The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (153 page)

‘ “What about it? Well, one day someone will burgle you.” ’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘What did he say?’

‘Yes.’

‘What he said was: “What if I am burgled?” ’

‘Andrea, he must have some mechanical bureau.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Yes, something that traps the thief in a cage and plays a tune. I’m told there was something of the sort at the last Exhibition.’

‘He just has a walnut bureau and I’ve always seen the key in it.’

‘And no one steals from it?’

‘No, his servants are all devoted to him.’

‘There must be something inside that bureau, mustn’t there? Coin?’

‘Perhaps; there’s no way of telling.’

‘And where is it?’

‘On the first floor.’

‘So, make me a plan of the first floor, dear boy, as you did of the ground floor.’

‘That’s easy.’ Andrea took the pen. ‘On the first floor, as you see, there’s an anteroom, a drawing-room, then on the right of that, a library and study, while on the left we have a bedroom and dressing-room. The famous bureau is in the dressing-room.’

‘Is there a window in this dressing-room?’

‘Two: one here, and one here.’ Andrea drew two windows in the room which, on the plan, stood in a corner of the house, like a shorter rectangle joined to the long rectangle of the bedroom.

Caderousse was deep in thought. ‘So, does he often go to Auteuil?’ he asked.

‘Two or three times a week. Tomorrow, for example, he is due to spend the day and the following night there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He invited me to dinner.’

‘Wonderful! That’s the way to live!’ said Caderousse. ‘A house in town, a house in the country.’

‘That’s what it means to be rich.’

‘And will you go to dinner.’

‘Probably.’

‘When you dine there, do you stay the night?’

‘If I want to. I’m quite at home in the count’s house.’

Caderousse looked at the young man as if to tear the truth from the depths of his heart; but Andrea took a cigar case out of his pocket, extracted a Havana, calmly lit it and began to smoke with an entirely natural air.

‘When would you like the five hundred francs?’ he asked.

‘Straight away, if you have them.’

Andrea took twenty-five
louis
out of his pocket.

‘Gold coins?’ said Caderousse. ‘No, thanks!’

‘Why not? Do you despise them?’

‘On the contrary, I have a high regard for them, but I don’t want any.’

‘You’ll gain on the exchange, idiot. Gold is worth five
sous
.’

‘That’s right, and then the dealer will have your friend Caderousse followed, a hand will fall on his shoulder and he’ll have to explain who these farmers are, paying him his fees in gold coin. Let’s not be silly, dear boy. Just give me my money: round coins with the head of some monarch or other. Anyone can come by a five-franc coin.’

‘You must realize, I don’t have five hundred on me. I would have needed to bring a broker with me to carry it.’

‘In that case, leave it with your concierge; he’s a good man, I’ll come and pick it up.’

‘Today?’

‘Tomorrow. I won’t have time today.’

‘As you say, then. Tomorrow, as I’m setting out for Auteuil, I’ll leave them for you.’

‘Can I count on it?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Because I’m going to hire my maid in advance.’

‘Do it. But that will be the end, won’t it? You won’t torment me any longer?’

‘Never again.’

Caderousse had become so moody that Andrea was afraid he might be obliged to notice the change, so he pretended to be even merrier and more insouciant.

‘You’re full of beans,’ Caderousse said. ‘Anyone would think you’d already come into your inheritance.’

‘No, alas. But the day when I do…’

‘What?’

‘I’ll remember my friends. I’ll say no more.’

‘Yes, and you have such a good memory, too.’

‘What do you expect? I thought you wanted to turn me in for the reward.’

‘Me? What an idea! On the contrary, as a friend, I’m going to give you another piece of advice.’

‘Which is?’

‘To leave the diamond you’ve got on your finger here. I never! Do you want us to be caught? Do you want to do for the pair of us with such idiocies?’

‘How do you mean?’ Andrea asked.

‘What! You put on livery, to disguise yourself as a servant, yet you keep a diamond worth four or five thousand francs on your finger!’

‘Well I’ll be damned! That’s a good estimate. You should be an auctioneer.’

‘I know about diamonds. I used to have some.’

‘I advise you not to boast about it,’ said Andrea; and, without losing his temper, as Caderousse had feared he might at this new piece of extortion, quietly handed over the ring. Caderousse examined it so closely that Andrea realized he was looking to see if the edges of the cut sparkled.

‘It’s a fake,’ said Caderousse.

‘Come, come,’ said Andrea, ‘you must be joking.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it; we’ll soon see.’ He went across to the window and ran the diamond across the pane. The glass screeched.

‘Confiteor!’
¹
Caderousse said, slipping the ring on his little finger. ‘I was wrong, but those thieving jewellers are so clever at imitating stones that one no longer dares to go and steal from one of their shops. That’s another branch of the industry paralysed.’

‘Well, is that it?’ Andrea said. ‘Do you have anything else to ask me? Don’t hesitate, while I’m here.’

‘No, you’re a good fellow underneath. I won’t keep you any longer and I’ll try to cure myself of my ambition.’

‘But be careful that the same doesn’t happen when you sell the diamond as you feared might happen with the gold.’

‘I shan’t sell it, don’t worry.’

‘No, not between now and the day after tomorrow, at least,’ the young man thought.

‘You lucky devil!’ said Caderousse. ‘You’re going back to your lackeys, your horses, your carriage and your fiancée.’

‘So I am,’ said Andrea.

‘Here, I hope you’ll make me a good wedding present the day you marry the daughter of my friend Danglars.’

‘I told you: that’s some nonsense you’ve dreamed up.’

‘What kind of dowry?’

‘I told you already…’

‘A million?’

Andrea shrugged his shoulders.

‘Let’s say a million,’ said Caderousse. ‘You’ll never have as much as I’d wish for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said the young man.

‘Don’t mention it,’ Caderousse said, giving a raucous laugh. ‘Wait, I’ll show you the way out.’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘I must.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s a little secret on the door, a precautionary measure that I thought I should take: a lock by Huret et Fichet, specially adapted by Gaspard Caderousse. When you’re a capitalist, I’ll make you one.’

‘Thank you,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ll give you a week’s notice.’

They took their leave of one another. Caderousse remained on the landing until he had seen Andrea go down the three flights, and
also cross the courtyard. Only then did he hurry back inside, carefully shutting the door and, like a practised architect, started to study the plan that Andrea had left him.

‘Dear Benedetto,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’ll be sorry to inherit; and the person who brings the day closer when he is to get his hands on five hundred thousand francs will not be his worst enemy, either.’

The day after the conversation that we have just recorded, the Count of Monte Cristo did indeed leave for Auteuil, with Ali, several servants and some horses which he wanted to try out. The main reason for his departure – which he had not even considered on the previous day and about which Andrea knew no more than he did – was the arrival of Bertuccio, who had come back from Normandy with news about the house and the boat. The house was ready – and the corvette, delivered a week before and anchored in a small bay where it remained with its six-man crew, after completing all the necessary formalities, was already fully prepared to set sail.

The count praised Bertuccio’s fine efforts and told him to stand by to depart soon, since he did not intend to stay longer than a month in France.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I may need to go in a single night from Paris to Tréport. I want eight relays at intervals along the route which will allow me to cover fifty leagues in ten hours.’

‘Your Excellency already expressed that desire,’ Bertuccio replied, ‘and the horses are ready. I bought them and stationed them at the most convenient points, that is to say in villages where normally no one stops.’

‘That’s very good,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘I shall be staying here a day or two, so do whatever you need to.’

As Bertuccio was going out to order everything necessary for this stay, Baptistin opened the door. He was carrying a letter on a gilt bronze tray.

‘What are you doing here?’ the count asked, seeing him covered in dust. ‘I don’t think I called for you, did I?’

Without replying, Baptistin went over to the count and gave him the letter. ‘Urgent and in haste,’ he said.

The count opened it and read:

Monsieur de Monte Cristo is warned that tonight a man will break into his house in the Champs-Elysées, in order to purloin some papers that he believes to be hidden in the bureau in the dressing-room. The Count of Monte Cristo is known to be brave enough not to turn for help to the police, whose involvement might seriously compromise the person who is giving this warning. Monsieur le Comte can administer his own justice, either by entering the dressing-room through an opening from the bedroom, or by lying in wait in the dressing-room. A lot of people and obvious precautions would surely scare away the burglar and deprive the count of this opportunity to discover an enemy who became known by chance to the writer of this warning – a warning which he may not have the opportunity to repeat if this first attempt should fail and the wrongdoer attempt another.

The count’s first impulse was to think that this must be a thieves’ trick, a crude trap warning him of a slight danger in order to expose him to a more serious one; so he was going to have the letter taken to a police commissioner – despite (or, perhaps, because of) the instruction from his anonymous friend – when he suddenly thought that there might, in fact, be some enemy peculiar to him, whom he alone could recognize and, in that event, take advantage of him as Fiesco
¹
did of the Moor who tried to assassinate him. The reader knows the count, so there is no need to mention that he was athletic and daring, and that his mind rebelled against the impossible with that energy peculiar to superior beings. Because of the kind of life he had led, and because of the resolve he had made – and kept – not to shrink from anything, the count had managed to enjoy unknown pleasures in the struggle against nature, which is God, and against the world – which is, near enough, the Devil.

‘They don’t want to steal my papers,’ Monte Cristo said. ‘They want to kill me: these are not thieves, but murderers. I do not want the prefect of police to meddle with my private affairs. Why, I am rich enough to cover the entire budget of his force.’

The count recalled Baptistin, who had left the room after bringing
the letter. ‘Go back to Paris,’ he told him, ‘and bring all the remaining servants here. I need everyone in Auteuil.’

‘But will no one be left in the house, Monsieur le Comte?’ Baptistin asked.

‘Yes, there will: the concierge.’

‘Monsieur le Comte will reflect that it is a long way from the porter’s lodge to the house.’

‘Well?’

‘Well, the whole house could be burgled and no one hear a sound.’

‘Who would do that?’

‘Why, thieves!’

‘You are an idiot, Monsieur Baptistin. If thieves were to ransack the whole house, they would not cause me as much displeasure as a service poorly carried out.’

Baptistin bowed.

‘You heard me,’ said the count. ‘Take your fellow-servants, from the first to the last, and leave everything in its usual state. Close the ground-floor windows, that’s all.’

‘And those on the first floor?’

‘You know that they are never closed. Now go.’

The count gave instructions that he would dine alone and wished to be served only by Ali.

He dined with his usual calm and sobriety and, after dinner, motioning to Ali to follow him, he left by the side-door, went to the Bois de Boulogne as though going for a walk, unobtrusively took the road for Paris and by nightfall was standing in front of his house in the Champs-Elysées.

Everything was dark except for a faint light burning in the porter’s lodge which, as Baptistin had said, was some forty yards from the house.