The Slaves of Paris by Émile Gaboriau (good book recommendations .txt) 📕

great deal. “Why do you flash that trinket at me?” asked he. “We have known each other for five and twenty years⁠—what do you mean to imply? Do you mean that the locket contains the likeness of someone that you intend to make use of later on? I think that you might render such a step unnecessary by giving me your present advice and attention.”

Hortebise threw himself back in his chair with an expression of resignation. “If you want advice,” remarked he, “why not apply to our worthy friend Catenac?⁠—he knows something of business, as he is a lawyer.”

The name of Catenac seemed to irritate Mascarin so much, that calm, and self-contained as he usually was, he pulled off his cap and dashed it on his desk.

“Are you speaking seriously?” said he angrily.

“Why should I not be in earnest?”

Mascarin removed his glasses, as though without them he could the more easily peer into the depths of the soul of the man before him.

“Because,” replied he slowly, “both you and I distrust Catenac. When did you see him last?”

“More than three months ago.”

“True, and I allow that he seems to be acting fairly toward his old associates; but you will admit that, in keeping away thus, his conduct is without excuse, for he has made his fortune; and though he pretends to be poor, he is certainly a man of wealth.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Were he here, I would force him to acknowledge that he is worth a million, at least.”

“A million!” exclaimed the doctor, with sudden animation.

“Yes, certainly. You and I, Hortebise, have indulged our every whim, and have spent gold like water, while our friend garnered his harvest and stored it away. But poor Catenac has no expensive tastes, nor does he care for women or the pleasures of the table. While we indulged in every pleasure, he lent out his money at usurious interest. But, stop⁠—how much do you spend per annum?”

“That is a hard question to answer; but, say, forty thousand francs.”

“More, a great deal more; but calculate what a capital sum that would amount to during the twenty years we have done business together.”

The doctor was not clever at figures; he made several vain attempts to solve the problem, and at last gave it up in despair. “Forty and forty,” muttered he, tapping the tips of his fingers, “are eighty, then forty⁠—”

“Call it eight hundred thousand francs,” broke in Mascarin. “Say I drew the same amount as you did. We have spent ours, and Catenac has saved his, and grown rich; hence my distrust. Our interests are no longer identical. He certainly comes here every month, but it is only to claim his share; he consents to take his share of the profits, but shirks the risks. It is fully ten years since he brought in any business. I don’t trust him at all. He always declines to join in any scheme that we propose, and sees danger in everything.”

“He would not betray us, however.”

Mascarin took a few moments for reflection. “I think,” said he, “that Catenac is afraid of us. He knows that the ruin of me would entail the destruction of the other two. This is our only safeguard; but if he dare not injure us openly, he is quite capable of working against us in secret. Do you remember what he said the last time he was here? That we ought to close our business and retire. How should we live? for he is rich and we are poor. What on earth are you doing, Hortebise?” he added, for the physician, who had the reputation of being worth an enormous amount, had taken out his purse, and was going over the contents.

“I have scarcely three hundred and twenty-seven francs!” answered he with a laugh. “What is the state of your finances?”

Mascarin made a grimace. “I am not so well off as you; and besides,” he continued in a low voice, as though speaking to himself, “I have certain ties which you do not possess.”

For the first time during this interview a cloud spread over the doctor’s countenance.

“Great Heavens!” said he, “and I was depending on you for three thousand francs, which I require urgently.”

Mascarin smiled slyly at the doctor’s uneasiness. “Don’t worry,” he answered. “You can have that; there ought to be some six or eight thousand francs in the safe. But that is all, and that is the last of our common capital⁠—this after twenty years of toil, danger, and anxiety, and we have not twenty years before us to make a fresh fortune in.”

“Yes,” continued Mascarin, “we are getting old, and therefore have the greater reason for making one grand stroke to assure our fortune. Were I to fall ill tomorrow, all would go to smash.”

“Quite true,” returned the doctor, with a slight shudder.

“We must, and that is certain, venture on a bold stroke. I have said this for years, and woven a web of gigantic proportions. Do you now know why at this last moment I appeal to you, and not to Catenac for assistance? If only one out of two operations that I have fully explained to you succeeds, our fortune is made.”

“I follow you exactly.”

“The question now is whether the chance of success is sufficiently great to warrant our going on with these undertakings. Think it over and let me have your opinion.”

An acute observer could easily have seen that the doctor was a man of resource, and a thoroughly competent adviser, for the reason that his coolness never deserted him. Compelled to choose between the use of the contents of his locket, or the continuance of a life of luxurious ease, the smile vanished from the doctor’s face, and he began to reflect profoundly. Leaning back in his chair, with his feet resting on the fender, he carefully studied every combination in the undertaking, as a general inspects the position taken up by the enemy, when a battle is impending, upon which the fate of an empire