A Young Monte Cristo Or, Back to the World for Vengeance
Jas C. Merritt
16 pages Pluck and Luck n° 697 - 1911 - États-Unis Roman
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Ce fascicule de la série Pluck and Luck porte le n° 697.
Il a été publié à New York le 11 octobre 1911.
Fred Howard n’a vraiment pas de chance. Cet adolescent de bonne famille
a vu son père, homme d’affaires, ruiné par le banquier
Ralph Pomeroy. Puis, un jour où il rentre chez lui, à New
York, après sa journée de travail, il trouve ses parents
assassinés et sa sœur disparue. Et le même jour, il est
accusé d’avoir volé de l’argent au Pomeroy en
question. Le voilà orphelin et jeté en prison.
Condamné à un an (!) de détention, il s’évade
avec son vieux co-détenu juste avant d’être libéré… Le
vieil homme meurt durant l’évasion. Mais il a eu le bon goût
de révéler à Fred l’emplacement de l’épave
d’un bateau chargé de lingots d’or, qui a coulé trente
ans plus tôt. Le navire transportait toute la fortune d’une
famille dont il ne reste a priori aucun héritier.
Fred s’évade et entreprend de récupérer le trésor.
Il n’a pas trop de mal, le bateau a coulé dans la baie de
New York, par 4 mètres de fond: Fred et un ami n’ont qu’à aller
en barque et à plonger pour remonter les lingots à la main…
Un an plus tard, le banquier Pomeroy est très contrarié:
toutes ses affaires tournent mal, car il se heurte sans cesse aux interventions
d’un richissime et mystérieux britannique, du nom d’Hazelwood.
Ce dernier n’est autre – attention à la surprise – que
Fred lui-même, devenu méconnaissable depuis qu’il s’est
laissé pousser la barbe (sic !).
Fred sauve de la noyade une jeune désespérée qui tentait
de se suicider. Un beau geste dont il sera bien récompensé.
Il apparaît en effet que la jeune fille est la seule héritière
de la famille aux lingots d’or, et donc la légitime propriétaire
de la fortune de Fred. Autre menue coïncidence: elle a aussi été victime
des manigances de Pomeroy. Du coup, Fred l’épouse, récupérant
ainsi sa fortune. Sa sœur disparue est retrouvée: devenue
folle, elle était séquestrée par Pomeroy. Mais elle
recouvre la raison d’un seul coup et accuse ce dernier de l’assassinat
de ses parents, auquel elle a assisté.
Pomeroy est arrêté et exécuté. Fred vivra heureux
avec sa femme et son or jusqu’à la fin de ses jours.
Il n’y a pas grand-chose à dire sur un texte aussi consternant,
sinon qu’il est difficile d’imaginer lecture plus caricaturale
du Comte de Monte-Cristo. On en arrive à se demander si l’auteur
l’a fait exprès, mais non: le texte est désespérément écrit
au premier degré.
Extrait du chapitre 8 Pomeroy & Co. receive a new depositor
The suddenness with which Pomeroy & Co. had blossomed into
life had, in the business world which centers around Wall street, been
for more than
a year the one subject of conversation in every one’s
mouth.
In 1881 Ralph Pomeroy was just nobody at all, being nothing
more than a clerk for the then rich real-estate operator,
Samuel Howard,
whose
brutal
murder and that of his wife created such a stir at the
time it had occurred, at a salary which, although perhaps
liberal
enough
as far
as it went,
was by no means adequate to keep up the reckless style
of living which the
man maintained.
In 1882, by some unknown means, Pomeroy became possessed
of all his former employer's real-estate, the family
mansion in
Fifth
avenue,
stores on
Broadway, stores on Grand street, and other valuable
buildings in various parts of
the town, and establishing himself as a broker, had
bought a seat upon the Stock Exchange, and began transacting
business upon his
own account.
Now all this caused sufficient talk, it is true, and
there were many ugly rumors aficat as to the manner
in which
the broker
come into
possession of his newly-acquired wealth; but the
interest felt in his affairs was
as
nothing to that displayed at the beginning of 1883,
when the man established himself as a private banker
in an
elegant suite
of
offices upon Wall
street, just below Broad, and displayed the sign
"Pomeroy & Co.,
Bankers",
above his door.
By what means Ralph Pomeroy had suddenly acquired
wealth no one knew and, so long as the world could
be actually
assured he had
it, no
one cared. A bold operator in stock and real estate, civil and
polite in his address to those whom he chose to
favor, the business
of
this newcomer
in the
banking world increased with the most extraordinary
rapidity; every scheme in which
he invested, every undertaking in which he embarked,
seemingly yielded gold to his touch.
Now in this world it is common saying, and one
likewise true, that "nothing
succeeds like success". Ralph Pomeroy had succeeded with a rapidity unparalled
in the annals of the "street," and in less than a year's time Pomeroy & Co.
had taken place among the leading bankers of New York.
Upon the morning of the 15th of August, 1884,
Ralph Pomeroy was late in arriving at the
bank.
It was fully noon when he entered its doors
and passed haughtily through the elegantly
fitted
counting-room, with its mahogany
desks, its carved
partitions and solid brass railings, and
entered his private office beyond.
From the expression of his face it was
evident that the great banker was in
no very pleasant
mood.
He laid aside his hat, and seating himself
at his desk with a dissatisfied air,
began to open
his
morning mail.
"Confound it!" he muttered, as he tore open letter after letter
and hastily scanned their contents. "I had set my heart upon that
span of horses, Rarus and Lady Betty, and now here steps in this mysterious
individual and snaps them up under
my very nose at double the price I offered
to pay. The horses are valuable,
it is true, but they are not worth no twenty thousand apiece, and yet that
is the sum given by this man, Hazelwood,
whom nobody knows, or seems to have
even heard of before. I wonder—Hello!
what in the world is this? A written
communication from Clemmans & Co.
stating that the block of Elevated
Railway stock upon which I expected to turn half a million has passed at
a better price into other hands! Was
there ever anything so confoundedly
unlucky! The fates seem against me to-day!" Dashing the letter angrily to the
desk, the banker rose and entering
the closet
which
contained his private telephone
rung the bell
with an angry
jerk.
"Give me Clemmans & Co.," he shouted through the instrument in
no pleasant tone.
A moment of silence followed.
Then the telephone bell tinkled
again.
"Is this Clemmans & Co.?"
From over the wire came the distant reply:
"Yes. Who are you?"
"This is Pomeroy & Co. I am Mr. Pomeroy. I want to talk with
Mr. Clemmans."
"All right; Mr. Clemmans is here."
"How about that Manhattan Elevated stock, Clemmans?"
"Sold, as I wrote you."
The reply that came over the wire was disgustingly plain.
"But you promised it to me."
"Can’t help it. Got a better offer. Had to let it go."
"Who is your purchaser?"
" ‘Tain’t business, but I don’t mind telling
you. Name of
Hazelwood. Rich young Englishman, just arrived in New York in his yacht,
the Justice." |