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Updated: June 3, 2025
Gypsy said "Good-night" in a very significant way, and left the room. "And what do you think of that, Mme. Alexandre?" questioned Fanferlot, emerging from his hiding-place. "It is incredible! This girl writes to M. de Clameran to meet her here, and then does not wait for him." "She evidently mistrusts us; she knows who I am." "Then this friend of the cashier must have told her."
Upon Fanferlot's entrance, as he advanced respectfully, bowing till his backbone was a perfect curve, M. Lecoq laid down his pen, and said, looking sharply at him: "Ah, here you are, young man. Well, it seems that you haven't made much progress in the Bertomy case." "Why," murmured Fanferlot, "you know "
"Because, at perfect liberty to open the safe whenever he wished to do so, it is not likely that he would have brought a witness when he intended to commit the theft." "Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this supposition the banker would be equally innocent: reflect a little." Fanferlot reflected, and all of his animation vanished. "You are right," he said in a despairing tone.
"Well," cried M. Verduret, "what is the matter?" With laudable emulation, the four men rushed forward to report to their superior officer. "Patron," they all began at once. "Silence!" said the fat man with an oath; "one at a time. Quick! what is the matter?" "The matter is this, patron," said Fanferlot dejectedly. "I am doomed to ill luck.
Gypsy was about to send for a carriage, but Fanferlot said he was in a hurry, and would send her one. He seemed to be in luck that day; for a cab was passing the door, and he hailed it. "Wait here," he said to the driver, after telling him that he was a detective, "for a little brunette who is coming down with some trunks.
"Why so?" asked the commissary, becoming attentive. "Look, monsieur, at this scratch near the lock." The commissary stooped down, and carefully examined the safe; he saw a light scratch several inches long that had removed the outer coat of varnish. "I see the scratch," said he, "but what does that prove?" "Oh, nothing at all!" said Fanferlot. "I just now told you it was of no importance."
His note written, Prosper folded it carefully into the smallest possible size, and after furtively glancing toward the detective, who remained motionless in his corner, threw it across the desk to little Cavaillon with this one word: "Gypsy!" All this was so quickly and skilfully done that Fanferlot was confounded, and began to feel a little uneasy.
"What do you want with me?" he asked in a voice tremulous with fright. Fanferlot was distinguished among his confreres for his exquisite suavity and unequalled urbanity. Even with his prisoners he was the perfection of courtesy, and never was known to handcuff a man without first obsequiously apologizing for being compelled to do so.
Fanferlot waited a long time, but did not wax impatient, for he had often had to remain on watch entire days and nights at a time, with much less important objects in view than the present one. Besides, his mind was busily occupied in estimating the value of his discoveries, weighing his chances, and, like Perrette with her pot of milk, building the foundation of his fortune upon present success.
At a glance she read its contents. She turned very red, then very pale; she trembled as if with a nervous chill; her limbs seemed to give way, and she tottered so that Fanferlot, thinking she was about to fall, extended his arms to catch her. Useless precaution! Mme.
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