The Red Lottery Ticket

by Fortuné Du Boisgobey

But all at once the man retreated to the wall, which was only three or four steps from him, put his hand in his overcoat pocket, and drew out a weapon that elicited an exclamation of dismay from the magistrate. This weapon was one of those old-fashioned horse pistols, rarely seen now-a-days, and before any one could reach the stranger, he had raised this fire-arm to his head and pulled the trigger. A loud explosion shook the walls; a cloud of smoke filled the office, and drops of warm blood spurted in Puymirol's face. The murderer was lying motionless at the foot of the wall—dead. The witnesses of this sudden suicide stood for a moment overcome with horror. The guard, who had escorted Puymirol into the room, looked as white as a sheet, though he was an old soldier. The clerk, in his alarm, had entered the office without waiting for M. Robergeot to ring. "Fetch the commissary of police on duty here in the palace," said the magistrate. "I, myself, will summon the public prosecutor. Your examination is ended for the present, gentlemen. You, Monsieur Caumont, are at liberty to retire, but you must hold yourself in readiness to appear before me at any moment, for this affair is not ended. You, Monsieur de Puymirol, will return to the dépôt, and remain there until I send for you which will be in a short time, probably."

George rushed wildly through the passages, and it was not until he found himself out of doors that he again breathed freely Where could he find Albert? They had parted in the Rue de Medicis, after vainly waiting for Roch Plancoët to join them in the garden of the Luxembourg. George had, of course, been obliged to follow the messenger sent to conduct him before the magistrate; and Albert had parted from him with a cheery: "I'll see you again to-morrow." But George now wanted to see the young officer at once; for the man who had just blown his brains out in the presence of the two friends was Roch Plancoët, and it had cost George no little effort to conceal his emotion on seeing him enter M. Robergeot's office. Why had he killed himself? and why had he declared to George's profound astonishment that he was Dargental's murderer? Evidently to spare Gabrielle the pain of knowing her mother's disgrace. But what a strange means he had employed! Could he have really believed that the authorities would always remain ignorant of his name? He had certainly disfigured himself beyond power of recognition, but justice possesses other means of establishing a person's identity. Besides, was his statement really correct? The story of the agents despatched to watch him by M. Rochas was very extraordinary, and yet, otherwise, why had he thrown the pocket-book into the cab? Whilst thus reflecting, George Caumont reached the Place Saint-Michel. Some omnibuses there barred his passage, and while waiting to pass, he saw Madame Verdon approaching him. He tried to avoid her, but it was too late. She called to him, and said: "Well, are you satisfied? You have leagued yourself with Albert and Gabrielle, I see, so as to force me to leave Paris, and you have even sent Monsieur Plancoët to me with your orders. You deserve to marry a girl who rebels against her mother. However, farewell, and good luck to you," she added, with a sneering laugh. "I have just been to Plancoët's notary and have left him my written consent to your marriage. Monsieur Rochas is waiting for me, and I must make haste if I want to catch the express for Rome, via Florence."

With these concluding words, she entered a passing cab, leaving George amazed and indignant beyond expression. On his way up the Boulevard Saint-Michel he was obliged to pass Madame Verdon's residence, and he felt strongly tempted to enter it. Gabrielle was there, no doubt, but what should he say to her? How could he explain to her, her mother's conduct, and acquaint her with the tragical death of her old friend, Roch? It would certainly be better to allow her brother time to prepare her for this blow. Accordingly he walked straight on to the Rue de Medicis. Here his doorkeeper handed him a note from Albert which ran as follows: "Everything has been arranged. I have seen my sister, and this evening I shall take her to the house of Madame de Brangue, my colonel's wife, who will act as her chaperon for the present. Call on me to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock, at the Hôtel de l'Empereur Joseph, in the Rue de Tournon. Try to find Plancoët before you come, and bring him with you. His visit to my mother accomplished wonders. What a friend we have in him! He has saved us all."

"At the cost of his life!" murmured George, sorrowfully, for he did not share the illusions of his future brother-in-law.

However, he was punctual in keeping the appointment that Albert had made with him for the following morning, and on reaching the hotel he found the lieutenant smoking a cigar in his room. The first words that the young officer articulated were: "Where is Plancoët? Didn't you bring him with you?"

George shook his head. He did not know how to break the terrible news to his prospective brother-in-law. "Plancoët will never come," he at last said, sadly.

"Why? has any accident happened to him?"

George was about to reply that he was dead, when one of the hotel servants entered with a letter which he handed to Albert. "Why, this note is from Roch," exclaimed the young officer in astonishment. "How strange for him to write instead of coming to see me. The letter must have been posted yesterday evening. Let us see what he has to say."

He broke the seal, and drew from the envelope two sheets of paper which George had only to glance at, to recognise the letters of Blanche Pornic and the countess. Albert laid them on the table and then opening the missive from Plancoët which accompanied them, he read aloud as follows: "'My dear boy,—You, as yet, only know a part of the truth, and you must know it all. You will henceforth be the head of the family; and until your sister marries, you will be responsible for her, for I shall not be at hand to watch over her.'"

"Why, what can he be driving at?" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Roch is the best fellow in the world, but he has a fondness for making a mystery out of everything.