“Won’t I do as well, then?”
“I’ll tell you how it is. I’m employed in the baggage room of the western railway station, and I wanted to know if your wife didn’t call there a few days ago for some trunks?”
The landlord’s features betrayed the vague perturbation of a person who can count the days by his mistakes, and it was with evident hesitation that he replied:
“Yes, my wife went to the Havre station for some baggage last Sunday.”
“I thought so. Well, this is my errand: either the clerk forgot to ask her for her receipt, or else he lost it. He can’t find it anywhere. I came to ask your wife if she hadn’t kept it. When she returns, please deliver my message; and if she has the receipt, pray send it to me through the post.”
The ruse was not particularly clever, but it was sufficiently so to deceive Vantrasson. “To whom am I to send this receipt?” he asked.
“To me, Victor Chupin, Faubourg Saint Denis,” was the reply.
Imprudent youth! alas, he little suspected what a liberty M. Fortunat had taken with his name on the evening he visited the Vantrassons. But on his side the landlord of the Model Lodging House had not forgotten the name mentioned by the agent. He turned pale with anger on beholding his supposed creditor, and quickly slipping between the visitor and the door, he said: “So your name is Victor Chupin?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“And you are in the employment of the Railway Company?”