Part 36 (1/2)

”What, Verminet's?”

”I suppose so. I am speaking of those to which you were mad enough to forge another man's name.”

Foolish as the boy was, this act of his had caused him many a sleepless night, and he had reflected very often how he could possibly escape from the consequence of his act of rashness.

”Give me the money,” cried he.

Andre shook his head, however. ”Forgive me,” said he, ”but this money does not quit my hand until the bills are handed over to me. Your father's orders on this point are decided; but the sooner we settle the affair the better.”

”That is too bad; the governor is as sly as a fox; but he must have his own way, I suppose, so come on. Only just wait till I slip on a coat more suitable to my position than this lounging suit.”

He rushed away, and was back again in ten minutes as neat as a new pin, and full of gayety and good spirits.

”We can walk,” said he, putting his arm through Andre's. ”We have to go to the Rue St. Anne.”

Verminet had his office in this street--the office of the Mutual Loan Society, of which he was the managing director. The house, in spite of its grandiloquent t.i.tle, was of excessively shabby exterior. The Mutual Loan Society was frequented by those who, having lost their credit, wished to obtain a fresh amount, and who, having no money, wanted to borrow some.

Verminet's plan of financial operations was perfectly simple. A tradesman on the verge of bankruptcy would come to him, Verminet would look into his case and make him sign bills for the sum he required, handing him in exchange bills drawn by other tradesman in quite as serious a predicament as himself, and pocketed a commission of two per cent. upon both the transactions. Verminet obtained clients from the simple fact that an embarra.s.sed tradesman is utterly reckless, cares not what he signs, and will clutch at a straw to keep his head above water.

But there were many other transactions carried on at the office of the Mutual Loan Society, for its largest means of income was drawn from even less respectable sources, and it was alleged that many of these bogus bills which are occasionally cashed by some respectable bankers were manufactured there. At any rate, Verminet managed to make money somehow.

CHAPTER XXIII.

RINGING THE CHANGES.

Andre, who was gifted with plenty of intelligence, at once judged of the kind of business done by the Mutual Loan Society by the dinginess of the bra.s.s plate on the door and the generally dilapidated aspect of the house.

”I don't like the look of it at all,” said he.

”It does not go in for show,” answered Gaston, affecting an air of wisdom, ”but it is deemed handy sometimes. It does all sorts of business that you would never think of. A real downy card is Verminet.”

Andre could easily believe this, for, of course, there could be but one opinion concerning the character of a man who could have induced a mere simpleton like Gaston to affix a forged signature to the bills which he had discounted. He made no remark, however, but entered the house, with the interior arrangements of which Gaston appeared to be perfectly familiar. They pa.s.sed through a dirty, ill-smelling pa.s.sage, went across a courtyard, cold and damp as a cell, and ascended a flight of stairs with a grimy bal.u.s.trade. On the second floor Gaston made a halt before a door upon which several names were painted. They pa.s.sed through into a large and lofty room. The paper on the walls of this delectable chamber was torn and spotted, and a light railing ran along it, behind which sat two or three clerks, whose chief occupation appeared to be consuming the breakfast which they had brought with them to the office. The heat of the stove, which was burning in one corner of the room, the general mouldiness of the atmosphere, and the smell of the coa.r.s.e food, were sufficient to turn the stomach of any one coming in from the fresh air.

”Where is M. Verminet?” asked Gaston authoritatively.

”Engaged,” replied one of the clerks, without pausing to empty his mouth before he replied.

”Don't you talk to me like that. What do I care whether he is engaged or not? Tell him that Gaston de Gandelu desires to see him at once.”

The clerk was evidently impressed by his visitor's manner, and, taking the card which was handed to him, made his exit through a door at the other end of the room.

Gaston was delighted at this first victory, and glanced at Andre with a triumphant smile.

The clerk came back almost at once. ”M. Verminet,” cried he, ”has a client with him just now. He begs that you will excuse him for a few minutes, when he will see you;” and evidently anxious to be civil to the gorgeously attired youths before him, he added, ”My master is just now engaged with M. de Croisenois.”

”Aha,” cried Gaston; ”I will lay you ten to one that the dear Marquis will be delighted to see me.”

Andre started on hearing this name, and his cheek crimsoned. The man whom he most hated in this world; the wretch who, by his possession of some compromising secret, was forcing Sabine into a detested marriage; the villain whom he, M. de Breulh, and Madame de Bois Arden had sworn to overreach, was within a few paces of him, and that now he should see him face to face. Their eyes would meet, and he would hear the tones of the scoundrel's voice. His rage and agitation were so intense that it was with the utmost difficulty that he concealed it. Luckily for him, Gaston was not paying the slightest attention to his companion; for having, at the clerk's invitation, taken a chair, he a.s.sumed an imposing att.i.tude, which struck the shabby young man behind the railing with the deepest admiration.

”I suppose,” said he, in a loud voice, ”that you know my dear friend, the Marquis?”

Andre made some reply, which Gaston interpreted as a negative.