Mascarin went on:  “The English, however, are our masters, for in London a compromising servant is as easily negotiable as a sound bill of exchange.  There is in the city a respectable jeweller, who will advance money on any compromising letter with a good name at the foot.  His shop is a regular pawnshop of infamy.  In the States it has been elevated to the dignity of a profession, and the citizen at New York dreads the blackmailers more than the police, if he is meditating some dishonorable action.  Our first operations did not bring in any quick returns, and the harvest promised to be a late one; but you have come upon us just as we are about to reap our harvest.  The professions of Hortebise and Catenac—­the one a doctor and the other a lawyer—­facilitated our operations greatly.  One administered to the diseases of the body, and the other to that of the purse, and, of course, thus they became professors of many secrets.  As for me, the head and chief, it would not do to remain an idle looker-on.  Our funds had dwindled down a good deal, and, after mature consideration, I decided to hire this house, and open a Servants’ Registry Office.  Such an occupation would not attract any attention, and in the end it turned out a perfect success, as my friends can testify.”

Catenac and Hortebise both nodded assent.

“By the system which I have adopted,” resumed Mascarin, “the wealthy and respectable man is as strictly watched in his own house as is the condemned wretch in his cell; for no act of his escapes the eyes of the servants whom we have placed around him.  He can hardly even conceal his thoughts from us.  Even the very secret that he has murmured to his wife with closed doors reaches our ears.”

The Marquis gave a supercilious smile.

“You must have had some inkling of this,” observed Mascarin, “for you have never taken a servant from our establishment; but for all that, I am as well posted up in your affairs as yourself.  You have even now about you a valet of whom you know nothing.”

“Morel was recommended to me by one of my most intimate friends—­Sir Richard Wakefield.”

“But for all that I have had my suspicions of him; but we will talk of this later, and we will now return to the subject upon which we have met.  As I told you, I conceal the immense power I had attained through our agency, and use it as occasion presents itself, and after twenty years’ patient labor, I am about to reap a stupendous harvest.  The police pay enormous sums to their secret agents, while I, without opening my purse, have an army of devoted adherents.  I see perhaps fifty servants of both sexes daily; calculate what this will amount to in a year.”

There was an air of complacency about the man as he explained the working of his system, and a ring of triumph in his voice.

“You must not think that all my agents are in my secrets, for the greater part of them are quite unaware of what they are doing, and in this lies my strength.  Each of them brings me a slender thread, which I twine into the mighty cord by which I hold my slaves.  These unsuspecting agents remind me of those strange Brazilian birds, whose presence is a sure sign that water is to be found near at hand.  When one of them utters a note, I dig, and I find.  And now, Marquis, do you understand the aim and end of our association?”