The Count's Millions [63]
compliance with my request."
Madame Leon had hitherto been dumb with fear, but, conquering her weakness, she now decided to draw near and take part in the conversation. "How can you say that, my dear young lady?" she exclaimed. "You know that the count--God rest his soul!--was an extremely cautious man. I am certain that there is a will somewhere."
The magistrate's eyes were fixed on his ring. "It would be well to look, perhaps, before affixing the seals. You have a right to require this; so, if you wish----"
But she made no reply.
"Oh, yes!" insisted Madame Leon; "pray look, monsieur."
"But where should we be likely to find a will?"
"Certainly in this room--in this escritoire, or in one of the deceased count's cabinets."
The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but all the same he asked: "Where is the key to this escritoire?"
"Alas! monsieur," replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I broke it last night when M. de Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to avert what has, nevertheless, happened. Besides, I knew that his escritoire contained something over two millions in gold and bank-notes."
Two millions--there! The occupants of the room stood aghast. Even the clerk was so startled that he let a blot fall upon his paper. Two millions! The magistrate was evidently reflecting. "Hum!" he murmured, meditatively. Then, as if deciding on his course, he exclaimed:
"Let a locksmith be sent for."
A servant went in search of one; and while they were waiting for his return, the magistrate sat down beside his clerk and talked to him in a low voice. At last the locksmith appeared, with his bag of tools hanging over his shoulder, and set to work at once. He found his task a difficult one. His pick-locks would not catch, and he was talking of filing the bolt, when, by chance, he found the joint, and the door flew open. But the escritoire was empty. There were only a few papers, and a bottle about three-quarters full of a crimson liquid on the shelf. Had M. de Chalusse rose and shook off his winding sheet, the consternation would not have been greater. The same instinctive fear thrilled the hearts of everybody present. An enormous fortune had disappeared. The same suspicions would rest upon them all. And each servant already saw himself arrested, imprisoned, and dragged before a law court.
However, anger speedily followed bewilderment, and a furious clamor arose. "A robbery has been committed!" cried the servants, in concert. "Mademoiselle had the key. It is wrong to suspect the innocent!"
Revolting as this exhibition was, it did not modify the magistrate's calmness. He had witnessed too many such scenes in the course of his career, and, at least, a score of times he had been compelled to interpose between children who had come to blows over their inheritance before their father's body was even cold. "Silence!" he commanded sternly. And as the tumult did not cease, as the servants continued to cry, "The thief must be found. We shall have no difficulty in discovering the culprit," the magistrate exclaimed, still more imperiously: "Another word, and you all leave the room."
They were silenced; but there was a mute eloquence about their looks and gestures which it was impossible to misunderstand. Every eye was fixed upon Mademoiselle Marguerite with an almost ferocious expression. She knew it only too well; but, sublime in her energy, she stood, with her head proudly erect, facing the storm, and disdaining to answer these vile imputations. However she had a protector near by--the magistrate in person. "If this treasure has been diverted from the inheritance," said he, "the thief will be discovered and punished. But I wish to have one point explained--who said that Mademoiselle Marguerite had the key of the escritoire?"
"I did," replied a footman. "I was in the dining-room yesterday morning when the count gave it to her."
"For what purpose did he give it to her?"
"That she might obtain this vial--I recognized it at once. She brought
Madame Leon had hitherto been dumb with fear, but, conquering her weakness, she now decided to draw near and take part in the conversation. "How can you say that, my dear young lady?" she exclaimed. "You know that the count--God rest his soul!--was an extremely cautious man. I am certain that there is a will somewhere."
The magistrate's eyes were fixed on his ring. "It would be well to look, perhaps, before affixing the seals. You have a right to require this; so, if you wish----"
But she made no reply.
"Oh, yes!" insisted Madame Leon; "pray look, monsieur."
"But where should we be likely to find a will?"
"Certainly in this room--in this escritoire, or in one of the deceased count's cabinets."
The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but all the same he asked: "Where is the key to this escritoire?"
"Alas! monsieur," replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I broke it last night when M. de Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to avert what has, nevertheless, happened. Besides, I knew that his escritoire contained something over two millions in gold and bank-notes."
Two millions--there! The occupants of the room stood aghast. Even the clerk was so startled that he let a blot fall upon his paper. Two millions! The magistrate was evidently reflecting. "Hum!" he murmured, meditatively. Then, as if deciding on his course, he exclaimed:
"Let a locksmith be sent for."
A servant went in search of one; and while they were waiting for his return, the magistrate sat down beside his clerk and talked to him in a low voice. At last the locksmith appeared, with his bag of tools hanging over his shoulder, and set to work at once. He found his task a difficult one. His pick-locks would not catch, and he was talking of filing the bolt, when, by chance, he found the joint, and the door flew open. But the escritoire was empty. There were only a few papers, and a bottle about three-quarters full of a crimson liquid on the shelf. Had M. de Chalusse rose and shook off his winding sheet, the consternation would not have been greater. The same instinctive fear thrilled the hearts of everybody present. An enormous fortune had disappeared. The same suspicions would rest upon them all. And each servant already saw himself arrested, imprisoned, and dragged before a law court.
However, anger speedily followed bewilderment, and a furious clamor arose. "A robbery has been committed!" cried the servants, in concert. "Mademoiselle had the key. It is wrong to suspect the innocent!"
Revolting as this exhibition was, it did not modify the magistrate's calmness. He had witnessed too many such scenes in the course of his career, and, at least, a score of times he had been compelled to interpose between children who had come to blows over their inheritance before their father's body was even cold. "Silence!" he commanded sternly. And as the tumult did not cease, as the servants continued to cry, "The thief must be found. We shall have no difficulty in discovering the culprit," the magistrate exclaimed, still more imperiously: "Another word, and you all leave the room."
They were silenced; but there was a mute eloquence about their looks and gestures which it was impossible to misunderstand. Every eye was fixed upon Mademoiselle Marguerite with an almost ferocious expression. She knew it only too well; but, sublime in her energy, she stood, with her head proudly erect, facing the storm, and disdaining to answer these vile imputations. However she had a protector near by--the magistrate in person. "If this treasure has been diverted from the inheritance," said he, "the thief will be discovered and punished. But I wish to have one point explained--who said that Mademoiselle Marguerite had the key of the escritoire?"
"I did," replied a footman. "I was in the dining-room yesterday morning when the count gave it to her."
"For what purpose did he give it to her?"
"That she might obtain this vial--I recognized it at once. She brought