XVII
On his way back to his office, M. Segmuller mentally reviewed theposition of affairs; and came to the conclusion that as he had failedto take the citadel of defense by storm, he must resign himself to aregular protracted siege. He was exceedingly annoyed at the constantfailures that had attended all Lecoq's efforts; for time was on thewing, and he knew that in a criminal investigation delay only increasedthe uncertainty of success. The more promptly a crime is followed byjudicial action the easier it is to find the culprit, and prove hisguilt. The longer investigation is delayed the more difficult it becomesto adduce conclusive evidence.
In the present instance there were various matters that M. Segmullermight at once attend to. With which should he begin? Ought he not toconfront May, the Widow Chupin, and Polyte with the bodies of theirvictims? Such horrible meetings have at times the most momentousresults, and more than one murderer when unsuspectedly brought into thepresence of his victim's lifeless corpse has changed color and lost hisassurance.
Then there were other witnesses whom M. Segmuller might examine.Papillon, the cab-driver; the concierge of the house in the Rue deBourgogne--where the two women flying from the Poivriere had momentarilytaken refuge; as well as a certain Madame Milner, landlady of the Hotelde Mariembourg. In addition, it would also be advisable to summon, withthe least possible delay, some of the people residing in the vicinity ofthe Poivriere; together with some of Polyte's habitual companions, andthe landlord of the Rainbow, where the victims and the murderer hadapparently passed the evening of the crime. Of course, there was noreason to expect any great revelations from any of these witnesses,still they might know something, they might have an opinion to express,and in the present darkness one single ray of light, however faint,might mean salvation.
Obeying the magistrate's orders, Goguet, the smiling clerk, had justfinished drawing up at least a dozen summonses, when Lecoq returned fromthe Prefecture. M. Segmuller at once asked him the result of his errand.
"Ah, sir," replied the young detective, "I have a fresh proof of thatmysterious accomplice's skill. The permit that was used yesterday to seeyoung Chupin was in the name of his mother's sister, a woman namedRose Pitard. A visiting card was given her more than a week ago, incompliance with a request indorsed by the commissary of police of herdistrict."
The magistrate's surprise was so intense that it imparted to his facean almost ludicrous expression. "Is this aunt also in the plot?" hemurmured.
"I don't think so," replied Lecoq, shaking his head. "At all events, itwasn't she who went to the prison parlor yesterday. The clerks at thePrefecture remember the widow's sister very well, and gave me a fulldescription of her. She's a woman over five feet high, with a very darkcomplexion; and very wrinkled and weatherbeaten about the face. She'squite sixty years old; whereas, yesterday's visitor was short and fair,and not more than forty-five."
"If that's the case," interrupted M. Segmuller, "this visitor must beone of our fugitives."
"I don't think so."
"Who do you suppose she was, then?"
"Why, the landlady of the Hotel de Mariembourg--that clever woman whosucceeded so well in deceiving me. But she had better take care! Thereare means of verifying my suspicions."
The magistrate scarcely heard Lecoq's last words, so enraged was he atthe inconceivable audacity and devotion displayed by so many people:all of whom were apparently willing to run the greatest risks so long asthey could only assure the murderer's incognito.
"But how could the accomplice have known of the existence of thispermit?" he asked after a pause.
"Oh, nothing could be easier, sir," replied Lecoq. "When the WidowChupin and the accomplice had that interview at the station-house nearthe Barriere d'Italie, they both realized the necessity of warningPolyte. While trying to devise some means of getting to him, the oldwoman remembered her sister's visiting card, and the man made someexcuse to borrow it."
"Yes, such must be the case," said M. Segmuller, approvingly. "It willbe necessary to ascertain, however--"
"And I will ascertain," interrupted Lecoq, with a resolute air, "if youwill only intrust the matter to me, sir. If you will authorize me Iwill have two spies on the watch before to-night, one in the Rue dela Butte-aux-Cailles, and the other at the door of the Hotel deMariembourg. If the accomplice ventured to visit Toinon or Madame Milnerhe would be arrested; and then we should have our turn!"
However, there was no time to waste in vain words and idle boasting.Lecoq therefore checked himself, and took up his hat preparatory todeparture. "Now," said he, "I must ask you, sir, for my liberty; ifyou have any orders, you will find a trusty messenger in the corridor,Father Absinthe, one of my colleagues. I want to find out somethingabout Lacheneur's letter and the diamond earring."
"Go, then," replied M. Segmuller, "and good luck to you!"
Good luck! Yes, indeed, Lecoq looked for it. If up to the present momenthe had taken his successive defeats good-humoredly, it was because hebelieved that he had a talisman in his pocket which was bound to insureultimate victory.
"I shall be very stupid if I can't discover the owner of such a valuablejewel," he soliloquized, referring to the diamond earring. "And whenI find the owner I shall at the same time discover our mysteriousprisoner's identity."
The first step to be taken was to ascertain whom the earring had beenbought from. It would naturally be a tedious process to go from jewelerto jeweler and ask: "Do you know this jewel, was it set by you, and ifso whom did you sell it to?" But fortunately Lecoq was acquainted witha man whose knowledge of the trade might at once throw light on thematter. This individual was an old Hollander, named Van Numen, who as aconnoisseur in precious stones, was probably without his rival in Paris.He was employed by the Prefecture of Police as an expert in all suchmatters. He was considered rich. Despite his shabby appearance, he wasrightly considered rich, and, in point of fact, he was indeed far morewealthy than people generally supposed. Diamonds were his especialpassion, and he always had several in his pocket, in a little box whichhe would pull out and open at least a dozen times an hour, just as asnuff-taker continually produces his snuffbox.
This worthy man greeted Lecoq very affably. He put on his glasses,examined the jewel with a grimace of satisfaction, and, in the tone ofan oracle, remarked: "That stone is worth eight thousand francs, and itwas set by Doisty, in the Rue de la Paix."
Twenty minutes later Lecoq entered this well-known jeweler'sestablishment. Van Numen had not been mistaken. Doisty immediatelyrecognized the earring, which had, indeed, come from his shop. But whomhad he sold it to? He could not recollect, for it had passed out of hishands three or four years before.
"Wait a moment though," said he, "I will just ask my wife, who has awonderful memory."
Madame Doisty truly deserved this eulogium. A single glance at the jewelenabled her to say that she had seen this earring before, and that thepair had been purchased from them by the Marchioness d'Arlange.
"You must recollect," she added, turning to her husband, "that theMarchioness only gave us nine thousand francs on account, and that wehad all the trouble in the world to make her pay the balance."
Her husband did remember this circumstance; and in recording hisrecollection, he exchanged a significant glance with his wife.
"Now," said the detective, "I should like to have this marchioness'saddress."
"She lives in the Faubourg St. Germain," replied Madame Doisty, "nearthe Esplanade des Invalides."
Lecoq had refrained from any sign of satisfaction while he was in thejeweler's presence. But directly he had left the shop he evinced suchdelirious joy that the passers-by asked themselves in amazement ifhe were not mad. He did not walk, but fairly danced over the stones,gesticulating in the most ridiculous fashion as he addressed thistriumphant monologue to the empty air: "At last," said he, "this affairemerges from the mystery that has enshrouded it. At last I reach theveritable actors in the drama, the exalted personages whose existenceI had suspected. Ah! Gevrol, my illu
strious General! you talked abouta Russian princess, but you will be obliged to content yourself with asimple marchioness."
But the vertigo that had seized the young detective graduallydisappeared. His good sense reasserted itself, and, looking calmly atthe situation, he felt that he should need all his presence of mind,penetration, and sagacity to bring the expedition to a successfulfinish. What course should he pursue, on entering the marchioness'spresence, in order to draw from her a full confession and to obtain fullparticulars of the murder, as well as the murderer's name!
"It will be best to threaten her, to frighten her into confession,"he soliloquized. "If I give her time for reflection, I shall learnnothing."
He paused in his cogitations, for he had reached the residence of theMarchioness d'Arlange--a charming mansion with a courtyard in front andgarden in the rear. Before entering, he deemed it advisable to obtainsome information concerning the inmates.
"It is here, then," he murmured, "that I am to find the solution of theenigma! Here, behind these embroidered curtains, dwells the frightenedfugitive of the other night. What agony of fear must torture her sinceshe has discovered the loss of her earring!"
For more than an hour, standing under a neighbor's _porte cochere_,Lecoq remained watching the house. He would have liked to see theface of any one; but the time passed by and not even a shadow couldbe detected behind the curtain; not even a servant passed across thecourtyard. At last, losing patience, the young detective determined tomake inquiries in the neighborhood, for he could not take a decisivestep without obtaining some knowledge of the people he was to encounter.While wondering where he could obtain the information he required, heperceived, on the opposite side of the street, the keeper of a wine-shopsmoking on his doorstep.
At once approaching and pretending that he had forgotten an address,Lecoq politely asked for the house where Marchioness d'Arlange resided.Without a word, and without condescending to take his pipe from hismouth, the man pointed to the mansion which Lecoq had previouslywatched.
There was a way, however, to make him more communicative, namely, toenter the shop, call for something to drink, and invite the landlord todrink as well. This was what Lecoq did, and the sight of two well-filledglasses unbound, as by enchantment, the man's hitherto silent tongue.The young detective could not have found a better person to question,for this same individual had been established in the neighborhood forten years, and enjoyed among the servants of the aristocratic familieshere residing a certain amount of confidence.
"I pity you if you are going to the marchioness's house to collect abill," he remarked to Lecoq. "You will have plenty of time to learn theway here before you see your money. You will only be another of the manycreditors who never let her bell alone."
"The deuce! Is she as poor as that?"
"Poor! Why, every one knows that she has a comfortable income, withoutcounting this house. But when one spends double one's income every year,you know--"
The landlord stopped short, to call Lecoq's attention to two ladies whowere passing along the street, one of them, a woman of forty, dressed inblack; the other, a girl half-way through her teens. "There," quoth thewine-seller, "goes the marchioness's granddaughter, Mademoiselle Claire,with her governess, Mademoiselle Smith."
Lecoq's head whirled. "Her granddaughter!" he stammered.
"Yes--the daughter of her deceased son, if you prefer it."
"How old is the marchioness, then?"
"At least sixty: but one would never suspect it. She is one of thosepersons who live a hundred years. And what an old wretch she is too.She would think no more of knocking me over the head than I would ofemptying this glass of wine--"
"Excuse me," interrupted Lecoq, "but does she live alone in that greathouse?"
"Yes--that is--with her granddaughter, the governess, and two servants.But what is the matter with you?"
This last question was not uncalled for; for Lecoq had turned deadlywhite. The magic edifice of his hopes had crumbled beneath the weight ofthis man's words as completely as if it were some frail house ofcards erected by a child. He had only sufficient strength to murmur:"Nothing--nothing at all."
Then, as he could endure this torture of uncertainty no longer, he wenttoward the marchioness's house and rang the bell. The servant who cameto open the door examined him attentively, and then announced thatMadame d'Arlange was in the country. He evidently fancied that Lecoq wasa creditor.
But the young detective insisted so adroitly, giving the lackey tounderstand so explicitly that he did not come to collect money, andspeaking so earnestly of urgent business, that the servant finallyadmitted him to the hall, saying that he would go and see if madame hadreally gone out.
Fortunately for Lecoq, she happened to be at home, and an instantafterward the valet returned requesting the young detective tofollow him. After passing through a large and magnificently furnisheddrawing-room, they reached a charming boudoir, hung with rose-coloredcurtains, where, sitting by the fireside, in a large easy-chair, Lecoqfound an old woman, tall, bony, and terrible of aspect, her face loadedwith paint, and her person covered with ornaments. The aged coquettewas Madame, the Marchioness, who, for the time being, was engaged inknitting a strip of green wool. She turned toward her visitor justenough to show him the rouge on one cheek, and then, as he seemed ratherfrightened--a fact flattering to her vanity--she spoke in an affabletone. "Ah, well young man," said she, "what brings you here?"
In point of fact, Lecoq was not frightened, but he was intenselydisappointed to find that Madame d'Arlange could not possibly be one ofthe women who had escaped from the Widow Chupin's hovel on the night ofthe murder. There was nothing about her appearance that corresponded inthe least degree with the descriptions given by Papillon.
Remembering the small footprints left in the snow by the two fugitives,the young detective glanced, moreover, at the marchioness's feet, justperceivable beneath her skirt, and his disappointment reached its climaxwhen he found that they were truly colossal in size.
"Well, are you dumb?" inquired the old lady, raising her voice.
Without making a direct reply, Lecoq produced the precious earring, and,placing it upon the table beside the marchioness, remarked: "I bring youthis jewel, madame, which I have found, and which, I am told, belongs toyou."
Madame d'Arlange laid down her knitting and proceeded to examine theearring. "It is true," she said, after a moment, "that this ornamentformerly belonged to me. It was a fancy I had, about four years ago, andit cost me dear--at least twenty thousand francs. Ah! Doisty, the manwho sold me those diamonds, must make a handsome income. But I had agranddaughter to educate and pressing need of money compelled me to sellthem."
"To whom?" asked Lecoq, eagerly.
"Eh?" exclaimed the old lady, evidently shocked at his audacity, "youare very inquisitive upon my word!"
"Excuse me, madame, but I am anxious to find the owner of this valuableornament."
Madame d'Arlange regarded her visitor with an air of mingled curiosityand surprise. "Such honesty!" said she. "Oh, oh! And of course you don'thope for a sou by way of reward--"
"Madame!"
"Good, good! There is not the least need for you to turn as red as apoppy, young man. I sold these diamonds to a great Austrian lady--theBaroness de Watchau."
"And where does this lady reside?"
"At the Pere la Chaise, probably, since she died about a year ago. Ah!these women of the present day--an extra waltz, or the merest draft, andit's all over with them! In my time, after each gallop, we girls usedto swallow a tumbler of sweetened wine, and sit down between two opendoors. And we did very well, as you see."
"But, madame," insisted Lecoq, "the Baroness de Watchau must have leftsome one behind her--a husband, or children--"
"No one but a brother, who holds a court position at Vienna: and whocould not leave even to attend the funeral. He sent orders that allhis sister's personal property should be sold--not even excepting herwardrobe--and the money sent to him."
br /> Lecoq could not repress an exclamation of disappointment. "Howunfortunate!" he murmured.
"Why?" asked the old lady. "Under these circumstances, the diamond willprobably remain in your hands, and I am rejoiced that it should be so.It will be a fitting reward for your honesty."
Madame d'Arlange was naturally not aware that her remark implied themost exquisite torture for Lecoq. Ah! if it should be as she said, ifhe should never find the lady who had lost this costly jewel! Smartingunder the marchioness's unintended irony, he would have liked toapostrophize her in angry terms; but it could not be, for it wasadvisable if not absolutely necessary that he should conceal his trueidentity. Accordingly, he contrived to smile, and even stammered anacknowledgment of Madame d'Arlange's good wishes. Then, as if he had nomore to expect, he made her a low bow and withdrew.
This new misfortune well-nigh overwhelmed him. One by one all thethreads upon which he had relied to guide him out of this intricatelabyrinth were breaking in his hands. In the present instance hecould scarcely be the dupe of some fresh comedy, for if the murderer'saccomplice had taken Doisty, the jeweler, into his confidence he wouldhave instructed him to say that the earring had never come from hisestablishment, and that he could not consequently tell whom it had beensold to. On the contrary, however, Doisty and his wife had readily givenMadame d'Arlange's name, and all the circumstances pointed in favor oftheir sincerity. Then, again, there was good reason to believe inthe veracity of the marchioness's assertions. They were sufficientlyauthenticated by a significant glance which Lecoq had detected betweenthe jeweler and his wife. The meaning of this glance could not bedoubted. It implied plainly that both husband and wife were of opinionthat in buying these earrings the marchioness engaged in one of thoselittle speculations which are more common than many people might supposeamong ladies moving in high-class society. Being in urgent want of readymoney, she had bought on credit at a high price to sell for cash at aloss.
As Lecoq was anxious to investigate the matter as far as possible,he returned to Doisty's establishment, and, by a plausible pretext,succeeded in gaining a sight of the books in which the jewelerrecorded his transactions. He soon found the sale of the earrings dulyrecorded--specified by Madame Doisty at the date--both in the day-bookand the ledger. Madame d'Arlange first paid 9,000 francs on account andthe balance of the purchase money (an equivalent sum) had been receivedin instalments at long intervals subsequently. Now, if it had been easyfor Madame Milner to make a false entry in her traveler's registry atthe Hotel de Mariembourg, it was absurd to suppose that the jewelerhad falsified all his accounts for four years. Hence, the facts wereindisputable; and yet, the young detective was not satisfied.
He hurried to the Faubourg Saint Honore, to the house formerly occupiedby the Baroness de Watchau, and there found a good-natured concierge,who at once informed him that after the Baroness's death her furnitureand personal effects had been taken to the great auction mart in the RueDrouot; the sale being conducted by M. Petit, the eminent auctioneer.
Without losing a minute, Lecoq hastened to this individual's office.M. Petit remembered the Watchau sale very well; it had made quite asensation at the time, and on searching among his papers he soon founda long catalogue of the various articles sold. Several lots of jewelrywere mentioned, with the sums paid, and the names of the purchasers; butthere was not the slightest allusion to these particular earrings. WhenLecoq produced the diamond he had in his pocket, the auctioneer couldnot remember that he had ever seen it; though of course this was noevidence to the contrary, for, as he himself remarked,--so many articlespassed through his hands! However, this much he could declare upon oath;the baroness's brother, her only heir, had preserved nothing--not somuch as a pin's worth of his sister's effects: although he had been in agreat hurry to receive the proceeds, which amounted to the pleasant sumof one hundred and sixty-seven thousand five hundred and thirty francs,all expenses deducted.
"Everything this lady possessed was sold?" inquired Lecoq.
"Everything."
"And what is the name of this brother of hers?"
"Watchau, also. The baroness had probably married one of her relatives.Until last year her brother occupied a very prominent diplomaticposition. I think he now resides at Berlin."
Certainly this information would not seem to indicate that theauctioneer had been tampered with; and yet Lecoq was not satisfied. "Itis very strange," he thought, as he walked toward his lodgings, "thatwhichever side I turn, in this affair, I find mention of Germany. Themurderer comes from Leipsic, Madame Milner must be a Bavarian, and nowhere is an Austrian baroness."
It was too late to make any further inquiries that evening, and Lecoqwent to bed; but the next morning, at an early hour, he resumed hisinvestigations with fresh ardor. There now seemed only one remainingclue to success: the letter signed "Lacheneur," which had been foundin the pocket of the murdered soldier. This letter, judging from thehalf-effaced heading at the top of the note-paper, must have beenwritten in some cafe on the Boulevard Beaumarchais. To discover whichprecise cafe would be mere child's play; and indeed the fourth landlordto whom Lecoq exhibited the letter recognized the paper as his. Butneither he, nor his wife, nor the young lady at the counter, nor thewaiters, nor any of the customers present at the time, had ever onceheard mention made of this singular name--Lacheneur.
And now what was Lecoq to do? Was the case utterly hopeless? Not yet.Had not the spurious soldier declared that this Lacheneur was an oldcomedian? Seizing upon this frail clue, as a drowning man clutches atthe merest fragment of the floating wreck, Lecoq turned his steps inanother direction, and hurried from theatre to theatre, asking everyone, from doorkeeper to manager: "Don't you know an actor namedLacheneur?"
Alas! one and all gave a negative reply, at times indulging in somerough joke at the oddity of the name. And when any one asked the youngdetective what the man he was seeking was like, what could he reply?His answer was necessarily limited to the virtuous Toinon's phrase: "Ithought him a very respectable-looking gentleman." This was not a verygraphic description, however, and, besides, it was rather doubtful whata woman like Polyte Chupin's wife might mean by the word "respectable."Did she apply it to the man's age, to his personal aspect, or to hisapparent fortune.
Sometimes those whom Lecoq questioned would ask what parts this comedianof his was in the habit of playing; and then the young detective couldmake no reply whatever. He kept for himself the harassing thoughtthat the role now being performed by the unknown Lacheneur was drivinghim--Lecoq--wild with despair.
Eventually our hero had recourse to a method of investigation which,strange to say, the police seldom employ, save in extreme cases,although it is at once sensible and simple, and generally fraughtwith success. It consists in examining all the hotel and lodging-houseregisters, in which the landlords are compelled to record the names oftheir tenants, even should the latter merely sojourn under their roofsfor a single night.
Rising long before daybreak and going to bed late at night, Lecoq spentall his time in visiting the countless hotels and furnished lodgings inParis. But still and ever his search was vain. He never once came acrossthe name of Lacheneur; and at last he began to ask himself if sucha name really existed, or if it were not some pseudonym inventedfor convenience. He had not found it even in Didot's directory, theso-called "Almanach Boitin," where one finds all the most singular andabsurd names in France--those which are formed of the most fantasticmingling of syllables.
Still, nothing could daunt him or turn him from the almost impossibletask he had undertaken, and his obstinate perseverance well-nighdeveloped into monomania. He was no longer subject to occasionaloutbursts of anger, quickly repressed; but lived in a state of constantexasperation, which soon impaired the clearness of his mind. No moretheories, or ingenious deductions, no more subtle reasoning. He pursuedhis search without method and without order--much as Father Absinthemight have done when under the influence of alcohol. Perhaps he had cometo rely less upon his own shrewdness than upo
n chance to reveal to himthe substance of the mystery, of which he had as yet only detected theshadow.