Collected works of eugen.., p.141
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 141
“Is the affair you have failed in still good?”
“In two months as good as new.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Of course.”
“And what do you ask for it?”
“A hundred francs as earnest; and I will give you the word arranged with my woman, on which she will hand you the prints, from which you can make the false keys. And, moreover, if the thing comes off, I shall expect a fifth share of the swag to be handed over to my woman.”
“That’s not unreasonable.”
“As I shall know to whom she has given the prints, if I am done out of my share I shall know whom to inform against.”
“And very right, too, if you were choused; but amongst prigs and cracksmen there’s honour, — we must rely on each other, or all business would be impossible.”
Another anomaly in this horrid existence. This villain spoke the truth. It is very seldom that thieves fail in their faith in such arrangements as these, but they usually act with a kind of good faith, — or, rather, that we may not prostitute the word, we will say that necessity compels these ruffians to keep their words; for if they failed, as the companion of the Gros-Boiteux said, “All business would be impossible.” A great number of robberies are arranged, bought, and plotted in this way in gaol, — another pernicious result of confinement in common.
“If what you say is sure,” continued Cardillac, “I can agree for the job. There are no proofs against me, I am sure to be acquitted, and in a fortnight I shall be out; let us add three weeks in order to turn oneself about, to get the false keys, and lay our plans, and then in six weeks from this—”
“You’ll go to the job in the very nick of time.”
“Well, then, it’s a bargain.”
“But how about the earnest? I must have something down.”
“Here is my last button, and when I have no more, — yet there are others left,” said Cardillac, tearing off a button covered with cloth from his ragged blue coat, and then tearing off the covering with his nails, he showed the Gros-Boiteux that, instead of a button-mould, it contained a piece of forty francs. “You see I can pay deposit,” he added, “when the affair is arranged.”
“That’s the ticket, old fellow!” said the Gros-Boiteux. “And as you are soon going out, and have got rhino to work with, I can put you up to another thing, — a real good go, — the cheese, — a regular affair which my woman and myself have been cooking up, and which only wants the finishing stroke. Only imagine a lone street in a deserted quarter, a ground floor, looking on one side into an obscure alley, and on the other a garden, and here two old people, who go to roost with the cocks and hens since the riots, and, for fear of being robbed, they have concealed behind a panel, in a pot of preserves, a quantity of gold; my woman found it out by gossiping with the servant. But I tell you this will be a dearer job than t’other, for it is in hard cash, and all cooked ready to eat and drink.”
“We’ll arrange it, be assured. But you haven’t worked over well since you left the central.”
“Yes, I have had a pretty fair chance. I got together some trifles which brought me nearly sixty pounds. One of my best bites was a pull at two women who lodged in the same house with me in the Passage de la Brasserie.”
“What, at Daddy Micou’s?”
“Yes.”
“And your Josephine?”
“Just the same; a real ferret as ever. She cooks with the old couple I have mentioned to you, and so smelt out the pot with the golden honey in it.”
“She’s nothing but a trump!”
“I flatter myself she is. But, talking of trumps, you know the Chouette?”
“Yes; Nicholas has told me the Schoolmaster did for her, and he has gone mad.”
“Perhaps from losing his sight through some accident. But I say, old fellow, it’s quite understood that you will buy my two bargains, and so I shall not speak to any one else.”
“Don’t; and we will talk them over this evening.”
“Well, and how are you getting on here?”
“Oh, we laugh and play the fool.”
“Who’s prévôt of the chamber?”
“The Skeleton.”
“He’s not to be joked with. I have seen him at Martial’s, in the Isle du Ravageur. We had a flare-up with Josephine and La Boulotte.”
“By the way, Nicholas is here.”
“So Micou told me when he made a lament that Nicholas was putting the screw on — an old hunks! Why, what else were receivers made for?”
“Here is the Skeleton,” said Cardillac, as the prévôt appeared at the door of the room.
“Young ‘un, come forward,” said the Skeleton to the Gros-Boiteux.
“Here I am,” he replied, going into the apartment, accompanied by Frank, whose arm he held.
During the conversation between the Gros-Boiteux, Frank, and Cardillac, Barbillon had been, by order of the prévôt, to select twelve or fifteen of the choicest prisoners, who (in order to avoid the suspicions of the turnkey) had come separately into the day-room. The other détenus had remained in the yard, and some of them, by Barbillon’s advice, had appeared to be disputing, in order to take off the attention of the turnkey from the room in which were now assembled the Skeleton, Barbillon, Nicholas, Frank, Cardillac, the Gros-Boiteux, and some fifteen other prisoners, all awaiting with impatient curiosity until the prévôt should open the business.
Barbillon, charged with the look-out, placed himself near the door. The Skeleton, taking his pipe from his mouth, said to the Gros-Boiteux:
“Do you know a slim young man named Germain, with blue eyes, brown hair, and the look of a noodle?”
“What! Is Germain here?” inquired the Gros-Boiteux, with surprise, hate, and anger in his looks.
“What, then, you know him?” said the Skeleton.
“Know him?” replied the Gros-Boiteux. “Why, my lads, I denounce him as a nose, and he must be punished!”
“Yes, yes!” replied the prisoners.
“Are you sure it was he who informed against you?” asked Frank; “suppose it was a mistake, — we mustn’t ill-use a man who’s innocent.”
This remark was displeasing to the Skeleton, who leaned over to the Gros-Boiteux, and said in his ear:
“Who is this man?”
“One with whom I have worked.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes — but he hasn’t gull enough — too much treacle in him.”
“Good, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Tell us how Germain turned nose,” said a prisoner.
“Yes, let us know all about it, Gros-Boiteux,” continued the Skeleton, who did not take his eyes off Frank.
“Well, then,” said Gros-Boiteux, “a man of Nantes, named Velu, a freed convict, brought up the young fellow, whose birth no one is acquainted with. When he had reached the proper age they put him into a banking-house at Nantes, thinking they had put a wolf to watch the money-box, and make use of Germain to do a bold and great stroke which had been meditated for a very long time. There were to be two coups, a forgery and a dip into the strong chest at the bank, something like a hundred and fifty thousand francs. All was arranged, and Velu relied on the young fellow as on himself, for the chap slept in the room in which the iron safe was. Velu told him his plans; Germain neither says yes or no, but reveals all to his employer, and the very same evening cuts his stick and mizzles to Paris.”
The prisoners burst into various murmurs of indignation and threats.
“He’s a spy — nose — informer! — and we’ll have the bones out of his body!”
“If it’s agreeable, I’ll seek a quarrel with him, and settle his hash!”
“Silence in the stone jug!” exclaimed the Skeleton, in a tone of command.
The prisoners were silent.
“Go on,” said the prévôt to Gros-Boiteux, and he went on smoking.
“Believing that Germain had consented, and relying on his assistance, Velu and two of his friends attempted the job that same night. The banker was on the watch; one of Velu’s friends was taken as he was entering a window, he himself escaping with difficulty. He reached Paris enraged at having been sold by Germain, and foiled in a splendid affair. One fine day he met the young fellow; it was in the open daylight, and he didn’t dare do anything, but he followed him, found out where he lived, and one night we two, Velu and little Ledru, fell on Germain. Unfortunately he escaped, and then changed his residence in the Rue du Temple, where he lived; we were unable to find him afterwards. But if he is here, I demand—”
“You have nothing to demand,” said the Skeleton, in a tone of authority.
The Gros-Boiteux was instantly silent.
“I take the bargain off your hands; you will concede to me Germain’s skin, and I’ll flay him alive. I am not called the Skeleton for nothing. I am dead-alive, my grave is dug, and I run no risk in working for the stone jug. The informers destroy us faster than the police; they put noses of La Force into La Roquette, and the noses of La Roquette in the Conciergerie, and they think themselves safe. Now, mind you, when each prison shall have killed its informer, no matter when he may have informed, that will take away the others’ appetite. I will set the example, and let others follow it.”
All the prisoners, admiring the Skeleton’s resolution, closed around him. Barbillon himself, instead of remaining near the door, joined the group, and did not perceive another prisoner, who had entered the room. This individual, clothed in a gray blouse, and wearing a blue cotton cap with a red worsted border, pulled down over his eyes, started as he heard the name of Germain mentioned, and then, mingling with the Skeleton’s admirers, gave out loud tones of approbation at the deadly determination of the prévôt.
“What an out-and-outer the Skeleton is!” said one.
“The devil himself is a fool to him!”
“This here’s what I call a man!”
“If all were like him, wouldn’t the flats be afeard?”
“He’ll do a real service to the stone jug, and when they see this, the noses will look blue.”
“And no mistake!”
“And since the Skeleton is safe to suffer, why, it’ll cost him nothing to put a nose out of joint!”
“Well, I think it’s too bad,” said Frank, “to kill the young chap.”
“Why? Why?” exclaimed the Skeleton, in a savage tone; “no one has a right to protect a traitor.”
“Yes, to be sure, he is a traitor, — so much the worse for him,” said Frank, after a moment’s reflection.
These latter words, and Gros-Boiteux’s assurance, put the doubts which the other prisoners had entertained against Frank to rest.
The Skeleton alone continued to mistrust him.
“And what are we to do with the turnkey? Tell us, Dead-Alive, for that is your name as well as the Skeleton,” said Nicholas, with a grin.
“We must draw off his attention somehow.”
“No; we’ll hold him down by main force.”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Silence in the stone jug!” said the Skeleton.
There was complete silence.
“Listen to me!” said the prévôt, in his hoarse voice. “There is no means of doing the thing so long as the turnkey remains in the day-room or the walking-yard. I have no knife, and there must be a few groans, for the sneak will struggle.”
“Well, what then?”
“Why, this. Pique-Vinaigre has promised to tell us to-day after dinner his story of ‘Gringalet and Cut-in-Half.’ It rains, and we shall all come here, and the sneak will come and sit down there in the corner, as he always does. We’ll give Pique-Vinaigre some sous that he may begin his tale. It will be dinner-time in the gaol; the turnkey will see us quietly employed in listening to the miraculous mystery of ‘Gringalet and Cut-in-Half,’ and will, suspecting no harm, make off to the tap. As soon as he has left the yard we shall have a quarter of an hour to ourselves, and the nose will be cold meat before the turnkey can return. I will undertake it, — I who have done for stouter fellows in my day; and mind, I’ll have no assistance!”
“Mind your eye!” cried Cardillac; “and what about the huissier who will always come for a gossip amongst us at dinner-time? If he comes into the room to listen to Pique-Vinaigre, and sees Germain done for, he will cry out for help. He’s not one of us, the huissier, — he’s in a private cell, and we should mistrust him.”
“Is there a huissier here?” said Frank, the victim as we know of a breach of trust, by Maître Boulard. “Is there a huissier here?” he repeated, with astonishment, “and what is his name?”
“Boulard,” replied Cardillac.
“The very man! The identical villain!” cried Frank, clenching his fists. “It is he who has stolen my savings!”
“The huissier?” inquired the prévôt.
“Yes, seven hundred francs of mine.”
“You know him? And has he seen you?” inquired the Skeleton.
“I have seen him, worse luck! But for him I should not be here.”
These regrets sounded ill in the Skeleton’s ears, and he fixed his malignant eyes steadfastly on Frank, who replied to several of his comrade’s questions. Then stooping towards the Gros-Boiteux, he said, in a low voice:
“This is a fresh ‘un who might tell the turnkey.”
“No, I’ll answer for his not informing against any one; yet still he has his scruples about going the whole hog, and he might aid Germain in defending himself. It would be best to get him out of the yard.”
“I’ll do it,” said the Skeleton; and then aloud he said, “I say, Frank, won’t you pitch into this thief of a lawyer?”
“Won’t I, that’s all!”
“Well, he’s coming, and so look out.”
“I’m ready, and he shall bear my marks!”
“We shall have a row, and they will send the huissier to his room and Frank to the black-hole,” said the Skeleton, in an undertone, to the Gros-Boiteux; “we shall thus get rid of both.”
“What a lucky pitch! Why, this Skeleton is a prime minister!” said the Boiteux, admiringly; and then he added, in a loud tone, “I say, shall we tell Pique-Vinaigre that we shall avail ourselves of his history to come over the turnkey and throttle the sneak?”
“By no means; Pique-Vinaigre is too soft and too cowardly. If he was up to the thing he wouldn’t tell the story, but when the job is done and over he’ll bear his share.”
The dinner-bell sounded at this moment.
“To your puddings, dogs!” said the Skeleton; “Pique-Vinaigre and Germain will soon be in the yard. Now mind your eyes, my boys! They call me Dead-Alive, but the sneak is also dead-alive!”
CHAPTER X.
THE STORY-TELLER.
THE NEW PRISONER of whom we have spoken, and who was dressed in a gray blouse, with a cotton cap on his head, had attentively listened to and energetically applauded the scheme for punishing the reserve of Germain, even at the expense of his life. This individual, whose form betokened strength and power of no ordinary description, quitted the day-room with the rest of the prisoners without being noticed, and soon mingled with the different groups assembled in the courtyard to receive their rations, crowding around the persons employed in the distribution like so many hungry cormorants.
Each prisoner received a piece of the meat employed in making the day’s soup, with about half a loaf of tolerably good bread. Such of the détenus as possessed the means were allowed to purchase drink at the wineshop belonging to the prison, and even to go thither to regale themselves with their lush; while persons who, like Nicholas, had received provisions from their friends, generally made a sort of feast, to which they invited their most intimate acquaintances. The guests selected by the son of the executed felon upon the present occasion were the Skeleton, Barbillon, and, at the suggestion of the latter, Pique-Vinaigre, in order that good eating and drinking might quicken his talent for “storytelling.”
The ham, hard boiled eggs, cheese, and delicate white bread, wrung from the forced generosity of Micou the receiver, were arranged most temptingly on a bench in the day-room, and the Skeleton prepared himself to do ample justice to the repast, without in the slightest degree disturbing his appetite by the thoughts of the cold-blooded murder that was to follow it.
“Just go and see whether Pique-Vinaigre is coming, will you, my fine fellow?” cried he, addressing an individual who stood near him. “I tell you what it is, while I’m waiting to choke that stuck-up young fool they call Germain, I’m blowed if hunger and thirst won’t choke me, if I have to dawdle about much longer. And here; don’t forget to work old Frank up to do for the bum-bailiff, so that we may kill two birds with one stone, as the saying is.”
“Don’t you be afraid, old Dead-Alive! If Frank don’t make a stiff’un of the bailey, it won’t be our fault, that you may take your oath of!” And, while uttering these words, Nicholas went forth from the day-room.
At this moment Maître Boulard entered the yard, smoking a cigar, his hands buried in the pockets of his gray duffle dressing-gown, his peaked cap pulled down well over his ears, and a look of chuckling satisfaction upon his fat, full-blown countenance. He quickly espied Nicholas, who was busily occupied gazing around in search of Frank. That person was at that precise period of time busily occupied, in company with his friend Gros-Boiteux, in eating his dinner, and, from the position in which they sat on one of the benches, they perceived not the presence of the bailiff. Acting in implicit obedience to the directions given him by the Skeleton, directly Nicholas, from the corner of his eye, descried the approach of Maître Boulard, he feigned entire ignorance of his vicinity, but made for the place where Frank and his companions were seated.
“How are you, my ticket?” inquired the bailiff of Nicholas.
“Bless me!” answered he; “I declare I didn’t see you. I suppose you’re like me, come out to take a sniff of fresh air and have your daily walk?”
“Why, that’s about it. But I happen to have more reasons than one to-day; and I tell you how it is. But, first of all, catch hold of one of these cigars; they’re deuced good ones. Come, don’t be so missy and shy about it; take as many as you like. Hang it all, when men are shut up together in a place like this, they oughtn’t to be stingy.”
