M. Barban d’Avranchel was quietly stroking his whiskers, once of a bright red, but now almost entirely white.
“Is this an insinuation against the manager of the Mutual Credit?” he asked.
Maxence looked straight at him; and, in a tone which affirmed precisely the reverse,
“I accuse no one,” he said.
“I must tell you,” resumed the judge, “that M. de Thaller has himself informed me of this circumstance. When he called at your house, he was ignorant, as yet, of the extent of the embezzlements, and was in hopes of being able to hush up the affair. That’s why he wished his cashier to start for Belgium. This system of helping criminals to escape the just punishment of their crimes is to be bitterly deplored; but it is quite the habit of your financial magnates, who prefer sending some poor devil of an employe to hang himself abroad than run the risk of compromising their credit by confessing that they have been robbed.”
Maxence might have had a great deal to say; but M. de Tregars had recommended him the most extreme reserve. He remained silent.
“On the other hand,” resumed the judge, “the refusal to accept the money so generously offered does not speak in favor of Vincent Favoral. He was well aware, when he left, that it would require a great deal of money to reach the frontier, escape pursuit, and hide himself abroad; and, if he refused the fifteen thousand francs, it must have been because he was well provided for already.”
Tears of shame and rage started from Maxence’s eyes. “I am certain, sir,” he exclaimed, “that my father went off without a sou.”
“What has become of the millions, then?” he asked coldly.
Maxence hesitated. Why not mention his suspicions? He dared not.