Part 11 (1/2)
The moon was high, but not bright enough to read a small and delicate handwriting by. The Captain found himself in a tantalising position.
He gave Paul some more brandy, laid down the packet of letters, and turned to the portfolio. It was large and official in appearance, and it had an ingenious clasp which baffled Dieppe. With a sigh he cut the leather top and bottom, and examined the prize.
”Ah, my dear Banque de France, even in this light I can recognise your charming, allegorical figures,” he said with a smile. There were thirty notes--he counted them twice, for they were moist and very sticky. There was another paper. ”This must be--” He rose to his feet and held the paper up towards the moon. ”I can't read the writing,” he murmured, ”but I can see the figures--30,000. Ah, and that is 'Genoa'! Now to whom is it payable, I wonder!”
”What the devil are you doing?” growled Paul, sitting up with a s.h.i.+ver.
”My friend, I have saved your life,” observed the Captain, impressively.
”That's no reason for robbing me,” was Paul's ungrateful but logically sound reply.
The Captain stooped and picked up the bundle of letters. Separating them one from another, he tore them into small fragments and scattered them over the stream. Paul watched him, sullen but without resistance.
Dieppe turned to him.
”You have no possible claim against the Countess,” he remarked; ”no possible hold on her, Monsieur de Roustache.”
Paul finished the flask for himself this time, s.h.i.+vered again, and swore pitifully. He was half-crying and cowed. ”Curse the whole business!” he said. ”But she had twenty thousand francs of my money.”
The Captain addressed to him a question somewhat odd under the circ.u.mstances.
”On your honour as a gentleman, is that true?” he asked.
”Yes, it's true,” said Paul, with a glare of suspicion. He was not in the mood to appreciate satire or banter; but the Captain appeared quite grave and his manner was courteous.
”It's beastly cold,” Paul continued with a groan.
”In a moment you shall take a run,” the Captain promised. And he pursued, ”The Countess must not be in your debt. Permit me to discharge the obligation.” He counted twenty of the thirty notes and held them out to Paul. After another stare Paul laughed feebly.
”I am doing our friend M. Guillaume no wrong,” the Captain explained.
”His employers have in their possession fifty thousand francs of mine.
I avail myself of this opportunity to reduce the balance to their debit. As between M. Guillaume and me, that is all. As between you and me, sir, I act for the Countess. I pay your claim at your own figures, and since I discharge the claim I have made free to destroy the evidence. I have thrown the letters into the river. I do not wish to threaten, but if you 're not out of sight in ten minutes, I 'll throw you after them.”
”If I told you all the story--” began Paul with a sneer.
”I 'm not accustomed to listen to stories against ladies, sir,”
thundered the Captain.
”She 's had my money for a year--”
”The Countess would wish to be most liberal, but she did not understand that you regarded the transaction as a commercial one.” He counted five more notes and handed them to Paul with an air of careless liberality.
Paul broke into a grudging laugh.
”What are you going to tell old Guillaume?” he asked.
”I'm going to tell him that my claim against his employers is reduced by the amount that I have had the honour to hand you, M. de Roustache.
Pardon me, but you seem to forget the remark I permitted myself to make just now.” And the Captain pointed to the river.