正文 FRANCOIS PICAUD(1)(3 / 3)

Allut sighed. The abbe continued:

“As long as he lived, one sole idea occupied him. He would have given, he said, his share of paradise to any one who would tell him the author or authors of his arrest. This fixed idea inspired in Picaud the singular clause in his will. But first, I must tell you that Picaud, while in prison, rendered notable service to an English prisoner, who, on his death-bed, left Picaud a diamond worth at least fifty thousand francs.”

“Lucky fellow!” cried Allut, “fifty thousand francs is a fortune!”

“When Francois Picaud lay dying, he called me to him and said, ‘I shall die in peace if you will promise to fulfill my wishes; will you promise?’ ‘I swear I will, for I am sure you will ask nothing contrary to religion or honor.’ ‘Oh, nothing. Listen to me, and judge for yourself. I cannot learn the names of those who have plunged me into this hell, but I have had a revelation. The voice of God has warned me that one of my townsmen of Nimes knows them. Go to him when you are set at liberty, and give him, from me, the diamond I received from Sir Herbert Newton; but I make this condition, that on receiving the diamond, he shall confide to you the names of those whom I regard as my murderers. When you have learned them, you will return to Naples and place them, written on a sheet of lead, in my tomb.’”

Antoine Allut at once confessed that he knew the names sought for, and repeated them, not however without a secret feeling of terror. His wife encouraged him, and the abbe wrote down the names – Gervais Chaubard, Guilhem Solari, and last, Gilles Loupian.

The ring was handed over. It was sold to a jeweler for sixty-three thousand seven hundred and forty-nine francs, eleven centimes, paid down on the spot. Four months later, to the eternal despair of the Alluts, it was re-sold to a Turkish dealer for one hundred and two thousand francs. This led to the murder of the jeweler, and the total ruin of the Allut family, who had to fly, and who remained in Greece in a state of poverty.

A lady presented herself at the Cafe Loupian and asked for the proprietor. She told him that her family was indebted for eminent services to a poor man, ruined by the events of 1814, but so disinterested that he would take no reward. He was anxious, however, to enter as a waiter in some establishment where he would be treated well. He was not young, he looked about fifty; but to influence M. Loupian to engage him, she would pay him a hundred francs a mouth, unknown to the applicant.

Loupian accepted the terms. A man came, badly dressed and not good-looking. Madame Loupian examined him attentively, and thought she saw some likeness to some old acquaintance, but could not recall anything satisfactory, and forgot the matter. Two men from Nimes used to come regularly to the cafe. One day, one of them did not appear. A few jokes were made about his absence. The next day, too, passed without his appearing. Guilhem Solari undertook to discover the reason; he returned to the cafe about nine o’clock, and in great consternation related that on the day before, about five in the morning, the body of the unfortunate Chaubard had been found, stabbed with a dagger, on the Pont des Arts. The weapon was left in the wound, and the handle was inscribed, in printed letters, Number One.

All kinds of conjectures were made. The police moved heaven and earth, but the criminal escaped all their investigations. Some time afterward a sporting dog belonging to the landlord was poisoned, and a boy declared that he had seen a client give the poor brute some biscuits. The boy gave a description of the client.

He was set down as an enemy of Loupian, who out of spite used to come to the cafe, where Loupian was, so to say, at his orders. An action was brought against the malicious client, but he proved his innocence by establishing an alibi. He was a courier on the mail-coach, and on the day of the crime arrived at Strasbourg. Two weeks after this, Madame Loupian’s favorite parrot met the same fate as the dog, and was poisoned with bitter almonds and parsley. New investigations were made, but without any result.

Loupian had a daughter of sixteen years of age by his first marriage; she was beautiful as an angel. A swell saw her, became crazy about her, and spent immense sums in buying over to his interest the people of the cafe and the girl’s maid; he thus had numerous interviews with her, and seduced her, under the pretense that he was a marquis and a millionaire. The girl did not think of her folly till she had to let out her stays. Then she confessed her weakness to her parents. They spoke to the gentleman. He boasted of his fortune, agreed to marry her, and showed his title-deeds and pedigree. Joy returned to the Loupian household. In brief, the marriage took place, and the bridegroom, who would have everything in good style, ordered for the evening a dinner of one hundred and fifty covers at the Cadran Bleu.