The girl had said that the contents of the box would explain everything. Perhaps she was right.
Pocketing the key, Andrew resumed his pace, walking more briskly than before. His rapier swung back and forth, almost tripping him as he strode along; but Andrew paid no attention to this impeded progress.
He passed the next corner, where the banjo player and singers had stopped to indulge in melody.
Andrew did not notice them when he went by.
He was holding the ebony box with pressure of his elbow, keeping it tightly in his pocket. For Andrew’s imagination was at work. He had encountered adventure; and it seemed unbelievable. The lure of mystery was quickening his footsteps and he was taking no chances of letting the box slip his grasp between here and his home.
ANDREW BLOUCHET lived in the Vieux Carre. He had taken an apartment in Frenchtown because it was the portion of New Orleans that intrigued him. Andrew had received a small inheritance from his parents; he had decided that his dwindling funds would last him longer in an unpretentious residence. That had been another reason for the apartment in the Vieux Carre.
After a few turns, Andrew arrived at the old building where he lived. He unlocked an outer door and went through an archlike hallway that led him to a tiny courtyard. There he ascended a flight of stairs to the second floor, directly over the arch through which he had come. Here was a hall, with a door on each side. Andrew unlocked the one at the left.
He stepped into a long living room that ran from street to courtyard. It was like a studio, with smaller rooms leading off from the far wall. Locking the door behind him, Andrew turned on the light. In a far corner stood an old, squatty safe that bore the name “R. Blouchet.” This was a relic from an importer’s office that Andrew’s father had once conducted.
The corner of the room formed a secluded spot; a tiny alcove away from all windows. There, Andrew pulled the ebony box from his pocket. He noticed that it was light in weight, but he did not pause to ponder on that fact. Setting the box on the safe, he produced the silver key and eagerly unlocked the box. With nervous tremble, he raised the lid with his left hand.
An amazed gasp came from Andrew Blouchet’s lips. For a moment, the young man stared; then his hands dipped toward the box. Before his eyes were stacks of bank notes; the crisp paper crinkled as his fingers clutched the currency. These bills were of large denominations; fifty and one-hundred-dollar notes.
While he clutched the bills and spread them, Andrew looked anxiously for some sheet of paper that might be with the money. The girl had said that the contents of the box would explain the unexpected gift; yet there was nothing within the ebony casket other than the money itself.
Then, as the value of the prize impressed itself upon him, Andrew began to stack the bills and count them. Automatically, he mumbled the amounts aloud, adding as he went along.
“Fifty — one hundred — one hundred and fifty—”
He came to the end of the fifties; he was counting the one hundreds and the combined stack was half exhausted. Then came a change in the denominations; an unexpected difference that made the young man blink.
For an instant, he thought that he was back to fifties, for he saw the figure 5. He was wrong; he knew it as he stared. Each five was followed by two ciphers. Andrew had come to a layer of five-hundred-dollar bills.
With heart pumping, with lips barely uttering the added amounts, Andrew kept on with the count.
Another change in the design of the currency completely staggered him. The five-hundred-dollar bills were finished. The ones that remained were of thousand-dollar denomination!
Bills crinkled between trembling hands. Numbed, faltering fingers dealt the remainder of the stack, while awed lips counted to the final total. Andrew was a man in a trance, who acted like a human automaton.
His reflex mind was forcing his hands and lips to their task while his brain buzzed with confusion.
“Ninety-eight — ninety-nine — one hundred—”
The last thousand-dollar bill fluttered from Andrew’s fingers, to fall with those that formed a spread-out heap upon the ebony box. Again, Andrew’s lips spoke, while his ears listened to his own voice, as if hearing the words of another man.
“One hundred thousand dollars!”
GREEN paper outspread in the light. Staring numbers that seemed ready to leap from the surface of the sheets that bore them. All was dreamlike, unbelievable; yet reason, returning to Andrew’s mind, told him that the sight was real.
Mardi Gras — the French Quarter — a masked girl — an ebony box — all formed a linking chain in a brain that was coming back from bewilderment. Andrew’s hands advanced. His fingers gathered the currency.
Numbed no longer, they began to stack the money. That task completed, Andrew placed the heaps in the box. He closed the lid; then hastily opened it. The money was still there.
Andrew smiled. He closed the box and locked it. The linked chain of thought was complete in his mind.
His recollections puzzled him, but he no longer doubted their reality. Whatever the explanation of this riddle, one fact at least was certain:
From poverty, Andrew Blouchet had leaped to wealth. Future circumstances might deprive him of his gain, through charges of unlawful ownership. Yet nothing could destroy the marvel of the present moment. He, Andrew Blouchet, was the sole possessor of one hundred thousand dollars!
CHAPTER II. ADVICE IS FOLLOWED
SEVERAL minutes had passed before Andrew Blouchet had recovered from the state of imagination into which the wealth had thrust him. It was then that he realized how concentrated he had been. All this while he had forgotten that he was in costume. He had not even removed the mask that he was wearing.
Doffing hat and wig, Andrew pulled away the domino. His right hand was holding the key all the while.
Once again, Andrew unlocked the box and looked at the money. Satisfied that it would not disappear, he laughed and locked the box. He put the key on a mantelpiece, underneath a clock.
Unbuckling his rapier, Andrew placed the sword in a corner. He took off the heavy coat that he was wearing and was about to place it in a wardrobe closet when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.
Hastily, Andrew bounded toward the safe and spread the coat over the black box. Some one was opening the door of the apartment. With hands against the safe, Andrew stared breathless. His lips formed a weak smile as a tall, dark-haired man entered.
“Hello, Carl,” Andrew greeted.
“Hello, Andy.” The newcomer grinned pleasantly. He was wearing a Mexican costume, with wide-brimmed sombrero. “Boy! I’m glad to get rid of this hat!” As he spoke. Carl tossed the sombrero to an armchair. He sat down and lighted a cigarette. Andrew’s smile broadened; he felt more at ease, since Carl had not noticed his tenseness. Carelessly, Andrew lighted a cigarette of his own.
Among a great many acquaintances, Andrew Blouchet numbered only a few whom he regarded as real friends. One of these was Carl Randon. Like Andrew, Carl was a native of New Orleans; but Carl’s family had been more prosperous than Andrews. Carl had studied law; but had not completed his course. He had chosen real estate instead; had experienced a profitable period and was now indulging in a life of leisure.
Carl traveled frequently and had friends in many cities. He had come back to New Orleans a month ago and was sharing Andrew’s apartment. Both had gone out tonight in costume; but each to a different destination.
When they had left, Andrew had been in a dejected mood, while Carl had been in gay spirit. Now the situation was reversed. Andrew, still smiling, looked happy; but Carl’s grin had faded and his face was troubled.