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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Not very polite, that customer," said little Cavaillon, "but he will soon be settled, for here comes Prosper." Prosper Bertomy, head cashier of Fauvel's banking-house, was a tall, handsome man, of about thirty, with fair hair and large dark-blue eyes, fastidiously neat, and dressed in the height of fashion.
"Why, how late you are, my little man!" she exclaimed, as she dropped her knife and fork, and rushed forward to embrace him. He received her caresses with an air of abstraction. "My back is broken," he said. "I have been the whole day playing billiards with Evariste, M. Fauvel's valet, and allowed him to win as often as he wished, a man who does not know what 'the pool' is!
Bertomy loved M. Fauvel's niece Madeline, and though a curious estrangement had sprung up between them during the previous nine or ten months, the banker always regarded their marriage as practically arranged. The interview between the two men was a curious one. To each it appeared that the other must be the thief.
"Ah, he is going away," he said, "he is going abroad." There was no mistaking the resentful, almost insulting intonation of the words, "going away!" M. Verduret took no notice of M. Fauvel's manner. "It appears to me," he continued, in an easy tone, "that Prosper's determination is a wise one. I merely wished him, before leaving Paris, to come and pay his respects to his former chief."
The poor young man, not comprehending the intricate moves of M. Verduret, felt as if he were being tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool and laughing-stock of everybody. "What!" he cried; "this worthless Marquis of Clameran, an assassin and a thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel's, and pay his addresses to Madeleine? Where are the promises, monsieur, which you have made?
At this time Madame Fauvel was at the end of her resources. Lagors suggested taking the money from the safe. Tom between a desire to help her supposed son and the risk of discovery, she at last consented. Taking M. Fauvel's key, they descended silently to the safe-room. At the last moment, just as the key was in the lock, Madame Fauvel attempted to deter Lagors from his purpose.
He learnt that the night before the robbery the cashier had dined with his friend Raoul de Lagors, the wealthy, dissolute young nephew of M. Fauvel's wife. This Lagors was the friend of Count Louis de Clameran, whose demand for the £12,000 left him by his dead brother had resulted in the discovery of the mysterious robbery.
"In the first place," said Louis, "you must at once return to Paris." "I will be there in forty-eight hours." "You must be very intimate at Mme. Fauvel's, and keep me informed of everything that takes place in the family." "I understand." Louis laid his hand upon Raoul's shoulder, as if to impress upon his mind what he was about to say.
Be so good as to tell me whether I can have my money." M. Fauvel's flushed face turned pale with anger as he listened to this insolence; yet he controlled himself. "I would be obliged to you monsieur, for a short delay." "I thought you told me " "Yes, yesterday. But this morning, this very instant, I find I have been robbed of three hundred and fifty thousand francs."
At the restaurant, in the room where they had dined, Clameran, tortured by anxiety, awaited his accomplice. He wondered if at the last moment, when he was not near to sustain him, Raoul would prove a coward, and retreat; if any unforeseen trifle had prevented his finding the key; if any visitors were there; and, if so, would they depart before M. Fauvel's return from the dinner-party?
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