“He quietly said, ‘What do I care if I am?’”
“Andrea, he has some secretaire with a spring.”
“How do you know?”
“Yes, which catches the thief in a trap and plays a tune. I was told there were such at the last exhibition.”
“He has simply a mahogany secretaire, in which the key is always kept.”
“And he is not robbed?”
“No; his servants are all devoted to him.”
“There ought to be some money in that secretaire?”
“There may be. No one knows what there is.”
“And where is it?”
“On the first floor.”
“Sketch me the plan of that floor, as you have done of the ground floor, my boy.”
“That is very simple.” Andrea took the pen. “On the first story, do you see, there is the anteroom and the drawing-room; to the right of the drawing-room, a library and a study; to the left, a bedroom and a dressing-room. The famous secretaire is in the dressing-room.”
“Is there a window in the dressing-room?”
“Two,—one here and one there.” Andrea sketched two windows in the room, which formed an angle on the plan, and appeared as a small square added to the rectangle of the bedroom. Caderousse became thoughtful.
“Does he often go to Auteuil?” added he.
“Two or three times a week. Tomorrow, for instance, he is going to spend the day and night there.”
“Are you sure of it?”
“He has invited me to dine there.”
“There’s a life for you,” said Caderousse; “a town house and a country house.”
“That is what it is to be rich.”
“And shall you dine there?”
“Probably.”
“When you dine there, do you sleep there?”
“If I like; I am at home there.”
Caderousse looked at the young man, as if to get at the truth from the bottom of his heart. But Andrea drew a cigar-case from his pocket, took a Havana, quietly lit it, and began smoking.
“When do you want your twelve hundred francs?” said he to Caderousse.
“Now, if you have them.” Andrea took five-and-twenty louis from his pocket.
“Yellow boys?” said Caderousse; “no, I thank you.”
“Oh, you despise them.”
“On the contrary, I esteem them, but will not have them.”
“You can change them, idiot; gold is worth five sous.”
“Exactly; and he who changes them will follow friend Caderousse, lay hands on him, and demand what farmers pay him their rent in gold. No nonsense, my good fellow; silver simply, round coins with the head of some monarch or other on them. Anybody may possess a five-franc piece.”
“But do you suppose I carry five hundred francs about with me? I should want a porter.”
“Well, leave them with your porter; he is to be trusted. I will call for them.”
“Today?”
“No, tomorrow; I shall not have time today.”
“Well, tomorrow I will leave them when I go to Auteuil.”
“May I depend on it?”
“Certainly.”
