Clubin crossed his arms, still showing the barrels of his revolver.
“Rantaine, what do you take me for? I am an honest man.”
And he added after a pause:
“I must have the whole.”
Rantaine muttered between his teeth, “This fellow’s of a stern sort.”
The eye of Clubin lighted up, his voice became clear and sharp as steel. He cried:
“I see that you are labouring under a mistake. Robbery is your name, not mine. My name is Restitution. Hark you, Rantaine. Ten years ago you left Guernsey one night, taking with you the cashbox of a certain partnership concern, containing fifty thousand francs which belonged to you, but forgetting to leave behind you fifty thousand francs which were the property of another. Those fifty thousand francs, the money of your partner, the excellent and worthy Mess Lethierry, make at present, at compound interest, calculated for ten years, eighty thousand six hundred and sixty-six francs. You went into a money-changer’s yesterday. I’ll give you his name—Rébuchet, in St. Vincent Street. You counted out to him seventy-six thousand francs in French banknotes; in exchange for which he gave you three notes of the Bank of England for one thousand pounds sterling each, plus the exchange. You put these banknotes in the iron tobacco-box, and the iron tobacco-box into your double fob on the right-hand side. On the part of Mess Lethierry, I shall be content with that. I start tomorrow for Guernsey, and intend to hand it to him. Rantaine, the three-master lying-to out yonder is the Tamaulipas. You have had your luggage put aboard there with the other things belonging to the crew. You want to leave France. You have your reasons. You are going to Arequipa. The boat is coming to fetch you. You are awaiting it. It is at hand. You can hear it. It depends on me whether you go or stay. No more words. Fling me the tobacco-box.”
Rantaine dipped his hand in the fob, drew out a little box, and threw it to Clubin. It was the iron tobacco-box. It fell and rolled at Clubin’s feet.
Clubin knelt without lowering his gaze; felt about for the box with his left hand, keeping all the while his eyes and the six barrels of the revolver fixed upon Rantaine.
Then he cried:
“Turn your back, my friend.”
Rantaine turned his back.
Sieur Clubin put the revolver under one arm, and touched the spring of the tobacco-box. The lid flew open.
It contained four banknotes; three of a thousand pounds, and one of ten pounds.
He folded up the three banknotes of a thousand pounds each, replaced them in the iron tobacco-box, shut the lid again, and put it in his pocket.
Then he picked up a stone, wrapped it in the ten-pound note, and said:
“You may turn round again.”
Rantaine turned.
Sieur Clubin continued:
“I told you I would be contented with three thousand pounds. Here, I return you ten pounds.”
And he threw to Rantaine the note enfolding the stone.
Rantaine, with a movement of his foot, sent the banknote and the stone into the sea.
“As you please,” said Clubin. “You must be rich. I am satisfied.”
The noise of oars, which had been continually drawing nearer during the dialogue, ceased. They knew by this that the boat had arrived at the base of the cliff.
“Your vehicle waits below. You can go, Rantaine.”
Rantaine advanced towards the steps of stones, and rapidly disappeared.
Clubin moved cautiously towards the edge of the escarpment, and watched him descending.
The boat had stopped near the last stage of the rocks, at the very spot where the coastguardman had fallen.
Still observing Rantaine stepping from stone to stone, Clubin muttered:
“A good number 619. He thought himself alone. Rantaine thought there were only two there. I alone knew that there were three.”
He perceived at his feet the telescope which had dropped from the hands of the coastguardman.
The sound of oars was heard again. Rantaine had stepped into the boat, and the rowers had pushed out to sea.
When Rantaine was safely in the boat, and the cliff was beginning to recede from his eyes, he arose again abruptly. His features were convulsed with rage; he clenched his fist and cried:
“Ha! he is the devil himself; a villain!”
A few seconds later, Clubin, from the top of the rock, while bringing his telescope to bear upon the boat, heard distinctly the following words articulated by a loud voice, and mingling with the noise of the sea:
“Sieur Clubin, you are an honest man; but you will not be offended if I write to Lethierry to acquaint him with this matter; and we have here in the boat a sailor from Guernsey, who is one of the crew of the Tamaulipas; his name is Ahier-Tostevin, and he will return to St. Malo on Zuela’s next voyage, to bear testimony to the fact of my having returned to you, on Mess Lethierry’s account, the sum of three thousand pounds sterling.”
It was Rantaine’s voice.
Clubin rarely did things by halves. Motionless as the coastguardman had been, and in the exact same place, his eye still at the telescope, he did not lose sight of the boat for one moment. He saw it growing less amidst the waves; watched it disappear and reappear, and approach the vessel, which was lying-to; finally he recognised the tall figure of Rantaine on the deck of the Tamaulipas.
When the boat was raised, and slung again to the davits, the Tamaulipas was in motion once more. The land-breeze was fresh, and she spread all her sails. Clubin’s glass continued fixed upon her outline growing more and more indistinct; until half an hour later, when the Tamaulipas had become only a dark shape upon the horizon, growing smaller and smaller against the pale twilight in the sky.
IX
Useful Information for Persons Who Expect or Fear the Arrival of Letters from Beyond Sea
On that evening, Sieur Clubin returned late.
One of the causes of his delay was, that before going to his inn, he had paid a visit to the Dinan
