“And now, my dear M. André,” said he blandly, “now that you know who I am, may I not hope that you will be more communicative?”
M. de Mussidan had not told his secret to the young artist, but he had said enough for him to feel that the detective was correct in his inference.
“Surely,” continued Lecoq, “we ought to be able to come to a more definite understanding, and I think that my openness should elicit some frankness on your side. I saw that you were watched by the very person that I was watching. For three days my men have followed you, and today I made up my mind that you could furnish me with the clue I am seeking.”
“I, sir?”
“For many years,” continued Lecoq, “I have been certain that an organized association of blackmailers exists in Paris; family differences, sin, shame, and sorrow are worked by these wretches like veritable gold mines, and bring them in enormous annual revenues.”
“Ah,” returned André, “I expected something of this kind.”
“Of course, when I was quite sure of these facts,” continued Lecoq, “I said to myself, ‘I will break up this gang;’ but it was easier said than done. There is one very peculiar thing about blackmailing. Those who carry it on are almost certain of doing so with impunity, for the victims will pay and not complain. Yes, I tell you that I have often found out these unhappy pigeons, but never could get one to speak.”
The detective was so indignant and acrimonious withal in his indignation, that André could not repress a smile.
“Very soon,” continued Lecoq, “I recognized the futility of my attempts, and the impossibility of reaching these scoundrels through their victims, and then I determined to strike at the plunderers themselves, but this was a scheme that took patience and time. I have waited my chance for three years, and for eighteen months one of my men has been in the service of the Marquis de Croisenois, and up to now this band of villains has cost the government over ten thousand francs. That superlative scoundrel, Mascarin, has put several white threads in my hair. I believe him to be Tantaine; yes, and Martin Rigal too. The idea of there being a means of communication between the banker’s house in the Rue Montmartre and the Servants’ Registry Office in the Rue Montorgueil only came into my head this morning. But this time they have gone too far, and I have them. I know them all, from the chief, Mascarin-Tantaine-Rigal, down to their lowest agent, Toto Chupin, and Paul Violaine, the docile puppet of their will. We will get hold of the whole gang, and neither Van Klopen nor Catenac will escape. Just now the latter is travelling about with the Duke de Champdoce and a fellow named Perpignan, and two of my sweet lads are close upon them, and send in almost hourly reports of what is going on. My trap has a tempting bait, the spring is strong, and we shall catch every one of them. And now do you still hesitate to confide all you know to me? I swear on my honor that I will respect as sacred what you tell me, no matter what may occur.”
André yielded, as did every person who came under the influence of this remarkable man and his strange and inexplicable fascination. If he hid anything from him today, would not Lecoq be acquainted with it tomorrow? And so, with the most perfect frankness, he told his story and everything that he knew.
“Now,” cried Lecoq, “I see it all clearly. Aha, they want to force young Gandelu to disappear with Rose, do they?”
Beneath his gold-rimmed spectacles his eyes flashed fiercely. He seemed to be occupied in drawing out his plan of campaign.
“From this moment,” said he, “be at ease. In another month Mademoiselle de Mussidan shall be your wife; this I promise you, and the promises of Lecoq are never broken.”
He paused for an instant, as though to collect his thoughts, and then continued—
“I can answer for all, except for your life. So many are interested in your disappearance from this world, that every effort will be made to get rid of you. Do not cease your caution for an instant. Never eat twice running at the same restaurant, throw away food that has the slightest strange taste. Avoid crowds in the street; do not get into a cab; never lean from a window before ascertaining that its supports are solid; in a word, fear and suspect everything.”
For a moment longer Lecoq detained the young artist.
“Tell me,” said he, “have you the mark of a wound on your shoulder or arm?”
“I have, sir; the scar of a very severe scald.”
“I thought so; yes, I was almost certain of it,” said Lecoq thoughtfully; and as he conducted the young man to the door, he took leave of him with the same words that Mascarin had often used to Paul—
“Farewell for the present, Duke de Champdoce.”
XXXIII
Through the Air
At these last words André turned round, but the door closed, and he heard the key grate in the lock. He passed through the outer office, where the superintendent, his two clerks, and his late adversary all seemed to gaze upon him with a glance of admiration and esteem.
He gained the open street.
What did those last words of Lecoq mean? He was a foundling, it is true; but what foundling has not had lofty aspirations, and felt that, for all he knew, he might be the scion of some noble house.
As soon as Lecoq thought that the coast was clear, he opened the door, and called the agent, Palot.
“My lad,” said the great man, “you saw that young man who went out just now? He is a noble fellow, full of good feeling and honor. I look upon him as my friend.”
Palot made a gesture signifying that henceforth his late antagonist was as something sacred
