side of our
clients; I have sent them the proof of it."
He handed back the key to Mrs. Wagner. She at once transferred it to
Jack. Mr. Keller shook his head in obstinate disapproval. "Would you run
such a risk as that?" he said to Madame Fontaine, speaking in French. "I
should be afraid," she replied in the same language. Jack secured the key
in his bag, kissed his mistress's hand, and approached the door on his
way to bed. "Won't you wish me good-night?" said the amiable widow. "I
didn't know whether German or English would do for you," Jack answered;
"and I can't speak your unknown tongue.
He made one of his fantastic bows, and left the room. "Does he understand
French?" Madame Fontaine asked. "No," said Mrs. Wagner; "he only
understood that you and Mr. Keller had something to conceal from him."
In due course of time the little party at the supper-table rose, and
retired to their rooms. The first part of the night passed as tranquilly
as usual. But, between one and two in the morning, Mrs. Wagner was
alarmed by a violent beating against her door, and a shrill screaming in
Jack's voice. "Let me in! I want a light--I've lost the keys!"
She called out to him to be quiet, while she put on her dressing-gown,
and struck a light. They were fortunately on the side of the house
occupied by the offices, the other inhabited bedchambers being far enough
off to be approached by a different staircase. Still, in the silence of
the night, Jack's reiterated cries of terror and beatings at the door
might possibly reach the ears of a light sleeper. She pulled him into the
room and closed the door again, with an impetuosity that utterly
confounded him. "Sit down there, and compose yourself!" she said sternly.
"I won't give you the light until you are perfectly quiet. You disgrace
_me_ if you disturb the house."
Between cold and terror, Jack shuddered from head to foot. "May I
whisper?" he asked, with a look of piteous submission.
Mrs. Wagner pointed to the last living embers in the fireplace. She knew
by experience the tranquilizing influence of giving him something to do.
"Rake the fire together," she said; "and warm yourself first."
He obeyed, and then laid himself down in his dog-like way on the rug. A
quarter of an hour, at least, passed before his mistress considered him
to be in a fit state to tell his story. There was little or nothing to
relate. He had put his bag under his pillow as usual; and (after a long
sleep) he had woke with a horrid fear that something had happened to the
keys. He had felt in vain
for them under the pillow, and all over the
bed, and all over the floor. "After that," he said, "the horrors got hold
of me; and I am afraid I went actually mad, for a little while. I'm all
right now, if you please. See! I'm as quiet as a bird with its head under
its wing."
Mrs. Wagner took the light, and led the way to his little room, close by
her own bedchamber. She lifted the pillow--and there lay the leather bag,
exactly where he had placed it when he went to bed.
Jack's face, when this discovery revealed itself, would have pleaded for
mercy with a far less generous woman than Mrs. Wagner. She took his hand.
"Get into bed again," she said kindly; "and the next time you dream, try
not to make a noise about it."
No! Jack refused to get into bed again, until he had been heard in his
own defense. He dropped on his knees, and held up his clasped hands, as
if he was praying.
"When you first taught me to say my prayers," he answered, "you said God
would hear me. As God hears me now Mistress, I was wide awake when I put
my hand under the pillow--and the bag was not there. Do you believe me?"
Mrs. Wagner was strongly impressed by the simple fervor of this
declaration. It was no mere pretense, when she answered that she did
believe him. At her suggestion, the bag was unstrapped and examined. Not
only the unimportant keys (with another one added to their number) but
the smaller key which opened her desk were found safe inside. "We will
talk about it to-morrow," she said. Having wished him good-night, she
paused in the act of opening the door, and looked at the lock. There was
no key in it, but there was another protection in the shape of a bolt
underneath. "Did you bolt your door when you went to bed?" she asked.
"No."
The obvious suspicion, suggested by this negative answer, crossed her
mind.
"What has become of the key of your door?" she inquired next.
Jack hung his head. "I put it along with the other keys," he confessed,
"to make the bag look bigger."
Alone again in her own room, Mrs. Wagner stood by the reanimated fire,
thinking.
While Jack was asleep, any person, with a soft step and a delicate hand,
might have approached his bedside, when the house was quiet for the
night, and have taken his bag. And, again, any person within hearing of
the alarm that he had raised, some hours afterwards, might have put the
bag back, while he was recovering himself in Mrs. Wagner's room. Who
could have been near enough to hear the alarm? Somebody in the empty
bedrooms above? Or somebody in the solitary offices below? If a theft had
really been committed, the one likely object of it would be the key of
the desk. This pointed to the probability that the alarm had reached the
ears of the thief in the offices. Was there any person in the house, from
the honest servants upwards, whom it would be reasonably possible to
suspect of theft? Mrs. Wagner returned to her bed. She was not a woman to
be daunted by trifles--but on this occasion her courage failed her when
she was confronted by her own question.
CHAPTER X
The office hours, in the winter-time, began at nine o'clock. From the
head-clerk to the messenger, not one of the persons employed slept in the
house: it was Mr. Keller's wish that they should all be absolutely free
to do what they liked with their leisure time in the evening: "I know
that I can trust them, from the oldest to the youngest man in my
service," he used to say; "and I like to show it."
Under these circumstances, Mrs. Wagner had only to rise earlier than
usual, to be sure of having the whole range of the offices entirely to
herself. At eight o'clock, with Jack in attendance, she was seated at her
desk, carefully examining the different objects that it contained.
Nothing was missing; nothing had been moved out of its customary place.
No money was kept in the desk. But her valuable watch, which had stopped
on the previous day, had been put there, to remind her that it must be
sent to be cleaned. The watch, like everything else, was found in its
place. If some person had really opened her desk in the night, no common
thief had been concerned, and no common object had been in view.
She took the key of the iron safe from its pigeon-hole, and opened the
door. Her knowledge of the contents of this repository was far from being
accurate. The partners each possessed a key, but Mr. Keller had many more
occasions than Mrs. Wagner for visiting the safe. And to make a
trustworthy examination more difficult still, the mist of the early
morning was fast turning into a dense white fog.
Of one thing, however, Mrs. Wagner was well aware--a certain sum of
money, in notes and securities, was always kept in this safe as a reserve
fund. She took the tin box in which the paper money was placed close to
the light, and counted its contents. Then, replacing it in the safe, she
opened the private ledger next, to compare the result of her counting
with the entry relating to the Fund.
Being unwilling to cause surprise, perhaps to excite suspicion, by
calling for a candle before the office hours had begun, she carried the
ledger also to the window. There was just light enough to see the sum
total in figures. To her infinite relief, it exactly corresponded with
the result of her counting. She secured everything again in its proper
place; and, after finally locking the desk, handed the key to Jack. He
shook his head, and refused to take it. More extraordinary still, he
placed his bag, with all the other keys in it, on the desk, and said,
"Please keep it for me; I'm afraid to keep it myself."
Mrs. Wagner looked at him with a first feeling of alarm, which changed
instantly to compassion. The tears were in his eyes; his sensitive vanity
was cruelly wounded. "My poor boy," she said gently, "what is it that
troubles you?"
The tears rolled down Jack's face. "I'm a wretched creature," he said;
"I'm not fit to keep the keys, after letting a thief steal them last
night. Take them back, Mistress--I'm quite broken-hearted. Please try me
again, in London."
"A thief?" Mrs. Wagner repeated. "Haven't you seen me examine everything?
And mind, if there _had_ been any dishonest person about the house last
night, the key of my desk is the only key that a thief would have thought
worth stealing. I happen to be sure of that. Come! come! don't be
down-hearted. You know I never deceive you--and I say you are quite wrong
in suspecting that your bag was stolen last night."
Jack solemnly lifted his hand, as his custom was in the great emergencies
of his life. "And _I_ say," he reiterated, "there is a thief in the
house. And you will find it out before long. When we are back in London
again, I will be Keeper of the Keys. Never, never, never more, here!"
It was useless to contend with him; the one wise course was to wait until
his humor changed. Mrs. Wagner locked up his bag, and put the key of the
desk back in her pocket. She was not very willing to own it even to
herself--Jac
k's intense earnestness had a little shaken her.
After breakfast that morning, Minna lingered at the table, instead of
following her mother upstairs as usual. When Mr. Keller also had left the
room, she addressed a little request of her own to Mrs. Wagner.
"I have got a very difficult letter to write," she said, "and Fritz
thought you might be kind enough to help me."
"With the greatest pleasure, my dear. Does your mother know of this
letter?"
"Yes; it was mamma who said I ought to write it. But she is going out
this morning; and, when I asked for a word of advice, she shook her head.
'They will think it comes from me,' she said, 'and the whole effect of it
will be spoilt.' It's a letter, Mrs. Wagner, announcing my marriage to
mamma's relations here, who have behaved so badly to her--and she says
they may do something for me, if I write to them as if I had done it all
out of my own head. I don't know whether I make myself understood?"
"Perfectly, Minna. Come to my writing-room, and we will see what we can
do together."
Mrs. Wagner led the way out. As she opened the door, Madame Fontaine
passed her in the hall, in walking costume, with a small paper-packet in
her hand.
"There is a pen, Minna. Sit down by me, and write what I tell you."
The ink-bottle had been replenished by the person charged with that duty;
and he had filled it a little too full. In a hurry to write the first
words dictated, Minna dipped her pen too deeply in the bottle. On
withdrawing it she not only blotted the paper but scattered some of the
superfluous ink over the sleeve of Mrs. Wagner's dress. "Oh, how awkward
I am!" she exclaimed. "Excuse me for one minute. Mamma has got something
in her dressing-case which will take out the marks directly."
She ran upstairs, and returned with the powder which her mother had used,
in erasing the first sentences on the label attached to the blue-glass
bottle. Mrs. Wagner looked at the printed instructions on the little
paper box, when the stains had been removed from her dress, with some
curiosity. "Macula Exstinctor," she read, "or Destroyer of Stains.
Partially dissolve the powder in a teaspoonful of water; rub it well over
the place, and the stain will disappear, without taking out the color of
the dress. This extraordinary specific may also be used for erasing
written characters without in any way injuring the paper, otherwise than
by leaving a slight shine on the surface."
"Is this to be got in Frankfort?" asked Mrs. Wagner. "I only know
lemon-juice as a remedy against ink-marks, when I get them on my dress or
my fingers."
"Keep it, dear Mrs. Wagner. I can easily buy another box for mamma where
we got this one, at a chemist's in the Zeil. See how easily I can take
off the blot that I dropped on the paper! Unless you look very close, you
can hardly see the shine--and the ink has completely disappeared."
"Thank you, my dear. But your mother might meet with some little
accident, and might want your wonderful powder when I am out of the way.
Take it back when we have done our letter. And we will go to the chemist
together and buy another box in a day or two."
On the thirtieth of December, after dinner, Mr. Keller proposed a
toast--"Success to the adjourned wedding-day!" There was a general effort
to be cheerful, which was not rewarded by success. Nobody knew why; but
the fact remained that nobody was really merry.
On the thirty-first, there was more hard work at the office. The last day
of the old year was the day on which the balance was struck.
Towards noon, Mr. Keller appeared in Mrs. Wagner's office, and opened the
safe.
"We must see about the Reserve Fund," he said; "I will count the money,