The Strange Adventures of Mr. John Smith in Paris/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI.
WITHIN the week Mr. John Smith made several amazing discoveries. For instance, he discovered that the sky was blue over Paris, and that trees were green, and grass was velvety, and that birds sang—of course, not so well as they sang in Passaic; but there was much to commend in their efforts. Things must have been that way all along. Odd, how he had overlooked it! In other ways too Paris was looking up. Notre Dame, as compared to the granite church back home, had, perhaps, a shade the best of it, and he came to admit that Pont Alexander III. put it all over the bridge down near the orphan asylum. As for the Louvre—well, he had been hasty in his judgment. Now that he had had a chance to look at it, it didn’t remind him at all of the rubber works back home.
All of which meant that Mr. Smith had reached that point of a man’s life when the external aspect of all things is softened and beautified by some new born quality within himself. Always the change is wrought by some trivial thing, like the lingering touch of a slender hand, or the haunting curl of scarlet lips, or the shy upward glance of timid eyes. Mr. Smith didn’t know precisely when or where the great change came. He only knew that on the second day after his release from arrest he had talked an hour or more with Edna Clarke, and since then his vision had cleared. When he bade her goodby he was preparing to catch the steamer at Cherbourg for home. At his hotel he found a note that stayed him. It said:
- The Lord loveth a cheerful liar. I hope you are satisfied. You must remain in Paris until I am able to talk with you. The doctor says it may be five days yet. Things are not so bad as you think. W. M. C.
Mr. Smith was content to stay; in fact, it was with a feeling of exultation that he unpacked his suitcase. Even his unholy passion for Passaic was held in check. Four or five days more in Paris! That meant further talks with Edna, and that meant— He didn’t care if he never saw Main-ave. again. And he did see Edna half a dozen times. Twice they were alone together, and at other times a frumpy old Aunt Emma appeared. Aunt Emma, deeply beloved of herself, had refused to tuck herself away in a shabby little apartment in the Rue St. Honore; she had been living at the Ritz. Her presence shadowed Mr. Smith’s happiness at first; then he forgot she was in existence, and it wasn’t so bad. Those were the halcyon days! Mr. Smith dreamed through them, light hearted as a lark.
AT last came the summons from Mr. Clarke, and Mr. Smith went to him. The trained nurse had been sent away, and Edna, at a nod from her father, withdrew. Mr. Clarke was propped up in bed, his masterful eyes alight, his lips set, and a tinge of color again in his withered cheeks.
“Now, Smith, just between you and me,” he began without preliminary, “where the deuce are those bonds?”
“Bonds?” Mr. Smith repeated blandly. “Bonds? I thought you said you had none?”
“Never mind that,” said Clarke impatiently. “You beat me; I admit it. There’s no need to taunt me. You put me in a position where I had to lie, and I did it. Now where are the bonds?”
Mr. Smith paced the length of the room a couple of times, then turned and faced the banker with a gleam of danger in the straight staring eyes.
“Now, look here, Mr. Clarke,” he said deliberately at last, “we might just as well understand each other now as at any other time. The bonds are beyond your reach, and will remain beyond your reach until they are back in that package in the vault at home, where they belong. Once they are there, my resignation is in. I’ve worked for you for twenty years, Mr. Clarke, and in that time I’ve saved a few thousand dollars. I put it into real estate and have turned it over now and then. I’m leaving your bank as soon as this matter of the bonds is adjusted, to become cashier of a new bank in which I own some stock.”
He sat down, and for a time they stared, each at the other, with a challenge in their gaze.
“All this is not particularly to the point; but I’m telling it to you to make my position perfectly clear.” Mr. Smith went on. “Now we might as well call things by their first names. You stole bonds for which I was personally responsible. Now, don’t interrupt! I recovered them to save myself, not you, and once they are placed where they belong I finish with you. It was purely by accident that I discovered this theft, which endangered all my future, and I came all the way to Paris, not only to get the bonds but to give you one sound whaling. I got the bonds, and I’ve changed my mind about the whaling. I made you lie, as you say, to save me. That’s all I have to say about it. Now you may go as far as you like.”
THERE was a long pause. Mr. Clarke’s bony fingers clawed nervously at the sheets while he studied the rugged face of this man before him.
“Smith, you’ve misunderstood this thing from the jump,” he said, not unkindly. “I haven’t stolen anything; I have had no intention of stealing. A very attractive proposition by which I could earn three, possibly four, million dollars within a few months was put up to me. I’m worth no more than three hundred thousand dollars,—a pauper as rich men go,—and I’ve earned every penny of it. It was within my power to increase that fortune enormously. In order to do it, it was necessary for me to put up for only a few weeks a million and a half dollars. If I took in some one else on the proposition, my share would have been trivial, and here in my bank was a million and a half dollars that I could use. I took it, to put the deal through. There’s no doubt in the world that I should have been able to return it, and no man would have been the wiser except for the accident, whatever it was, by which you learned the bonds were missing.
“Now, I’m not trying to whitewash myself at all. I violated the laws, because I took money that did not belong to me to make money for myself. You upset all my plans, and it cost me millions. Understand that, millions! That day I saw you at the Café de la Paix I knew intuitively why you were in Paris; so when the bonds disappeared from this room I knew you had them, though how they came into your possession I couldn’t figure. I don’t know yet. I sent d’Aubigny to you and offered you one hundred thousand dollars to keep your hands off. You are pleased to think that you have saved my business reputation by saving your own; but there was never a moment when my business reputation, or yours, was in danger. That’s all I have to say. Your resignation will be accepted.”
MR. CLARKE had not raised his voice at all, nor had there come the slightest change in the expression of Mr. Smith’s face. It was all as if they were discussing some trivial thing of utter inconsequence.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Clarke, I am honest,” remarked Mr. Smith. “I’ve worked for you for twenty years—you know I’m honest. Being honest, I can’t get to your viewpoint, and after all it’s of no importance.” He rose. “Any further discussion of this matter between us may lead to unpleasant personalities. Fortunately, it was not permitted to get into the newspapers here, so there is no danger, and I’m sailing for home by the first bout. I’ll contrive to place the bonds where they belong, and immediately upon your return I’ll tender my resignation formally. So far as I’m concerned, the thing is over. I’m sorry you’ve been ill, sir, and sincerely hope you’ll be in your usual good health soon. I’m going back home—back to Passaic!”
He turned away toward the door. Mr. Clarke proffered a shriveled hand; apparently Mr. Smith didn’t see it.
“Smith, I’m sorry,” he said simply.
“So am I, Mr. Clarke,” was the response. “It means more to me than you understand.” He was thinking of Edna. Again he turned away, as if to go.
AND the bonds?” queried Clarke. “Where are they? How did you manage to keep them hidden from the police? Are you carrying them about your person?”
“Oh, the bonds,” Mr. Smith said listlessly. “Just at this moment most of them are in charge of the French Government, and the others are in charge of the British Government.”
“In charge of the—” began Mr. Clarke, amazed. “How—what—”
“The first thing I did when they came into my possession was to get rid of them,” Mr. Smith informed him. “I’d already had one little run-in with the police, as you know, and I felt safer to dispose of them immediately.”
“But in charge of the French Government! How do you mean?”
“I knew I couldn’t pass the customs inspectors in New York with a million and a half dollars’ worth of bonds in my possession without at least attracting attention. They would have had to know who I was, where I got them, and all the rest of it. That would mean questions at the bank, and inevitable discovery of the facts in the case. I knew too that mail matter in the form of letters is never opened; so,” Mr. Smith waved his hands deprecatingly, “so I mailed the bonds.”
“Mailed them!” There was a note of uneasiness, excitement even, in Mr. Clarke’s voice. “Do you mean that you wrapped a million and a half dollars in a package and mailed it? Don’t you know that all packages from foreign countries, by mail or otherwise, are opened and examined by customs officials?”
“I didn’t mail them in a package,” Mr. Smith explained. “I addressed some seventy or eighty envelops, of different sizes and colors and shapes, put one or two or three of the bonds in each, and mailed them that way.”
“All to the same man? That’s just as bad.”
“They were not all addressed to the same man. I sent some of them to John Smith in Passaic, and some to Tom Jones in London, and some to Jack Robinson in Southampton, and Bill Spivvins in Brooklyn, and Pete Brown in Jersey City, and somebody else in New York and Hoboken and Weehawken, all over the shop, each by a different name, to be held till called for. It will take sometime to get them together again, and I’ll have to go by Southampton and London to remail those that are waiting for me there. I thought it was a pretty good scheme.” He was silent a moment. “These funny little fly cops over here would never get hep in the world. While they were searching me down at headquarters there were two or three of the envelops containing bonds in the mailbox directly in front of the door.”
For a time Mr. Clarke, lost in admiration of the utter simplicity, the audacity of the idea, said nothing. “There is still danger, of course,” he remarked finally. “However, it is safer that way than taking them in through customs.” There was one other question. “Smith, how did you get hold of those bonds anyhow?”
“Don’t you know?” Mr. Smith queried.
“No, I haven’t an idea, unless the trained nurse—”
“Well, if you don’t know. I’ll never tell you,” replied Mr. Smith.