Fast and Loose. A novel

Front matter

_ Sm. BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, ATTTnOR OF '' THE CHRONICLES OP NEWGATE," ETC. ETC IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON— CHAPMAN and HALL LIMITED. 1885. (All rights reserved.) WESTMINSTER: PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET. CONTENTS. VOLUME III. CHAP. PAGE I. — In The Place Maubert . . 1 II. — At the Hotel Gaillard . . 17 III. — The County Gaol . . . .32 IV. — Meggitt's Quandary . . .48 V — Leon Lantimeche . . . .64 VI. — Fanchette's Mission . . .81 VII. — The Missing Brother . . .98 VIII. — The Secrets of the Bank . .115 IX. — A Change of Quarters . . . 131 X. — Money is Tight 148 XL— Dal-na-Muick 165 XII.— In Gaol and Out . . . .184 XIII. — A Bold Attempt .... 204 XIV.— A Bun on the Bank . . . .237 XV. — News for All 254 XVI. — Daunt's Be ward . . . .262 XVII. — The Web Unravelled . . .272 XVIII.— Conclusion

Chapter I. In The Place Maubert

It is time to let the reader know how Percy Meggitt first became acquainted with Leon Lantimeche, alias Tue Tete, alias French Joe, alias the Marquis de Ojo Verde. For this it will be necessary to retrace our steps, and relate certain adventures that befel Mr. Meggitt at a date antecedent to the commencement of this story. The ordinary visitor to Paris knows little of its darkest side. He spends his time between the sights, the Boulevard, and the Bois de Boulogne ; dines as he can afford it at the Cafe Anglais or the Cafe Riche, in the Palais Royal, or at an Etablisse ment Duval ; frequents the cafe chantants or principal theatres according to the season, and walks about the VOL. III. B streets nearest his hotel. But he rarely sees the low haunts. No laquais de place would take him there ; the only safe guide through these abysmal depths would be la Eousse, the police, or that part of it known as the agents de la surete, who are the equivalents of our London detectives.

Even when the police them selves patrol it it is always in couples. To venture alone and unprotected into the Rue de Venise ; to explore the Rues des Filles Dieu ; still more, to roam through the purlieus of the Place Maubert, once the residence of royalty, now the last refuge of la haute pegre, the worst section of the criminal class of Paris, — is to carry one's life in one's hand. There is one street the name of which an intelli gible euphemism has toned down from the Rue des Crimes to the Rue des Anglais, but it still deserves its original title. Dark, dirty, noisome, crimes the most atrocious have been and still are perpetrated in its foul recesses, where the filthy drinking-places and forbidding lodging-houses gather perpetually a festering loathsome mass of human corruption, the dregs of Paris, men and women degraded and unsexed ; depredators of every category, to whom these hideous dens afford a natural habitat and home.

No decent person, I have said — still more, no person with a decent coat on his back, or a franc in his pocket — who knows Paris, would visit this part of the capital by himself. Outwardly respectable people may be seen there, but they are inwardly as foul as the rest ; members in secret of the criminal brother hood, prosperous for the moment but only with ill gotten gains. They are free of this modern Alsatia, because they are part and parcel of it; have graduated through all its stages, know its shibboleth, and are acquainted with its pass-words and signs. One evening in early April, at Easter in fact, there was an unusual crowd in the cabaret of Pere Barabas. Numbers of ill-favoured ruffians stood before the little counter, with its sunken pewter-sink, perforated, so that every drop of spilt liquor found its way into some general reservoir below.

The cry for absinthe, melees, hot punch, was unending ; the thirst African. At the half-dozen tables in the body of the room sat groups of three and four ; here and there a lady in the cast-off finery of a duchesse pour rire was treating the cabby who had brought her from the Salle Valentino or some other distant and com paratively high-class haunt of pleasure. Here a noisy party of lads in blue blouses were quarreling b2 as to who should pay the score. Further on a scare crow of a man, pale of countenance, and miserably thin, sat between two women almost in rags, and all three were greedily devouring large mouthfuls of ham and cabbage. They were too busy to talk much, but their rare remarks referred to a past period of enforced abstinence, and, taken in connection with their appearance, too plainly betrayed their recent release from some maison centrale.

At one of these tables a little removed from the rest a man sat altogether alone. He had been there half-an-hour or more, yet no one had taken any notice of him. A few furtive glances were levelled at him on his first entry, but everyone seemed to avoid his eye. He had ex changed a nod or two with Pere Barabas, ordered a bock, and sat down quietly to drink it. He evidently wished to have no conversation with any one else in the company, and the company respected his desire. A remarkable-looking man in his way, with a hungry, wolfish face, having fierce dark eyes and reddish hair. The beard, which grew to a point, was deeper in tone. In person he was above the middle height, power fully built, with a slight stoop in the shoulders, and as he walked a close observer might have noted the slightest drag or limp in one leg.

He was dressed unobtrusively, not well nor too ill. His clothes were French in make and cut — a rather short-waisted, badly-fitting frock coat, buttoning high, over which fell the ragged ends of a big silk bow; his shirt-collar was of the kind called turned down, cut low, and overlapping; his trousers tight at the knee, and falling wide over the broad-toed patent-leather shoes. From his feet to the low-crowned hat, narrow in the brim, his aspect was French — a commis des nouveautes out of employment probably, or an unsuccessful artist, or a teacher of languages, comptabiliti, or ecriture. While he sat there, slowly sipping his beer, utterly regardless of the turmoil around, ther" fell upon his ear a sound whioh suddenly roused him to attention. Merely a voice speaking words quite unimportant but clearly quite out of place in the Rue des Crimes, otherwise the Rue des Anglais, in spite of its new name.

It was an Englishman speaking, as the majority of Englishmen do, the French of Stratford-atte-Bow. What had brought so unusual a visitor to this essen tially French haunt ? Past and Loose. 6 Next minute the man himself entered, accompanied by a small number of friends. He looked a Briton every inch of him, almost of the conventional type. He was still young, barely thirty perhaps, but he already showed signs of degeneration. His yellowish red hair, parted in the middle, was thin on the top of his head. His figure was losing its symmetry. He was probably a gentleman somewhat given to self indulgence, addicted to the pleasures of the table, fond of a good dinner, a good glass of wine, without too much trouble in getting them. Just at this moment his appearance was slightly indicative of excess.

His gait was a little unsteady ; his white tie — he was in evening clothes, a strange sight in the Place Maubert — was crumpled and dis arranged, and his pronunciation of certain words was very indistinct. An Englishman, rich of course, as all Englishmen are to the average Frenchman, and in grande tenue, in the cabaret of the Pere Barabas, was enough to throw the whole establishment — proprietor, waiters, and company — off their balance. Every eye was turned on the newcomers, the stranger and those who had brought him. The Englishman's companions were three in number, voyous all of them, although two of the three were smartly dressed. One had a fur-coat on in spite of the season ; the other was all in black, and wore a tall hat very wide in the brim. The costume of the third betrayed the utmost seediness.

The braid with which the coat was bound hung in ribbons, the trousers were ragged, and the silk cap, of the kind affected by ouvriers, was glossy with use and age. These three men were evidently habitue's of the place, anxious to show it off and do the honours. They introduced their English friend to Pere Barabas, and invited him to swallow a coup. Meanwhile, half audible remarks passed around at the back. Where had Gros Chene, Pince Nez, and Carapata picked up this Poivreau, this Pierrot, this soft-headed simpleton, who had stepped in there like a fowl to be plucked, perhaps killed in the end ? A keen desire to be of the party and to share in the plunder seized several of those present. "Tiens!" said the lady, " it is my brother, the English prince from the Indies. I have not seen him for years.

Viens done, cheri, come and embrace your sister." " Listen to me ! " whispered a man in a blouse to Gros Chene, who wore the fur-coat ; " have we not Past and Loose. been copains, partners, these years ? You shall not crack this bonbon without me, I swear ! Others pressed round the party with increasing importunity till Gros Chene, losing patience, cried out. " Dieu de dieu ! But this is too epatant. Cannot three gentlemen make a small fete to a brave insulaire without all this cursed row ? Listen, Papa Barabas : is the painted salon free ? " The old man in reply came from behind the counter and showed the way to an inner chamber, shrouded from the gaze of the common room by a faded green baize curtain, but, like it, foul, dark, and unsavoury. In the centre was a narrow table covered with sticky oilcloth, and surrounded by a few rickety chairs.

Some bold and not badly drawn frescoes adorned the dirty walls, executed in black and red chalk, and depicting the adventures of a certain largue (woman) with the police and in prison. Gros Chene called for liquor and supper. Before long a steaming bowl of vin chaud went into the painted salon, also several saucers of cornichons, charcuterie, and slices of sausage which had never seen Lyons. The green baize curtains fell, and the strange party gave themselves up to revelry. Our red-haired friend, after the first surprise, remained impassive, scarcely noticing what was going on. The landlord, addressing him as M. Leon, had whispered a few words to him on the disappearance of the party into the inner salon, but M. Leon had only shaken his head and shrugged his shoulders in reply. He clearly saw no reason to interfere.

The Englishman might be left to his fate. " Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?" His seat, however, was close to the green baize curtain. Scraps of the conversation must have reached him from within. He could not but be aware that cards had been introduced after supper. The pigeoning had commenced. Well, baccarat was a method of theft less dangerous and quite as complete as any other form, popular and much practised in that company. All at once a sudden commotion arose in the painted salon. Loud voices speaking hastily and in anger were followed by sounds of a struggle, the overthrow of the table, the breaking of glass, and, last of all, a distinct heavy thud — the fall of a body on the floor. Past and Loose. No one in the taproom seemed surprised, least of all Pere Barabas. They were not to share in the magot (swag), so they took no interest in the fight for it.

But M. Leon, who, from his place near the curtain, as I have said, could hear better than tho other, suddenly got up from his seat, lifted the green baize curtain, and passed into the inner room. Inside he found the Englishman with his back to tho wall, keeping two assailants at bay with an uplifted chair; at his feet lay a third, Pince Noz, prostrate. The others, baffled in the first attack, now meant mischief. A knife glittered in the hand of one, and a revolver in that of the other — all this with an interchange of oaths, and the strongest expressions in English and French. " Voleur ! Filou ! Escroc ! " shouted one side. " Halte la ! " cried the other. " Restez tranquille or je brealterai votre tete. Je suis un gentilhomme Anglais, homme d'honneur, assistant-cashier in Waldo's Bank, Mincing Lane, well known in tho city of London."

" What's all this ? " said M. Leon, in French, in a voice of authority, interposing between the combatants. Then he added in English, abruptly, " Put that chair down. I'll see you out of this." This diversion only further exasperated the French men, who were on the point of falling foul of M. Leon when he spoke still louder, in thieves' argot : " Le Gros Chene ! Carapata ! Don't you know me?" " Tu Dieu ! " cried both in haste. It is our dabe (master)." " It is I, as you see. What has this Englishman done ? Let him pass." " Done ! He has cheated us, tricked us, us who are the most honourable players in all Europe. The game was fair until just now, when " and Gros Chene poured forth a torrent of words to show how the simple Englishman had attempted to befool them. " When Greek meets Greek," said M. Leon, with a half-smile.

" But there, no more. Let us pass." "Let us pass, I say," he repeated, imperiously, and the others drew back, but not with a good grace. It was not natural that they should submit so readily to the loss of their prey. " Come on, sir," M. Leon cried rather sharply to the Englishman, "these gentlemen will not detain you further ; we had better be going. I will see you safely out of this den, into which, believe me, you ought never to have come. Lead on, monsieur; I will cover your retreat." As these two passed out into the common taproom, many looked askance, wondering what had become of the rest of the party. But M. Leon's dark, for bidding face did not invite inquiry. No one spoke or interposed when he said to the cocker who had been drinking with the lady : " Are you free to take a fare ?

If so, mount your box." " Whither, mon bourgeois ? " asked the cabman, in a voice of great humility. " Towards the Pont Neuf, after that is reached I will tell you. Now, sir, mount." And M. Leon, or M. Leon Lantimeche, to state his name in full, hustled his protege into the fiacre with very scant ceremony, taking his seat beside him. " Where do you lodge ? " he asked, presently, as the fiacre merged upon the Quai Voltaire. " Hotel des Danube et Amsterdam, Rue des Bons Enfants. I think I should like to go straight home," said the Englishman. " Naturally ; the night has been exciting, and full of events. I am loth to keep its unpleasant memories alive, and yet I should be glad to know how you gravitated towards the Place Maubert." " They said they would show me life — the life of Paris which no one sees.

I met the one in the fur coat in the Cafe de la Fontaine. He was at the next table, and spoke to me first, and after many apologies for intruding said he had remarked that I was a stranger. Could he do anything to make my stay agreeable ? We drank together for a little, and talked, and then at his invitation went to the Salle Valentino and the bal at Bullier's. There we picked up a second friend, a French detective I was told in a whisper, who asked me if I would like to go the rounds of Paris, to thieves' lodging-houses, and places unknown to strangers. It seemed to me a fine chance and we started in a fiacre. Another person turned up, also a detective they said, and that's how I found myself in the Place Maubert." " I think you may congratulate yourself that I was there too," said M. Leon, quietly.

Monsieur ? " "Meggitt, Percy Meggitt, of Waldo's, Mincing Lane. Allow me to say at once that I am extremely obliged to you, and if you will call to-morrow at my hotel I shall be glad to offer you some more sub stantial mark of my gratitude." " Monsieur Meggitt, a man of my stamp does not accept rewards for doing what is right," said M. Leon, with dignity. " I am more than repaid already," he added, touching the region of his right breast-pocket. The gesture conveyed the idea that he gloried in an honest heart ; but, with a fine irony, that was lost on Meggitt he really meant that he had helped him self to the Englishman's purse, by picking his pocket as he hustled him into the cab. Mr. Meggitt did not discover the theft till he got out and prepared to pay the fare. " I have been robbed," he cried, in mingled rage and consternation.

" My pocketbook is gone; I would not have lost it for worlds. Do you think yoa could recover it ? " " Scarcely. You should not have risked it in the Rue des Crimes," said M. Leon, " and you might have lost much more. They could have stripped you to the skin, then flayed you alive, and sold your hide for leather." " But I cannot pay the fiacre." " Do not distress yourself, monsieur. I will do that for you. Indeed," he added, sotto voce, " it is the least I can do. So good night, and good-bye, monsieur." " I trust we may meet again. I don't think I heard your name." " Leon, at your service ; yes, perhaps we shall meet again. Bon jour and au revoir." He raised his hat, repaired to his cab, gave the cocker fresh directions, and was driven off to the cafe and nighthouse in the Faubourg Montmartre, where he paid and dismissed the fiacre.

While they pre pared a succulent supper, some oysters, a bottle of Montrachet and a Chateaubriand, M. Leon took out the Engbshman's pocketbook and thoroughly over hauled its contents. He looked first for cash, and found several napo leons, also an English sovereign or two. There was besides a letter of credit or circular note for 501. payable at Messrs. John Arthur's. " Fourteen hundred francs ! Assez bon le magot ! What else have we ? Papers, letters, notes of little affairs. A man of method, this Mr. Meggitt, and business-like, but perhaps a little imprudent. Too much detail, mon cher monsieur," he gently whispered, as he read a few of the papers. "Why write atf these things down ? See what comes of it. You lose your purse, I pick it up ; it becomes mine — mine with all it contains. Your little secrets, your private habits, pleasures, and ways of life, I know them all.

Ah, Monsieur Meggitt, this is a precious pocket-book to you. Now I can understand why you were so disheartened at losing it. You shall have it back, mon cher. I will restore it to you by-and-bye, and claim my reward." Then he carefully replaced everything in the pocket-book and applied himself with an appetite to the oysters and old Montrachet, which were by this time before him. His mind was busy as he ate — planning, contriving, reasoning with himself, as he passed from point to point in the evolution of a vast scheme, originating in this night's adventures, and promising him, if carefully and cautiously carried out, tremendous returns at comparatively small risks. " It will be all my fault if I do not succeed. I see my way clearly, step by step, safely, with the com monest luck to the end. Luck ! Why not ? It is surely my turn."

Chapter II. At The Hotel Gaillard

When Percy Meggitt, after his holiday trip to Paris, took his accustomed place behind the counter at Waldo's Bank, the clerks who were his nearest neigh bours thought him looking a little pale. They whispered to one another that French food and French life had disagreed with him, and in their hearts they were not sorry. The assistant-cashier was not popular with his subordinates. He had not a pleasant way with him, was bumptious and overbearing, taking more upon himself than was warranted by his position. On this, the first day of his return to work, Percy Meggitt seemed preoccupied and grave. He nodded very distantly to the rest of the clerks as he entered the bank ; and when Mr. Waldo shook hands with him, and trusted he had enjoyed his holiday, Meggitt merely said, " Thank you, sir ; yes," and then buried himself in work for the rest of the day.

VOL. III. c The clerks were not wrong in imagining that there was much amiss with Mr. Meggitt. He had much on his mind. That very morning he had been reminded of his escapade at the Place Maubert, and warned that he had not yet done with this foolish affair. Within a hundred yards of the bank he had run up against M. Leon Lantimeche. But not the M. Leon of the Rue des Crimes. A marvellous change had come over the French man, if such, indeed, was his nationality. No longer the seedy vaurien without a sou in his pocket, he carried his head high, as became a polished, pros perous, well-dressed man of the world. His frock coat fitted him perfectly ; his glossy hat, like his neat boots, was of English make, and both had the peculiar look of being specially designed to suit the style of the individual who wore them.

His eyes glittered when they fell upon Meggitt. It was as though he had been waiting long for his prey, and had at last pounced down upon it. But he nodded, not unpleasantly. " We meet again as speedily as I told you," he said ; " I felt sure I should find you somewhere near here." G.iiLLaiRD 19 ' You came on purpose to see me, then ? " asked Meggitt, nervously. " Be easy ; I am not going to make a heavy draft upon your gratitude. On the contrary, I propose to lay you under still heavier obligations. Your missing pocket-book " " Have you news of it ? " asked Meggitt. " Yes; it is in safe hands, and will be restored to you. " On what terms ? Who has it ? Have you ? " " You must restrain your impatience, Mr. Meggitt. I think I can promise you the book, but not without some negotiation. And your time is precious ; when can I see you again ?

" The clock was striking ten as they spoke. "After five I shall be free. I can meet you any where — at my chambers, or at the club." " I will call upon you at either, or both, as often as you please, but not to-day. If you want your pocket book you must come to me." " You have it, then ! How and where did you get it ? Has it been tampered with ? — examined ? I trust its contents are intact ? " " Pocket-books lost in the Place Maubert, Mr. c Meggitt, run many risks. Was there any money in yours ? Yes ? There is none now." " You have opened it, then ? It was a great liberty, I think. " Possibly; but I can justify it. However, we will continue this conversation at some other time," said M. Leon, in a cold, mocking tone. "You are already late, I fear, and there is much more to be said. If you want the book, I repeat, you must come for it.

I am staying for the moment at the Hotel Gaillard, at the corner of Burrard Street. It is but a tem porary gite. Before long, with your advice and assistance, perchance I shall find a more suitable lodging. The house is unpretending, but it has its merits : among others, a not entirely contemptible cuisine. Might I aspire to the honour of your com pany there this evening at, say, seven o'clock ? " Meggitt hesitated, hung his head, then, with a by no means good grace, accepted the invitation. The situation of the Hotel Gaillard was not in its favour. It lay at the end of Burrard Street, a street of houses which had once been fashionable, but were now dark, grimy, and neglected. But for the heaps of filth in the street, of cabbage-stalks rotting and festering in gutter slime, of yellow-hued rags and Gaillard. 21 old paper, broken boots, and rotten eggshells, the sweepings of the market close by, all of which would have been scrupulously removed daily in a Con tinental capital, you might have fancied yourself abroad.

The names over the door and shop-fronts were all foreign, French and German; the trades were those mostly affected by foreigners. Blanchisseuses abounded; German bakers, Italian marble polishers and lapidaries ; the language least heard was Eng lish ; the notices in the windows, the offers of em ployment to cooks and kitchen-helps, were all couched in Italian or French. There was something foreign, too, in the aspect of the hotel, with its restaurant on the ground-flour, the white lace cur tains, common but clean, which shrouded the interior space ; the vase of flowers, bright-coloured although artificial, which stood in the window; the glimpse through the open doorway of an inner court, dark, narrow, and miserable in itself, yet rich in greenery. The woodwork of the facade was gaily painted a dark blue picked out with red, and the upper part of the house was freshly washed with grey distemper.

Within the illusion was maintained. Each table in the restaurant, with its yellowish-white linen cloth, had its own salt and popper castors. The waiters wore long white aprons, which came down in front over their shoes. Just on one side of the main entrance was ;i painted notice, "Salons et Cabinets au premier"; and it was into one of these that Percy Meggitt was shown. His host was waiting there to receive him, nnd almost immediately the dinner was placed upon the table, and they sat down. It was by no means a bad dinner. M. Leon understood such matters au fond, and when the potage bonne femme, sole a la normande, pieds de pore St. Menehould, had boon done justice to, Percy Meggitt felt more charitably dis posed towards his entertainer, though still vexed by nameless fears. " And the pocket-book," he said, at last, after a second bottle of Chambortin had been opened.

" When am I to have it ? " " It is here," replied M. Leon, carelessly, taking it from his breast-pocket. " Not so fast, mon cher," he went on, quietly putting Meggitt's out-stretchod hand aside. "Allow me to run over the contents with you before I givo it up. It will give satisfaction to me to know that thoy arc correct. Except Gaillabd. 23 the money bien entendu, that I warned yon not to expect ; they make it a strict rule in the Place Maubert — no money returned." ' You have no right to open that pocket-book," Meggitt said, sulkily ; " I protest " " Have yon any right to protest ? " blandly repbed the other. " It was lost through your own careless ness, and it is well for you that it fell into my hands. I can assure yon that few others at the Hotel Barabas would have turned the cost of getting it to your own advantage, as I intend to do."

" I am at a loss to perceive how you can accom plish that." " I will tell you. In the first place, you will owe it to this pocket-book that we became friends, fast friends. Nay, do not shake your head, you will not deny me your friendship by-and-bye; mine dates from the moment I began to know you well, and that was when I had made myself master, thanks to this pocket-book, of all your private affairs." " It was a mean, scurvy act," cried Meggitt, hotly; " no gentleman reads other people's letters." " I invariably do," said M. Leon, with a smile and an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, " when I can lav hands on them, that is to say. Now I have read the papers in this receptacle from cover to cover, interesting documents, too, many of them, I am ready to allow." " Let us see now. Where shall we begin ?

" He undid the fastening, and took out a slip of paper quite by chance. Meggitt immediately tried to snatch it from him, but found his hand seized and held in an iron grip. " You fool ! " hissed M. Leon, as he glared at him with his great black baleful eyes. " You fool ! why do you seek to anger me ? I tell you I mean you well. I could ruin you, wreck you, get you thrown into the gutter. Shall I do so ? Will you let me go my own way, or will you drive me to go yours ? " Meggitt sank back helplessly into his chair with a half groan. " Are you a cur ? I fancied not. It was not the act of a cur to penetrate into the filthy recesses of the Rue des Crimes. No coward would have stayed there to gamble, still less to try to cheat such rusds rogues as those with whom you played. You cheat ! Dont't shake your head, you tried it boldly, cleverly, and it was not your fault that you failed ; they were too much for you, that was all.