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forgetfulness； and the Abb Fricot led on to the
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A BOOK OF SCOUNDRELS
final and the detected crime。 Now Fricot had noted the loss of money
and of bonds； and though he refrained from exposure he had confessed to
a knowledge of the criminal。 M。 Bruneau was naturally sensitive to
suspicion； and he determined upon the immediate removal of this danger
to his peace。 On January 2； 1894； M。 Fricot returned to supper after
administering the extreme unction to a parishioner。 While the meal was
preparing； he went into his garden in sabots and bareheaded； and never
again was seen alive。 The supper cooled； the vicar was still absent； the
murderer； hungry with his toil； ate not only his own； but his victim's share
of the food； grimly hinting that Fricot would not come back。 Suicide was
dreamed of； murder hinted； up and down the village was the search made；
and none was more zealous than the distressed curate。
At last a peasant discovered some blocks of wood in the well； and
before long blood…stains revealed themselves on the masonry。 Speedily
was the body recovered； disfigured and battered beyond recognition； and
the voice of the village went up in denunciation of the Abb
The childhood of the Abb's capital sin。
Not only did he entertain his leisure with wrecking the happiness of a
united family； but he was an enemy open and declared of France。 It was
his amiable pastime at the dinner… table； when he had first helped himself
to such delicacies as tempted his dainty palate； to pronounce a pompous
eulogy upon the German Emperor。 France； he would say with an
exultant smile； is a pays pourri； which exists merely to be the football of
Prussia。 She has but one hope of salvationstill the monster speaksand
that is to fall into the benign occupation of a vigorous race。 Once upon a
timethe infamy is scarce credible he was conducting his young charges
past a town…hall； over the lintel of whose door glittered those proud initials
‘R。 F。' ‘What do they stand for？' asked this demon Barlow。 And when
the patriotic Tommy hesitated for an answer； the preceptor exclaimed with
ineffable contempt； ‘Race de fous'！ It is no wonder； then； that this foe of
his fatherland feared to receive a letter openly addressed； rather he would
slink out under cover of night and seek his correspondence at the poste
restante； like a guilty lover or a British tourist。
The Chteau de Presles was built for his reception。 It was
haunted by a secret； which none dare murmur in the remotest garret。
There was no more than a whisper of murder in the air； but the Marquis
shuddered when his wife's eye frowned upon him。 True； the miserable
Menaldo had disappeared from his seminary ten years since； but threats of
disclosure were uttered continually； and respectability might only be
purchased by a profound silence。 Here was the Abb he received with a grin
complacent as Shylock's； for was he not conscious that when he liked the
pound of flesh was his own！
With a fiend's duplicity he laid his plans of ruin and death。 The
Marquise； swayed to his will； received him secretly in the blue room
（whose very colour suggests a guilty intrigue）； though never； upon the oath
of an Abb's
dictation； and when her husband returned to St。