Helena weekly herald. [volume], May 20, 1886, Image 1

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Volume xx.
Helena, Montana, Thursdajy, May 20 , 1886 .
No. 27
— '
<p|.c iilfcliln ^Ijcralil.
R. E. FISK D. W. FISK, ». J. FISK,
Publishers and Proprietors.
Largest Circulation of any Paper in Montana
-O
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**- III communications should he addresscdto
FISK BROS., Publisaen,
Helena, Montana.
A PAIiMYSTEPiY
By the Author of ".If// Ducats and My
Daughter
OX( LUI>ED.]
CHAPTER XI.
After M. Tilery's departure, I natnrally suf
feied a n action from the excitement of the
.. -t few days, and the ho{ «fui ness of my in
terview* with the detective. It was ditScult
to remain,inactive aud not to de-pond. But.
f :* the sake of Mile. Dutuaine, whom I saw
every day, I strove to lie cheerful. I alsc
wrote to Raoul, and, without raising his
hopes unduly, hinted that tilings were begin
ning to wear a more favorable aspect.
The days passed without any word from
M. Blery. and each day deepened my anxiety
At last the fourteenth day came, aud every
one of its lu.urs seemed to me as long as 8
mouth. I dared not go to Gabrielle; I could
imt Imvo concealed my disquietude. <
But in t ie evening there came a telegram
from Blery, the most joyful message I have
ever received in my life, 1» -cause it assured
me that my friend was safe. M. Blery tele
graphed from Rome: "I havensueceeded; the
dagger is found. I return to Paris direct.*
I rau at once with the telegram to the Rue
de l'Odeon, and spent the rest of the evening
with Mme. Dumaine and Gabrielle, explain
ing the dr-ooveiies we had made, aud Listen
ing to the outpourings of their joy.
Ss
i. Mi
[iUôî
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With Vine. Dumaine and Gabrielle, ex
plaining the discoveries we had made.
Next morning I saw the advocate Sapinaud,
and told him of the new evidence in Raoul's
favor. lie advised me to say nothing, in the
meantime, to Raoul.
"Let us wait," he said, "uutil Blerv returns
and tells us the whole story. Then, if the evi
dence he has found proves wliat you say it
proves, I will frame a statement and lay it
before the Iinjx*rial procurator. After that
Girard \\ ill no doubt lie released from deten
tion, either with or without bail."
Next morning the detective arrived in Paris,
and sent me a message a-king me to come to
him at the prefecture of police, and to bring
Sapinaud also. I was fortunate enough to
meet Sapinaud in the Salle des Pas-Perdus;
he at once unrobed, an 1 we hastened to thî
prefecture.
There we found M. Blery. in his napless liât
and shabby gray overcoat, just as he had ajc
jieaml in Rome, am 1 vlio could tell how many
other EurojK-au cap.* als? The room iu which
he received u- wa- small, but well lighted; its
furniture coii-isted of two chairs and a bureau
in common pine wood; on the bureau lay an
almanac, a Paris Directory and a Universal
Guide to all the railways of tin world. M.
Blery gave each of us a chair, and himself re
mained standing with his back to the light.
"Messieurs," he said, "1 am charmed to
bave the honor of this visit. I rush at once
into the middle of things. In the conversa
tion which I had with M. Marsal 15 days
ago, there was one point we did not discuss—
namely, the apparent want of motive for the
«•rime. I presume, however, that Monsieur,
in his very intelligent examination of the
cas«', did not fail to give this i»oiut his atten
tion?"
"No," I said; "I considered the point, anil
came to a certain conclusion."
"We may suppose," said JI. Blery, "that
the assassin of Meissner had one of two ob
jects iu view—either revenge or plunder. If
it was simply revenge, why did he ransack
the strong boxes aud cabinets? If it was
plunder, why did he leave so much portable
booty' behind? The Judge—again fitting the
facts into the theory—accounted for this by
the eccentricity, amounting to insanity, of the
criminal, terror-stricken by his crime. How,
Monsieur, do you account for it?"
"I account, for it," 1 said, "in quite another
way. I account for it by the conjecture of
a search on the part of the assassin; aud,
since alt the lock-fast places were uot opened,
by a search for a special object ."
"Exactly," said M. Blery; "the conclusion
to which any unbiased minil. possessing suffi
cient acuteness, would naturally come. A\ hat
were the judge's words? 'This/ he said, 'is
the obscure point of the case, but the difficulty
here tells as forcibly against any other theory
of the crime as against the theory tivat
Girard is the guilty* persou.' A somewhat
rash assertion, Monsieur the Judge! The cir
cumstances certainly make against his theory,
but they confirm ours. A' es, search for a
s|»ecial object, that is it! Au«l the sjtecial
object ?"
"A compromising paper," suggested Sapi
naud, "l«'ft iu Meissner's hands by one of his
clients."
"An excellent hypothesis," said Blery; "but
here, fortunately, we can dispense with hy
potheses; we have facts, as I shall show you.
Since leaving M. Marsal, a fortnight ago, I
have been in London, Brussels aud Rome. I
Lave lieeu in search of the missing dagger.
I started here m Parts, at tne ratais noyai. i
found it corre -t, as did nty friend Py, that
there was now no dealer in curiosities there to
whom Girard had sold his weapon. But I
found that two years ago there was a dealer
in curiosities there; a man who had fled by
night, carrying the valuable part of his stock
in trade with him, and leaving his rent un
paid. I trailed this man to London; with the
help of my friend Briggs, of Scotland Yard.
1 find him. He has by this time sold the dag
ger. but he uames the purchaser. I go to the
purchaser, but he also has parted with it—in
brief, I followed this dagger to Brussels, I
followed it to Rome. In that city it has come
into the j Kisses ion of a French artist, who is
by no means well off. I tell him for what
purpose I require the dagger: be agrees to
sell it. It is then in pledge: we go to the
pawnshop, we redeem it—and I leave Rome
with it in my keeping. Here, Messieurs, is
the dagger." M. Blery laid it on the bureau
before us. "Observe the oue word written
beside the flower; compare it with these
characters, traced by M. Beauvais, and which
stand for the word 'sorrow'—you see they
are the same. Thus the conjecture of M.
Marsal is proved to lie perfectly correct; this
is the missing dagger of the three—the one
given by* Meissner to bis nephew two years
ag«
I could not look without emotion on this
weapon, which had so nearly proved fatal to
my friend, and which now had been found
just in time to save him.
"So much for the dagger," continued M.
Blery, "now for the key*." He touched a
hand-bell cm the mantelpiece; the door opened
and a little man, red-haired,, pock-marked,
and with furtive eyes, appeared.
"This. Messieurs, is Pilotin," observed M.
Blery, with the air of one exhibiting an in
ferior animal, "Pilotin, one of my aides.
A' ou will tell these gentlemen, Pilotin. what
were the instructions I gave you before I left
for London."
"Monsieur gave me this key*," said Piloton,
laying it beside the dagger on the bureau.
"Monsieur told me he had reason to believe !
that a key had been fabricated from this as a
model, about two months ago, by a locksmith I
living within a certain radius of the Passage
de Mazariu. Monsieur also gave me a descrijr
tion of the pei'son who had ordered the key to
be fabricated, and directed me to discover the
locksmith."
"Aud you made inquiries?" prompted Ble
ry, whose ante sjxtke in a monotonous voice, i
with the inflection of one who repeats a lesson ;
by rote.
"I begin by consulting the directory and
visiting all the locksmiths within the radius.
No result. I widen my circle; still no result.
1 begin again by inquiries into the private life
of certain locksmiths, who are in the habit of
iloing work at home; still there is no clew. I
begin to desjiair of satisfying Monsieur, when
I make a lucky* finch Passing along the Rue
St. Louis 1 observe a small shop whose shut
ters are closed; its exterior is freshly painted;
above the door is a sign: 'L. Benoit, Lock
smith.' I make inquiries. I learn from the
neighbors that Benoit is a young man, very
sober, very industrious, who came from Lim
oges to Paris about three months ago and
opened this shop. Almut a fortnight ago he
had injured his hand with one of his tools,
and had been taken to the Hotel Dieu for
proper treatment. I conjecture that this may
be our man; the fact of his shop being so re
cently opened accounts for his name not being
in the directory. I go to the Hotel Dieu, but
am told that 1 cannot see him; be is suffering
from blood poisoning and is very ill. I ask
who is the doctor attending him, and am
informed that it is the Doctor de Bourdon. M.
de Bourdon, as Messieurs will remembef,
was one of the medical witnesses at the inquiry
into the murder of Meissner. I see him : I tell
him that my mission is connected with the
affair of the Passage de Mazarin. M. de
Bourdon takes an interest in that affair ; he
allows me to see his patient. This is Be
noit's story: About a month after he had
opened his shop—that is, about two mouths
ago—on a «lark and wet night, a gentleman
drove up to his door in a cab and came into
his shop. The gentleman asked him whether
he could, iu less than an hour, fabric ate a key
exactly* like one which he showed him. The
key* was of simple construction. Benoit said,
'A" es. easily* ;' and at once w ent to w ork. The
gentleman waited. He was a foreigner, of
that Benoit is certain, but cannot guess the
country to which he belonged. He was in
evening dress, and wore a fur cloak. The
locksmith noticed specially his dark eyes
and sallow complexion; could indentify* the
stranger if he met him again, especially* if he
heard him sjieak. When Benoit had finished
the key*, which he did in half an hour, the
stranger gave him three francs, the sura
asked, and at once drove away. I showed
Benoit the key of Meissner's room, now lying
on that bureau; he declared it to lie the same
size and shajie as the one which had served
him for a model "
Here Pilotin stopped, as if he had run
down.
"Is this Benoit available as a witness?"
asked Sapinaud, who like myself had listened
with close attention to Piloting narrative.
"M. de Bourdon says that he will live,"
answered Pilotin tersely.
"Messieurs," said Blery, "you have heard;
now you shall see—Pilotin, fetch a cab. We
are on the* eve of a discovery."
We took our seats in the convey ance with
out asking am questions. .Sapinaud and I
exchanged a glance which said. Let us leave
the revelation to M. Blery*; he lias au eye for
dramatic effects. •
Pilotin mounted on the box; I noticed that
he carried a short crow bar. The coachman
had evidently received his directions before
hand. He drove as up the steep, narrow
Rue St. Jacques, into the very heart of the
Latin Quarter. He stopped at last where the
Rue St. Jacques intersects the Eue Cujas, at
a pork-butcher's shop, with the name Pajol
over the door. Pilotin alighted, and held
open the door of the cab while we got out.
M. Blery entered the pork butcher's shop
and presently reappeared with M. Pajol, fat
faced and blue aproned.
"Messieurs," said Blery, "M. Pajol will
now take us to the room of that tenant of his
who, since Christmas Day, has disappeared."
M. Pajol bowed, smiled blandly, rubbed his
fat bauds, and led us up the dark, moldering
staircase.
When we had reached the sixth story Sapi
naud and I paused to take breath. "A little
higher, Messieurs, if you please!" said M.
Blery. We toiled up with many stumblings
after the detectives, until we reached the gar
rets, in the very top of the roof. The stair
way leading to these was little better than a
ladder, w here the hands had to assist the feet
of the c limber.
"This is the door," said Pajol.
Pilotin took a big bunch of keys from his
pocket aud tried them one after another; none
fitted.
"No matter!" said Blery. "See, place the
crowbar here—now, a little force—and,
presto, we have the door opened !"
Sapinaud and I followed the detectives into
the room. Pajol bringing up the rear. The spec
tacle w hich met our eyes was a strange one.
The small window in the roof, thickly coated
with grime and soot, admitted only a very
feeble light into the garret. A deep layer of
dust rested ou everything. In the centre of
the garret, stood a brazier, filled with char
coal ashes. On the wretched truckle-bed lay
a heap of clothes, as if they Lad been thrown
hastily down. Three large traveling trunks
!
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occupied al»out half the entire space of the
chamber.
We looked on in wonderment while the de
tectives made a business-like inspection of the
room before touching anything.
Suddenly Pajol plucked Blery 's sleeve, aud,
pointing to the charcoal-brazier—"It was
with that same brazier he «lid it!" he whis
pered.
Blery nodded. "Now. Pilotin," he said,
"let us begin our search.—Approach, Mes
sieurs, if you please. I have the idea that
among these clothes here" pointing to those
on the truckle-bed—"we shall, jjerhaps, make
a discovery 7 ."
Sapinaud and I drew near, and looked on
curiously. The clothes consisted of a dress
suit, a fur jialctot, and a crush hat. Blery
felt the breast pocket of the coat, and, with
a smile of triumph, drew out a dagger sheath
made of green silk and lacquered wood, in
shape like a closed fan.
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Drew out a dagger sheath made vf green
silk and lacquered wood.
"You have seen something like this before,
Messieurs, is it not so C said the detective.
"And this—this also you will recognize?"—
and he showed us a key* which he had found
in another {Kicket. An exclamation—a sig
nificant "Ah!"—escaped from Sapinaud aud
myself at the same moment. M. Blery smiled
again.
Pilotin next opened the traveling-trunks.
They* were found to contain clothes for the
meet jiart ; among which were one or two
dresses, evidently Oriental. There were also
a number of letters, some iu our own lan
guage, some in a foreign character, which I
easily recognized as Japanese.
Still M. Blery had not spe iken a word of ex
planation. He seemed to enjoy onr complete
mystification.
"Pilotin." he said at last, when his search
was finished, "you will remain here on
guard until you are relieved. A'ou will
allow no one to enter without a written order
from Monsieur the Prefect. Messieurs, if
y*ou will return with me to the prefecture, I
shall have the pleasure of explaining to you
what you have seen here. That will be a
more convenient place for doing so."
Leaving M. Pajol's, we drove lack to the
Prefecture, where M. Blery resumed his nar
rative.
"Monsieur," he said to me, "will remember
the surmise he had formed—or, as I prefer to
call it. the idea—that the assassin of Meissner,
who was certainly a foreigner, may jiossihly
have been a Japanese. I decided on follow
ing up this dew."
"In the lists at the prefecture I fiud the
names of between sixty and seventy Jajanese
returned by the hotel keepers and proprietors
of furnished houses iu Paris. About forty of
these are still resident here. Over twenty
have returned to their native country. The
remainder are dead, aud buried in Paria
"I make special inquiries with regard to
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"I make special inquiries with regard to
these last ; it seems to me very* probable that
the victim of Meissner's extortions should be
among them. Oue of the names is Sangura,
a native of A'eddo, no profession, returned by
Luuel, a keeper of private apartments, of the
most expensive description, in the Avenue
du Roi de Rome. I visit Lunel, w ho remem
bers his lodger Sangura perfectly. He bad
occupied for a year the finest suite of rooms
on the first floor of Lunel's house. He was a
Japanese of noble birth and great wealth,
who intended remaining for three years in
Europe. The seductious of Paris had proved
too strong fur M. Sangura, however; his style
of living, Lunel assured me, was fabulous.
He always rode out with two grooms behind
him. His dinner nevercost him less than two
hundred francs, as he never dined alone. He
would go liehind the scenes of the theatres with
bis pockets full of jewelry. He made présenta
of the most splendid character; to one actress,
it is said, he gave a set of diamonds worth
thirty* thousand francs; to another a barouche
and a pair of English horses with silver
mounted harness.
"The rent was always paid to Lunel quar
terly, in advance. About the end of the
third quarter. Lunei's experienced eye liegan
to see symptoms of a change iu his tenant's
disposition and mode of life. Sangura was
no longer high-spirited and gay* : there was
almost continually a cloud on his face. First
one of the grooms was dismissed; then the
other; theu the valet. Finally, the riding
horses aud the cabriolet were sold. One by*
one Lunel began to miss from his tenant's
apartment certain costly articles of jewelry*,
with which Sangura had decorated it
when he first came. Lunel inferred that
these were being sold, as the difficulties of his
tenant grew 7 more pressing. Little by little
Sangura's w ardrobe disappeared also—a bad
sign, Lunel thought; but the fourth quarter's
rent was paid, and so he was safe.
"At the end of the fourth quarter. Sau
gt: r a—who^e apartment was by this time i
stripped of every thing belonging to him which |
had the least value—disappeared himself. I
Lunel never saw him again; but. about three
months alter, he remembers having read an
account of a suicide committed somewhere in ;
the Latin Quarter by an unknown foreigner,
supposed to be a Japanese, and having fan- ;
cieci that this might be his former tenant.
"Lunel further hands to me a bundle of |
letters, which had arrived for his tenant sub
sequent to his disappearance. I examined
these: with one exception they are the unpaid
bills of M. .Sangura's tradesmen. The excep
tion is a letter addressed in a female hand ; it
is here—Monsieur can examine it for him
self."
M. Blery. drawing out a bulky pocket
book, took from it a letter in a delicately
tinted envelope, addressed in faint violet ink:
"M. de Sangura, l'Avenue du Roi de Rome,
861 ."
I read the letter, then handed it to Sapi
naud. It was as follows: "My own one, why
\
hide thyself thus* uum, n„, u C1 , r
poverty will change me? Come to mq as of
old. Thine own Clotilde." The letter was
dated "Kite de la Keine, -fli; IVedtjCsda v
morning."
"As Messieurs may supjiose." continu» 1 M.
Blery, "I lose no time in visiting No 4b Hue
de la Rein«*. At first I urn refused admission;
Mile. Duehastre, the premiere danseuse at
the - Theatre—for she anil no other is
Clotilde—cau see no one. I pencil on a card
these words, 'It is the affair of the Japanese,
Sangura,' and give the maid five francs to
can y it up to her mistress. In two minute s
I stand in the presence of the beautiful
Mile. Duehastre.
"I can easily see on the lady's face the signs
of emotion. I infer at once that this has not
been an ordinary acquaintance, but a ease of
true affection. 'Mademoiselle,' I say,, with
an air of deep respect, 'pardon my intrusion;
but 1 am engaged iu an inquiry into i Me sad
eud of M. de Sangura. I have found prom
one of your letters that you knew him, and 1
beg of you to give me any infonnatioa you
may possess as to his affairs.'
"Mile*. Duehastre seems to take a pleasure
in talking to any one of her dead lover. ' She
tells me—with real emotion, with freefcueut
tears—this story, which I repeat to Messieurs :
"Mademoiselle had formed the acquaint
ance of Sangura about six months after his
arrival in Baris; they soon formed a mutual
attachment. The Jajianese was handsome,
his manners were distinguished; the courtesy
of a gentleman, the generosity of a prince.
His generosity, indeed, was so lavish that it
eventually proved his ruin. Mademoiselle
pleaded with her lover to curb his expendi
ture, to give up gambling and betting at
Chant illy and Longchamps; it was of no avail.
He {cersisted in loading her w ith costly pres
ents; which she assured me—and 1 lielieve her
—caused her more pain than pleasure to re
ceive. The worst feature in Sangura's case.
Mademoiselle informed me, was that hejj hail
gradually fallen into the power of Acme
Jewish money-lender, who, she thought, re
sided on the left bank, but whose name she
had never heard. As Sangura's funds dimiu
ished, this man's hold on him increased; the
unfortunate Japanese grew every day
moodier and more depressed. She* divined
that he was now living by the sale of his
wardrobe and effects: but he never told her
so, and she did not dare to touch on the sub
Fct*
"At an early period of their acquaintance
Sangura had given her to wear, not to keep,
a pearl of extraordinary size and beauty; ex
plaining to her that this gem was the great
heirloom of his house; that he, as thi eldest
son of his dead father, had the custody of it,
and that if anything happened to it he w\ulcl
lie dishonored in the eyes of all his relatives.
There was nothing he would not give tt> his
Clotilde, Sangura had said, except only this
pearl; nevertheless, she might wear it a«- an
ornament, since he knew that in h r charge
it would be safe.
"One morning Sangura rushed into her
room, in a state of great agitation, and, ex
daimiug that he was ruined and undone,
asked for the gern. His mistress gave it to
him with trembling bands; he rushed out of
the chamber, and Mile. Duehastre never
again saw her lover alive.
"About three months after. Mademoiselle
read in the journals the report of a suicide iu
the Rue St. Jacques—the suicide of a young
foreigner, supposed to be a Japanese. She
hastened to the morgue; it was the unfor
tunate Sangura. He had found a last refuge
in the miserable garret which Messieurs
visited to-day Too proud to return to his
mistress, all his means exhausted by the ra
pacity of the old money-lender, he had
starved there till his lust sou was speut.
Then one night he closed up carefully every
crevice indoor or window; lighted u charcoal
tire iu the brazier; lay down oil his wretched
fiallet—and, three days afterward, was found
there, lying dead.
"Mile. Duehastre caused her unhappy lover
to be buried w itb propriety, aud hail a stone
erected over his grave, where she still hangs
wTeaths of immortelles. But she had not yet
heard the last of Sangura. About three
months ago she was visited by a young Jap
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months ago she was visited by a young Jap
anese, who introduced himself as Kicsaka,
Sangura's brother. Kiosaka told lier that his
brother had written him of the straits into
w hich he had fallen, asking him to leave Yeddo
for Paris at the earliest opportunity, and.
wheu there, to lose no time in visiting Mile.
Duehastre. It was from Mademoiselle time
Kiosaka firet heard the news of his brother's
painful death; he was profoundly affected,
apparently with rage as well as grief, and
muttered something in bis own languege,
Mademoiselle told me, 'w ith an accent which
was terrible.' c 'hortly after he bade her fare
well, and him also she has never seen again.
"I ask Mademoiselle if she has a portrait of
the late M. de Sangura. Mademoiselle ha«: a
miniature on ivory, of beautiful execution.
After some hesitation she consents to lend it
to me, on my swearing to return it uninjured.
Taking my departure. I first show this por
trait to Mouton and his daughter: they recog
nize it at once as that of the foreigner who
Lad so frequently visited Meissuer up to about
a year ago. and w hom the old money-lender
Lad 'flayed/ to use Monton's own term. I
then proceed to the Rue St. Jacques, in order
to show the {Hirtrait to the proprietor of {.lie
house where Sangura found lus last lodging,
and where he died. There I made a discovery,
unexpected, but most important, the discov
ery that another Japanese, about four months
ago, had rented the very garret in which
Sangura destroyed himself; that he did hot
live there, but s{ient in the garret a portiorfof
almost every day; and that lie was quite a
problem to Pajol, the proprietor, and to all
the other tenants. But to n.o the poiut of
greatest interest was this: Oh Christmas day
the Jaoanese visited Pajol in his shoe, and
told him that he was about to make a journey,
the duration of which was uncertain. He
then paid three mouths' rem for the garret,
remarking that it served very well to store
his eff ects in, aud that he would take the key.
w ith him. Since that day the Japanese has
been neither seen nor heard of.
"Messieui-s, to uien of your intelligence the
story is now plain. A youug Japanese nolie
man comes to Paris, aud w astes in profhse
extravagance all the wealth he has brought
with him. This young Japanese has in his
possession a jewel of immense value, a pearl,
w hich is an heirloom in his family. Reduced
to the direst straits, he pledges it to the usurer
who has been his ruin. His debts swallow up
the sum he has received from the money
lender; starling and desperate, he finally
puts an eud to his life. Before this, however,
he has w ritten to his brother iu A'eddo telling
him that the family heirloom is iu Meissner's
hands, probably adjuring him to recover it.
This brother, Kiosaka, comes to Paris; he
desires to recover the pearl ; but more eagerly
still, as his actions show*, he desires revenge.
He takes up Ins abode in the garret where bis
brother put an end to his life, that he may be
constantly reminded of the duty of vengeance.
Messieurs, I bave not told you that Mile.
Duehastre was asked by the J apanese"where
his brother had been buried. The grave of
Sangura is in Mont Parnasse; I visited it my
self; on the tombstone erected by Mile. Du
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chastre certain word' leave Leen cut in tha
Japanese character. I hal MiUde *. copy ol
Hies«* words, and obtained a translation.
Their meaning is. 'My brother, rest in peace'
thon s halt tjc avenged.' That inscription,
cut in the- stone by Kiosoka's order, expresse
his fixed pui-pose: in the murder of Joseph
Meissuer he carried that purpose into execu
tion."
1 drew a long breath of relief as M. Blery
finished. At last the mystery of the Bas-ag*
de Mazariu had been made clear !
"I may le called away* at a i v moment."
said the detective; "copies of tins |mrtrait
have been sent to every seaport in France,
and to the towns on the frontier. Before
many hours have passed I »hall lie on the
trail of the assassin."
W hile we were still talking a telegram was
hamlet 1 in, M. Blery ran his eves over it.
"From the* chief of police at Marseilles." lie
said; "I go there at once. Yqur friend. M.
Marsal, is now as good as liberated. In a
few hours, or days, another will lie confined
iu 1ns place*. AV'hat a disappointment to my
friend Py !"
CHAPTER XII.
The evidence w hich Sapinaud was able to lay
be^ue the inqierial procurator proved suffi
(-iaifctq secure Raoul's immediate release. All
the necessary steps were taken by .Sapinaud:
the office of bearing the* joyful new s to the pris
oner devolved upon me.
1 found Raoul iu his prison chamber, lying
half asleep on his {«lift. The light of the
solitary caudle falling on his face showed
w hat the effect of three weeks' imprisonment
had been; his former associates might have
had difficulty in recognizing him. His features
w ere wan and haggard ; black rings surrounded
his eyes; an untrimmed beard covered the
lower part of his face. I do not think I had j
realized until then what Raoul had borne iu
confinement.
As I entered he sprang from the truckle
bed on which he had been lying.
"Ah, Paul, my friend," he cried; "it is you— i
you again !"
Then, releasing my band, be took a step
backward, and fixed on me a surprised, al- j
most a startled look. This surprise was, in
deed, natural. I was in evening dress; there t
was a bouquet iu my buttouhole: my fea
tures, I suppose, betray : ed my excitement,
my dation. I saw Raoul's lip quiver; I fan
eied that he trembled. I seized both his hands :
in mine.
"Raoul," Ï half whispered, "be brave; 1 am |
going to tell you something-"
"There is hope?" he cried, with trembling j
eagerness, as I hesitated. "They have dis
covered something? My innocence-"
"Is proved, Raoul—proved! There is no !
longer the shadow of a doubt! More than i
tliat-•"
"More than that?" lie repeated, and his
voice was weak and shaking.
"Yes," 1 cried, "more than that—from this
hour you aie free!"
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Raoul fell back on his bed: he had fainted.
The warder w ho had accompanied me ran
for water, and I sprinkled it on Raoul's fare.
Iu a few minutes he revived, aud looked at
me with a smile.
"The shock has been too much for you," I
said.
"Gabrielle"—he answ ered—"does she know
I am innocent?"
"I have but now left her. You Miall your
self see her this night."
"Ah, Paul," he said, "you are indeed a
frii .;d— but now tell me what has been dis
co red—tell me all—I can bear it"
' i shall tell you all afterwanh In the
meantime you must come with me. But—
(ixpect surprises - Raoul, do you think you
xi strong enough to bear excitement'?"
'Twill gt) with you at once to Gabrielle.
T nm strong again, my friend. Ab, Paul, if
you had fiasse* l such weeks of horror, you
would not wonder at my weakness—you
would know all that is meant by that Little
phrase—I am free!"
I do not very well know how I got out of
that prison. I only know that Raoul leaned
on my arm, and that I walked beside him iu
an ecstasy of joy. A cab was waiting for us
at the ga**\ Raoul took his seat without ask
ing any question. He seemed to confide him
self silently to my direction. It was as if he
lived and moved in a dream. At last, when
we had driven some distance, he spoke:
"How is it that we are not yet at Gale
rielie's. I thought you were to take me to
her at once?"
"Patience, patience, my dear Raoul," I an
swered; "you forget you aie not as yet look
ing like yoursetf. Your confinement, your
suffering, have altered you. AVe shall see
Mlle. Dumaine soon. But, first, you must
be made once more like the Raoul of former
days. At present you «re unshaven, you are
not dressed nroperly. The sight of you, so
changed, m ight alarm Gabrielle ; who knows:"
"You are right, Paul," he said; "you are
more considerate than I. But can you won
der at my impatience?"
First I took him to a hairdresser's on the
Boulevard St. Michel. Here his long black
hair was trimmed and the last week's growth
of beard removed. Then we drove to the
Rue Dauphine and entered our old chamber,
w here w e had been so happy together, and
where I had been so wretched alone. Th«
honest servant anil his wife Nannette poured
out their congratulations, but Raoul seemed
scarcely to bear them. AVhen he crossed the
threshold he shuddered and passed his hand
before his eyes, as if to shut out a sight of
horror. I fancied that some shape—some
scene that he had beheld in that room in his
dreams, had again arisen before him. Then
he once more relapsed into a kind of stupor.
I confess I began to feel alarmed about Raoul.
AVhen the servant and his wife had left us,
I showed Paoul a suit of evening dress, laid
out on his bed.
"Sow," I said, "you will oblige me by put
ting on these at once. There is not a moment
to spare unless you wish me to break an ap
pointment.
Raoul gave me a puzzled look.
"AVhat does this mean?" he said; "I do
not understand."
"You will soon. Remember your promise
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—you were to obey me in everything tor this
one night. If you do not. I warn you, Raoul, I
shall not be the only one whom you will dis
appoint."
Raoul asked no further questions, but al
lowed events to develop themselves as 1
I wished.
When he had dressed, we went downstairs.
The cab was still waiting, and we again en
; tered it. In a few minutes it drew up before
a large building, the front of which was one
blaze of light. There we dismissed the cab.
"It is the Odeon Theatre," said Raoul.
I "Ah—I see—but Gabrielle ?"
I allowed him no time for reflection. I led
him up the staircase and through the cor
I lidor to the stage-Uixes. I knocked at the
: door of one of these, opened it. and half
1 pushed Raoul within. Then I closed the door
j and waited.
After an interval of a few minutes the door
was reopened, and Raoul drew me into the
Ikix. i found myself with my friend and
Gabrielle Dumaine. The light was dim, for
the curtains of the box were drawn, but it
was not so dim that I could not discern the
charge that had come over the fares of these
two since I Lad last looked ujxin either.
Gabrielle was radiant with happiness, the
serene, pure happiness w hich is burn only of
sorrow. I had seen her before in her mo
ments of gayetv and in her time of anguish,
but I had never seen her looking so lovely as
she did then. It seemed as if her trial had
not only tested her heart, but had in some
subtile way heightened her beaut 3 - and given
it a new dignity aud sweetness—a soft w itch
ery, a calm, spiritual rapture born of deep
ened thought and proved devotion.
1 need not repeat here what Gabrielle and
Raoul said to me as we three sat. holding
each other by the hand, in the darkened box
in the Odéon. Suffice it to say that they so
exaggerated my share in restoring Raoul to
liberty that, I protest, it was almost a relief
to me wheu the door opened, and there aj>
peared M. Sapinaud, leading iu Mme. Do
maine. Theu there were fresh congratula
tions, and we were rtill in the midst of a con
versation. joyful, but on the part of the
ladies tearful also, when a bell rang and a
hush succeeded to the hum that laid filled the
theatre.
Then I drew back the curtain of our box,
nnd looked, for the first time, on the audience
that iiad assembled to witness Raoul's play.
The house was crowded from floor to ceiling.
1 looked from the circle, from the beauty aud
rank that filled it—from the snowy, lustrous
dresses, the brilliaut uniforms, the sparkling
jewels, the flowers, the white-gloved fingers
toying with fans or raising lorgnettes—I
looked from the circle to the stalls, to the
black-coaled gentlemen among whom, I knew,
w ere seated the keenest dramatic critics of
Paris. The thought that they were there
tilled me w ith exultation. I had no fear for
the success of Raoul's comedy. I had no doubt
that before the night was over seVeral of the
brightest pens iu the most critical city of the
world would be running swiftly iu bis praise.
Many »eyes were turned to our box that
night. The evening pa/iers had already an
nounced the* fact of Raoul's lilieration. anil a
rumor that lie was present iu the theatre had
circulated through the house. But it was
not merely to tne romantic experiences or its
author that the comedy owed its success.
) Its power, its pathos and its w it would of
themselves have insured that. It was so
strong that it held that brilliaut, that fastidi
ous audience from the first scene to the last.
I At the close of the second act M. Desnouettes
I and a great critic—one of those who can
I speak in golden pieces, if they will—came
I round to our box to congratulate the
author. The color came back to Raoul's
cheek and his eye sjiarkled. From the
inmate of a prison-cell—from a man all
but condemned—to become the cy
nosure of Paris! The men and
women who had but yesterday mentioned Lis
name with a cynical indifference or a flippant
affectation of horror, were now the willing
captives of bis genius—the unconscious mir
rors of his moods, as the dialogue shifted from
grave to gay. Raoul had drunk of the cup of
despair; he was now to taste of the sparkling
draught of fame. I feared the revulsion
might be too great. And so, indeed, it might,
bad not Gabrielle been there. But the love
w hich had sustained Kaoul in his hour of agony
calmed and steadied h'm in bis hour of tri
umph. His eyes were turned less often to the
stage, where his ideas v ere finding body and
voice and clothing them-elves in new power,
than to Gabrielle. As for Gabrielle, sliejiassed
the time iu a charmed distraction between
her lover and the creature - of his imagination.
For ni\* own part, I am afraid I could not
that evening have given a very clear account
of all that passed on the stage of the Odeon.
Indeed, nowhere, perhaps, in all the theatre
was Raoul's comedy followed with less intel
ligent attention than in the box occupied by
the author and bis friends. But it was the
happiest hour of my life, and the thought
which always came to me was—AY hat a won
derful thing is this love ! It has lifted Raoul
out of the shadow of a terror worse than death ;
it lias made him strong to receive with com
posure an ovation from the elite of Paris.
For it was. iu truth, an ovation. I need
scarcely remark that Parisian audiences are
not, as a rule, {none to enthusiasm. But.
when the curtain fell tliat evening on Raoul's
comedy, the he >use fairly rose at him. A great
shout of "Author ! Author!" went up from all
parts of the theatre. Then, for the first time,
Raoul turned pale and trembled slightly.
"It is too much," he said, "let us go."
AYe hurried to the cloak-room, the roar of
the theatre resounding in our ears. M. Des
nouettes, as we le arned afterward, came for
ward aud assured the audience that the author
was deeply grateful for the reception they had
given his piece, aud that only the state of his
health prevented his appearing in answer to
their call. $
AVhen we came out of the Odeon I said:
"You have borne yourself bravely, my
dear Raoul, but your trials are not jet ended.
Even a Moliere is not privileged to break his
promises. A' ou have conquered Paris, J/ut
you must obey me—you must still follow."
"Are we uot to go back to the Rue de
l'Odeon?" said Gabrielle. "What do you
mean
"I mean that since Raoul has to-night pro
vided so well for the mind, it is for me to
provide for the bod}*"— and I led the little
party to Bignon'a
AVhat a supper that was! We laughed—w#
grew witty—at least some of us did—we con
gratulated one auotber, we basked in the
fame of our dramatist, we were eloquent,
childish whimsical, satirical, sentimental—
we uttered a thousand alisurdities—and we
were w ildly, supremely happy. But if our
talk was beaded with the bubbles of fr ivolity,
its current flowed from the deep places of the
heart. Our light words were often only the
mask of our up-welling emotion.
The honors of the evening were carried off
by Sapinaud, who relieved his feelings in a
speech of surpassing eloquence—indeed, it
was so ingenious, so thrilling, so ornate, that
I had an idea it must have been intended for
delivery at the trial—the trial that was never
to take place. Then I had to tell Raoul the
story of his liberation. When I had ended
Gabrielle. who was seated next me. Seized
my hand and ki-M*<l it before I could prevent
her. Need I say that I felt myself richlj
rewarded?
"Mv dear Raoul," I said, "I am charmed
to see how well you bear yourself already.
Retirement for a little while in the society of
Gabrielle is all that is necessary to complete
the cure. The past will soon be forgotten,
believe me. Mme. Dumaine and I have this
day seen a villa at Auteuil. w hich we think
will suit you perfectly. It is handsomely
furnished. It lias a pleasant garden sloping
down to the river—the very spot for a drama
tist to compose or rehearse love sennes. You
cau become its tenant at once."
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The supper at Bignoii's.
"My dear Paul, what do you meant You
forget I am not a Rothschild, but only a poor
I student of law."
"My dear Raoul, let me have the felicity of
informing you tliat you are an exc eedingly
rich man."
''Most certainly," said Sapinaud. answering
Raoul's look of incredulity: "you are the legal
heir of your uncle. He died in the {Kissessiciu
of great wealth; ull that is yours."
"Not to speak of the comedy," I added,
"which w ill of itself bring you no trifle."
It had never occurred to Kaoul that his
uncle's riches would now be jus. He seemed
at first overcome by the intelligence. Then
he said:
"I will accept this wealth only on one con
dition, Paul—we must share good fortune as
well as bail; we must divide in the future a>
well as in the past."
"I shall certainly," I said, "go to my mon
eyed friend rather than to that w olfish Israel
ite. Ijevi Jacob."
"As for that," put in Sapinaud, "our friend
Paul is never likely to want inouev, unless he
means to live like a Lucullus. His reputation
is made at the Prefecture. I sec* in him a
future judge of instruction—it makes me
giddy to look higher."
"And the marriage?" I asked, "when is
that to take place?"
"To-morrow," answered Raoul, "if Mme,
Dumaiue and Gabrielle do not object."
Madame did not object, aud Gabrielle as.
sented with a blush. I became very envious
of my friend's good fortune.
"AVe shall take the villa at Auteuil," said
Raoul, "and liefore long these weeks will be
to me like a bad dream, which oue forgets in
the morning; onlj* I shall always remember
the constancy and devotion of my friends."
CHAPTER XIII.
CONCLUSION.
The following extract from The Figaro will
form the conclusion of my story:
MYSTERY OF THE PASSAGE DE MAZARIN*.
AV e have to record this morning the closing
scene in the extraordinär}* drama of revenge
and crime which takes its name from the Pas
sage de Mazarin. This scene equals in ro
mantic interest any that has gone liefore it,
Uur readers have beeu already told how the
Japan«*se, Kiosaka, after the murder of Jo
seph Meissner, immediately left Paris. The
detective Blery, who has iu this case c..s
played such singular ability, at oi.ee
started in pursuit of the assassin. A
clew was found at Marseilles, through
a photograph of Kiosaka 's brot! r,
which bad beeu sent to all the seajxji-ts, there
lx*ing a close family resemblance between the
brothel's. M. Blery ascertained that Kiosaka
had certainly gone to Marseilles, probably
meaning to ship from that port; but Laving
in the meantime heard of the arrest of M.
Girard, the author of "The Gold of Toulouse,"
he seems to have changed his intention and
returned to Paris, where he remained during
the whole inquiry conducted by M. Roguet.
Kiosaka had artfully concealed Lis hiding
place in Paris, and it w as not until a few
days ago tliat M. Blery succeeded in tracing
him out. It was then found that the Japa •
nese had left Paris precipitately, immediately
after the innocence of M. Girard had beeu
proved, and the hue and cry raised Against
himself. He adopted various disguises, but
in the end M. Blery succeeded in tracing him
to Nantes. By this time his money appeals
to have b**en nearly exhausted, us he could
uot satisfy the demands of the captain of a
merchant vessel trading to England, where
he intendi*d to take refuge. After this the
unfortunate man wandered aimlessly from
village to village, avoiding ail towns and
buying just as much food as would keep him
in life. The detective meantime followed
him closely, sometimes losing the trail,
but always recovering it by his In
genuity and indefatigable perseverance.
Three days ago the Japanese was heard of
at a small hamlet near Poictiers; but in none
of the neighlxiring villages had he been seen
after that time. The frost had been exceed
ingly keen in the district, and from these facts
M. Blery drew an inference which proved
correct. Under his direction the country
people made a careful search of the woods
lying round the village which the Japanese
had last \ isited. and a party led by M. Blery
himself discovered the corpse of the ill
starixxl Kiosaka lying stark and stiff among
the brashwood. He hail succumbed to the
severe cold, which his uatiu'al constitution
and the privations he had lately undergone
rendered him uuable to resist. Un the person
of the Japanese, hung in a little liug round
his neck, was found the pearl which the old
money-lender had obtained from the Japanese
Sangura. and for the recovery of which be
was murdered by Kiosaka. This pearl, which
is of great beauty and very considerable
value, passes into the possession of M. Girard,
as heir of Joseph Meissner. The reward of
five thousand francs offered by the authori
ties for the discoveiy of the assassin, together
with the twenty thousand lately added to
that amount by M. Girard, will be made over
to M. Blery, who cannot be to highly com
plimented on the skill and energy which ha
has displayed in the affair of the Pa-sage da
Mazariu.
TUX END.