Part 48 (1/2)
”A fellow named Carteaux has charged you with half killing him and stealing his despatches. That is all I know.”
”Is that all? _Diable!_ I am sorry I did not wholly kill him. I knew this would come out soon or late. Of course he is lying; but I did shoot him.”
”There is a malignant article in the 'Aurora' to-day--there, I marked it.”
Rene looked it over as he stood. ”So I am the thief, I am the agent of the cabinet or the Federal party, and _mon Dieu_, Schmidt--”
”It is serious,” said the captain. ”A horsewhip is the weapon needed here, but I am at your service in every way.”
”Thank you; but first of all, I must see Mr. Randolph; and, oh, worst of all, Schmidt is absent!” He felt that he could not meet Margaret until he had put an end to this slander. He foresaw also that to meet with success would, in Schmidt's absence, be difficult. Thanking his sailor friend, he made haste to see his official superior.
”Ah,” said Randolph, ”I am both glad and sorry to see you. Sit down.
Have you heard of the charges against you made by Mr. Fauchet for his secretary, Carteaux?”
”Nothing very clear, sir; but enough to bring me here instantly to have the thing explained to me.”
”Pray read this statement.”
De Courval read Carteaux's deposition and, flus.h.i.+ng with sudden anger he threw the paper on the table. ”So it seems I deliberately waylaid and shot the secretary of an envoy in order to steal his despatches.”
”That is the charge, made by a man who I am a.s.sured is dying. You can have no objection to my asking you a few questions.”
”None. I shall like it.”
”Did you shoot this man?”
”I did. He was of the mock court which murdered my father at Avignon.
Any French gentleman here can tell you--Du Vallon for one, and De Noailles. Of the direct personal part this man took in causing my father's death I have not talked. Twice he has had the equal chance I would have given a gentleman. Yes, I meant to kill him.”
”But, Vicomte--”
”Pardon me.” And he told briefly the story of Carteaux's treacherous shot and of why for a while it seemed well to Schmidt to silence the man.
”It was unwise. A strange and sad affair,” said the secretary, ”but, Monsieur, it is only this recent matter which concerns me, and the fact, the unfortunate fact, that your enemy was a bearer of despatches. Who can substantiate your statement as against that of a man said to be dying? Who can I call upon?”
”No one. Mr. Schmidt saw it. He is in Europe. The man lies. It is his word or mine. He says here nothing of its being only a personal quarrel; and why did he wait? Ah, clearly until Schmidt, who saw it all, had gone to Europe and I was absent.”
”Why he waited I cannot say. The rest concerns me greatly. Did you destroy his despatches?”
”_Mon Dieu!_ I? No. Mr. Schmidt, in cutting open his clothes to get at his wound, found those papers, and then seeing what I had done, and how the department might be credited with it, or at least the English party, I myself carried the despatch to its address, the captain of the _Jean Bart_.”
”Did you get a receipt?”
”I asked for it. It was refused. The captain was angry at what he said had been dangerous delay, and refused unless I would come on board and talk to him. I of course declined to do so. I would certainly have been carried to France.”
”She has sailed, the _Jean Bart?_”
”Yes, sir.”
”Then what proof have you as against the deposition of a man _in extremis?_”