Monsieur Lecoq, v. 1

  VII

  When, after a rapid walk of twenty minutes, Lecoq reached the policestation near the Barriere d'Italie, the doorkeeper, with his pipe inhis mouth, was pacing slowly to and fro before the guard-house. Histhoughtful air, and the anxious glances he cast every now and thentoward one of the little grated windows of the building sufficed toindicate that some very rare bird indeed had been entrusted to hiskeeping. As soon as he recognized Lecoq, his brow cleared, and he pausedin his promenade.

  "Ah, well!" he inquired, "what news do you bring?"

  "I have an order to conduct the prisoners to the prefecture."

  The keeper rubbed his hands, and his smile of satisfaction plainlyimplied that he felt a load the less on his shoulders.

  "Capital! capital!" he exclaimed. "The Black Maria, the prison van, willpass here in less than an hour; we will throw them in, and hurry thedriver off--"

  Lecoq was obliged to interrupt the keeper's transports of satisfaction."Are the prisoners alone?" he inquired.

  "Quite alone: the woman in one cell, and the man in the other. Thishas been a remarkably quiet night, for Shrove Sunday! Quite surprisingindeed! It is true your hunt was interrupted."

  "You had a drunken man here, however."

  "No--yes--that's true--this morning just at daybreak. A poor devil, whois under a great obligation to Gevrol."

  The involuntary irony of this remark did not escape Lecoq. "Yes, under agreat obligation, indeed!" he said with a derisive laugh.

  "You may laugh as much as you like," retorted the keeper, "but such isreally the case; if it hadn't been for Gevrol the man would certainlyhave been run over."

  "And what has become of him?"

  The keeper shrugged his shoulders. "You ask me too much," he responded.He was a worthy fellow who had been spending the night at a friend'shouse, and on coming out into the open air, the wine flew into his head.He told us all about it when he got sober, half an hour afterward. Inever saw a man so vexed as he was. He wept, and stammered: "The fatherof a family, and at my age too! Oh! it is shameful! What shall I say tomy wife? What will the children think?"

  "Did he talk much about his wife?"

  "He talked about nothing else. He mentioned her name--Eudosia Leocadie,or some name of that sort. He declared that he should be ruined if wekept him here. He begged us to send for the commissary, to go to hishouse, and when we set him free, I thought he would go mad with joy; hekissed our hands, and thanked us again and again!"

  "And did you place him in the same cage as the murderer?" inquiredLecoq.

  "Of course."

  "Then they talked with each other."

  "Talked? Why, the drunkard was so 'gone' I tell you, that he couldn'thave said 'bread' distinctly. When he was placed in a cell, bang! Hefell down like a log of wood. As soon as he recovered, we let him out.I'm sure, they didn't talk to each other."

  The young police agent had grown very thoughtful. "I was evidentlyright," he murmured.

  "What did you say?" inquired the keeper.

  "Nothing," replied Lecoq, who was not inclined to communicate hisreflections to the custodian of the guard-house. These reflections ofhis were by no means pleasant ones. "I was right," he thought; "thispretended drunkard was none other than the accomplice. He is evidentlyan adroit, audacious, cool-headed fellow. While we were tracking hisfootprints he was watching us. When we had got to some distance, he wasbold enough to enter the hovel. Then he came here and compelled themto arrest him; and thanks to an assumption of childish simplicity,he succeeded in finding an opportunity to speak with the murderer. Heplayed his part perfectly. Still, I know that he did play a part, andthat is something. I know that one must believe exactly the opposite ofwhat he said. He talked of his family, his wife and children--hence, hehas neither children, wife, nor family."

  Lecoq suddenly checked himself, remembering that he had no time to wastein conjectures. "What kind of fellow was this drunkard?" he inquired.

  "He was tall and stout, with full ruddy cheeks, a pair of whitewhiskers, small eyes, a broad flat nose, and a good-natured, jovialmanner."

  "How old would you suppose him to be?"

  "Between forty and fifty."

  "Did you form any idea of his profession?"

  "It's my opinion, that what with his soft cap and his heavy brownovercoat, he must be either a clerk or the keeper of some little shop."

  Having obtained this description, which agreed with the result of hisinvestigations, Lecoq was about to enter the station house when asudden thought brought him to a standstill. "I hope this man has had nocommunication with this Widow Chupin!" he exclaimed.

  The keeper laughed heartily. "How could he have had any?" he responded."Isn't the old woman alone in her cell? Ah, the old wretch! She has beencursing and threatening ever since she arrived. Never in my whole lifehave I heard such language as she has used. It has been enough to makethe very stones blush; even the drunken man was so shocked that he wentto the grating in the door, and told her to be quiet."

  Lecoq's glance and gesture were so expressive of impatience and wraththat the keeper paused in his recital much perturbed. "What is thematter?" he stammered. "Why are you angry?"

  "Because," replied Lecoq, furiously, "because--" Not wishing to disclosethe real cause of his anger, he entered the station house, saying thathe wanted to see the prisoner.

  Left alone, the keeper began to swear in his turn. "These police agentsare all alike," he grumbled. "They question you, you tell them all theydesire to know; and afterward, if you venture to ask them anything, theyreply: 'nothing,' or 'because.' They have too much authority; it makesthem proud."

  Looking through the little latticed window in the door, by which the menon guard watch the prisoners, Lecoq eagerly examined the appearance ofthe assumed murderer. He was obliged to ask himself if this was reallythe same man he had seen some hours previously at the Poivriere,standing on the threshold of the inner door, and holding the whole squadof police agents in check by the intense fury of his attitude. Now, onthe contrary, he seemed, as it were, the personification of weakness anddespondency. He was seated on a bench opposite the grating in the door,his elbows resting on his knees, his chin upon his hand, his under liphanging low and his eyes fixed upon vacancy.

  "No," murmured Lecoq, "no, this man is not what he seems to be."

  So saying he entered the cell, the culprit raised his head, gave thedetective an indifferent glance, but did not utter a word.

  "Well, how goes it?" asked Lecoq.

  "I am innocent!" responded the prisoner, in a hoarse, discordant voice.

  "I hope so, I am sure--but that is for the magistrate to decide. I cameto see if you wanted anything."

  "No," replied the murderer, but a second later he changed his mind. "Allthe same," he said, "I shouldn't mind a crust and a drink of wine."

  "You shall have them," replied Lecoq, who at once went out to foragein the neighborhood for eatables of some sort. In his opinion, if themurderer had asked for a drink after at first refusing to partake ofanything, it was solely with the view of conveying the idea that he wasreally the kind of man he pretended to be.

  At all events, whoever he might be, the prisoner ate with an excellentappetite. He then took up the large glass of wine that had been broughthim, drained it slowly, and remarked: "That's capital! There can benothing to beat that!"

  This seeming satisfaction greatly disappointed Lecoq, who had selected,as a test, one of those horribly thick, bluish, nauseous mixtures invogue around the barrieres--hoping, nay, almost expecting, that themurderer would not drink it without some sign of repugnance. And yet thecontrary proved the case. However, the young detective had no time toponder over the circumstance, for a rumble of wheels now announced theapproach of that lugubrious vehicle, the Black Maria.

  When the Widow Chupin was removed from her cell she fought and scratchedand cried "Murder!" at the top of her voice; and it was only by sheerforce that she was at length got into the van. Then it was that theofficials turn
ed to the assassin. Lecoq certainly expected some sign ofrepugnance now, and he watched the prisoner closely. But he was againdoomed to disappointment. The culprit entered the vehicle in the mostunconcerned manner, and took possession of his compartment like oneaccustomed to it, knowing the most comfortable position to assume insuch close quarters.

  "Ah! what an unfortunate morning," murmured Lecoq, disconsolately."Still I will lie in wait for him at the prefecture."

  When the door of the prison-van had been securely closed, the drivercracked his whip, and the sturdy horses started off at a brisk trot.Lecoq had taken his seat in front, between the driver and the guard; buthis mind was so engrossed with his own thoughts that he heard nothingof their conversation, which was very jovial, although frequentlyinterrupted by the shrill voice of the Widow Chupin, who sang and yelledher imprecations alternately.

  It is needless, however, to recapitulate her oaths; let us rather followthe train of Lecoq's meditation. By what means could he secure some clueto the murderer's identity? He was still convinced that the prisonermust belong to the higher ranks of society. After all, it was not soextraordinary that he should have succeeded in feigning an appetite,that he should have concealed his distaste for a nauseous beverage, andthat he should have entered the Black Maria without hesitation. Suchconduct was quite possible, indeed almost probable on the part of a man,endowed with considerable strength of will, and realizing the imminenceof his peril. But granting this, would he be equally able to hide hisfeelings when he was obliged to submit to the humiliating formalitiesthat awaited him--formalities which in certain cases can, and must, bepushed even to the verge of insult and outrage?

  No; Lecoq could not believe that this would be possible. He felt surethat the disgraceful position in which the prisoner would find himselfwould cause him to revolt, to lose his self-control, to utter some wordthat might give the desired clue.

  It was not until the gloomy vehicle had turned off the Pont Neuf on tothe Quai de l'Horloge that the young detective became conscious of whatwas transpiring around him. Soon the van passed through an open gateway,and drew up in a small, damp courtyard.

  Lecoq immediately alighted, and opened the door of the compartment inwhich the supposed murderer was confined, exclaiming as he did so: "Herewe are, get out." There was no fear of the prisoner escaping. The irongate had been closed, and at least a dozen agents were standing near athand, waiting to have a look at the new arrivals.

  The prisoner slowly stepped to the ground. His expression of faceremained unchanged, and each gesture evinced the perfect indifference ofa man accustomed to such ordeals.

  Lecoq scrutinized his demeanor as attentively as an anatomist might havewatched the action of a muscle. He noted that the prisoner seemed toexperience a sensation of satisfaction directly his foot touchedthe pavement of the courtyard, that he drew a long breath, and thenstretched and shook himself, as if to regain the elasticity of hislimbs, cramped by confinement in the narrow compartment from which hehad just emerged. Then he glanced around him, and a scarcely perceptiblesmile played upon his lips. One might have sworn that the place wasfamiliar to him, that he was well acquainted with these high grim walls,these grated windows, these heavy doors--in short, with all the sinisterbelongings of a prison.

  "Good Lord!" murmured Lecoq, greatly chagrined, "does he indeedrecognize the place?"

  And his sense of disappointment and disquietude increased when, withoutwaiting for a word, a motion, or a sign, the prisoner turned towardone of the five or six doors that opened into the courtyard. Without aninstant's hesitation he walked straight toward the very doorway he wasexpected to enter--Lecoq asked himself was it chance? But his amazementand disappointment increased tenfold when, after entering the gloomycorridor, he saw the culprit proceed some little distance, resolutelyturn to the left, pass by the keeper's room, and finally enter theregistrar's office. An old offender could not have done better.

  Big drops of perspiration stood on Lecoq's forehead. "This man," thoughthe, "has certainly been here before; he knows the ropes."

  The registrar's office was a large room heated almost to suffocation byan immense stove, and badly lighted by three small windows, the panesof which were covered with a thick coating of dust. There sat the clerkreading a newspaper, spread out over the open register--that fatal bookin which are inscribed the names of all those whom misconduct, crime,misfortune, madness, or error have brought to these grim portals.

  Three or four attendants, who were awaiting the hour for entering upontheir duties, reclined half asleep upon the wooden benches that linedthree sides of the room. These benches, with a couple of tables, andsome dilapidated chairs, constituted the entire furniture of the office,in one corner of which stood a measuring machine, under which eachculprit was obliged to pass, the exact height of the prisoners beingrecorded in order that the description of their persons might becomplete in every respect.

  At the entrance of the culprit accompanied by Lecoq, the clerk raisedhis head. "Ah!" said he, "has the van arrived?"

  "Yes," responded Lecoq. And showing the orders signed by M. d'Escorval,he added: "Here are this man's papers."

  The registrar took the documents and read them. "Oh!" he exclaimed,"a triple assassination! Oh! oh!" The glance he gave the prisonerwas positively deferential. This was no common culprit, no ordinaryvagabond, no vulgar thief.

  "The investigating magistrate orders a private examination," continuedthe clerk, "and I must get the prisoner other clothing, as the thingshe is wearing now will be used as evidence. Let some one go at once andtell the superintendent that the other occupants of the van must wait."

  At this moment, the governor of the Depot entered the office. The clerkat once dipped his pen in the ink, and turning to the prisoner he asked:"What is your name?"

  "May."

  "Your Christian name?"

  "I have none."

  "What, have you no Christian name?"

  The prisoner seemed to reflect for a moment, and then answered, sulkily:"I may as well tell you that you need not tire yourself by questioningme. I shan't answer any one else but the magistrate. You would like tomake me cut my own throat, wouldn't you? A very clever trick, of course,but one that won't do for me."

  "You must see that you only aggravate your situation," observed thegovernor.

  "Not in the least. I am innocent; you wish to ruin me. I only defendmyself. Get anything more out of me now, if you can. But you had bettergive me back what they took from me at the station-house. My hundred andthirty-six francs and eight sous. I shall need them when I get out ofthis place. I want you to make a note of them on the register. Where arethey?"

  The money had been given to Lecoq by the keeper of the station-house,who had found it upon the prisoner when he was placed in his custody.Lecoq now laid it upon the table.

  "Here are your hundred and thirty-six francs and eight sous," said he,"and also your knife, your handkerchief, and four cigars."

  An expression of lively contentment was discernible on the prisoner'sfeatures.

  "Now," resumed the clerk, "will you answer?"

  But the governor perceived the futility of further questioning; andsilencing the clerk by a gesture, he told the prisoner to take off hisboots.

  Lecoq thought the assassin's glance wavered as he heard this order. Wasit only a fancy?

  "Why must I do that?" asked the culprit.

  "To pass under the beam," replied the clerk. "We must make a note ofyour exact height."

  The prisoner made no reply, but sat down and drew off his heavy boots.The heel of the right one was worn down on the inside. It was, moreover,noticed that the prisoner wore no socks, and that his feet were coatedwith mud.

  "You only wear boots on Sundays, then?" remarked Lecoq.

  "Why do you think that?"

  "By the mud with which your feet are covered, as high as theankle-bone."

  "What of that?" exclaimed the prisoner, in an insolent tone. "Is it acrime not to have a marchioness's feet?"
r />   "It is a crime you are not guilty of, at all events," said the youngdetective slowly. "Do you think I can't see that if the mud were pickedoff your feet would be white and neat? The nails have been carefully cutand polished--"

  He paused. A new idea inspired by his genius for investigation had justcrossed Lecoq's mind. Pushing a chair in front of the prisoner, andspreading a newspaper over it, he said: "Will you place your footthere?"

  The man did not comply with the request.

  "It is useless to resist," exclaimed the governor, "we are in force."

  The prisoner delayed no longer. He placed his foot on the chair, ashe had been ordered, and Lecoq, with the aid of a knife, proceeded toremove the fragments of mud that adhered to the skin.

  Anywhere else so strange and grotesque a proceeding would have excitedlaughter, but here, in this gloomy chamber, the anteroom of the assizecourt, an otherwise trivial act is fraught with serious import. Nothingastonishes; and should a smile threaten to curve one's lips, it isinstantly repressed.

  All the spectators, from the governor of the prison to the keepers, hadwitnessed many other incidents equally absurd; and no one thought ofinquiring the detective's motive. This much was known already; that theprisoner was trying to conceal his identity. Now it was necessary toestablish it, at any cost, and Lecoq had probably discovered some meansof attaining this end.

  The operation was soon concluded; and Lecoq swept the dust off the paperinto the palm of his hand. He divided it into two parts, enclosing oneportion in a scrap of paper, and slipping it into his own pocket. Withthe remainder he formed a package which he handed to the governor,saying: "I beg you, sir, to take charge of this, and to seal it up here,in presence of the prisoner. This formality is necessary, so that by andby he may not pretend that the dust has been changed."

  The governor complied with the request, and as he placed this "bitof proof" (as he styled it) in a small satchel for safe keeping, theprisoner shrugged his shoulders with a sneering laugh. Still, beneaththis cynical gaiety Lecoq thought he could detect poignant anxiety.Chance owed him the compensation of this slight triumph; for previousevents had deceived all his calculations.

  The prisoner did not offer the slightest objection when he was orderedto undress, and to exchange his soiled and bloodstained garments forthe clothing furnished by the Government. Not a muscle of his face movedwhile he submitted his person to one of those ignominous examinationswhich make the blood rush to the forehead of the lowest criminal. It waswith perfect indifference that he allowed an inspector to comb his hairand beard, and to examine the inside of his mouth, so as to make surethat he had not concealed either some fragment of glass, by the aidof which captives can sever the strongest bars, or one of thosemicroscopical bits of lead with which prisoners write the notes theyexchange, rolled up in a morsel of bread, and called "postilions."

  These formalities having been concluded, the superintendent rang forone of the keepers. "Conduct this man to No. 3 of the secret cells," heordered.

  There was no need to drag the prisoner away. He walked out, as he hadentered, preceding the guard, like some old habitue, who knows where heis going.

  "What a rascal!" exclaimed the clerk.

  "Then you think--" began Lecoq, baffled but not convinced.

  "Ah! there can be no doubt of it," declared the governor. "This man iscertainly a dangerous criminal--an old offender--I think I have seen himbefore--I could almost swear to it."

  Thus it was evident these people, with their long, varied experience,shared Gevrol's opinion; Lecoq stood alone. He did not discuss thematter--what good would it have done? Besides, the Widow Chupin was justbeing brought in.

  The journey must have calmed her nerves, for she had become as gentleas a lamb. It was in a wheedling voice, and with tearful eyes, that shecalled upon these "good gentlemen" to witness the shameful injusticewith which she was treated--she, an honest woman. Was she not themainstay of her family (since her son Polyte was in custody, chargedwith pocket-picking), hence what would become of her daughter-in-law,and of her grandson Toto, who had no one to look after them but her?

  Still, when her name had been taken, and a keeper was ordered to removeher, nature reasserted itself, and scarcely had she entered the corridorthan she was heard quarreling with the guard.

  "You are wrong not to be polite," she said; "you are losing a good fee,without counting many a good drink I would stand you when I get out ofhere."

  Lecoq was now free until M. d'Escorval's arrival. He wandered throughthe gloomy corridors, from office to office, but finding himselfassailed with questions by every one he came across, he eventually leftthe Depot, and went and sat down on one of the benches beside the quay.Here he tried to collect his thoughts. His convictions were unchanged.He was more than ever convinced that the prisoner was concealing hisreal social standing, but, on the other hand, it was evident that he waswell acquainted with the prison and its usages.

  He had also proved himself to be endowed with far more cleverness thanLecoq had supposed. What self-control! What powers of dissimulationhe had displayed! He had not so much as frowned while undergoing theseverest ordeals, and he had managed to deceive the most experiencedeyes in Paris.

  The young detective had waited during nearly three hours, as motionlessas the bench on which he was seated, and so absorbed in studying hiscase that he had thought neither of the cold nor of the flight oftime, when a carriage drew up before the entrance of the prison, and M.d'Escorval alighted, followed by his clerk.

  Lecoq rose and hastened, well-nigh breathless with anxiety, toward themagistrate.

  "My researches on the spot," said this functionary, "confirm me in thebelief that you are right. Is there anything fresh?"

  "Yes, sir; a fact that is apparently very trivial, though, in truth, itis of importance that--"

  "Very well!" interrupted the magistrate. "You will explain it to me byand by. First of all, I must summarily examine the prisoners. A merematter of form for to-day. Wait for me here."

  Although the magistrate promised to make haste, Lecoq expected thatat least an hour would elapse before he reappeared. In this he wasmistaken. Twenty minutes later, M. d'Escorval emerged from the prisonwithout his clerk.

  He was walking very fast, and instead of approaching the youngdetective, he called to him at some little distance. "I must return homeat once," he said, "instantly; I can not listen to you."

  "But, sir--"

  "Enough! the bodies of the victims have been taken to the Morgue. Keepa sharp lookout there. Then, this evening make--well--do whatever youthink best."

  "But, sir, I must--"

  "To-morrow!--to-morrow, at nine o'clock, in my office in the Palais deJustice."

  Lecoq wished to insist upon a hearing, but M. d'Escorval had entered, orrather thrown himself into, his carriage, and the coachman was alreadywhipping up the horse.

  "And to think that he's an investigating magistrate," panted Lecoq, leftspellbound on the quay. "Has he gone mad?" As he spoke, an uncharitablethought took possession of his mind. "Can it be," he murmured, "that M.d'Escorval holds the key to the mystery? Perhaps he wishes to get rid ofme."

  This suspicion was so terrible that Lecoq hastened back to the prison,hoping that the prisoner's bearing might help to solve his doubts.On peering through the grated aperture in the door of the cell, heperceived the prisoner lying on the pallet that stood opposite thedoor. His face was turned toward the wall, and he was enveloped in thecoverlid up to his eyes. He was not asleep, for Lecoq could detect astrange movement of the body, which puzzled and annoyed him. On applyinghis ear instead of his eye to the aperture, he distinguished a stifledmoan. There could no longer be any doubt. The death rattle was soundingin the prisoner's throat.

  "Help! help!" cried Lecoq, greatly excited. "The prisoner is killinghimself!"

  A dozen keepers hastened to the spot. The door was quickly opened,and it was then ascertained that the prisoner, having torn a strip ofbinding from his clothes, had fastened it round h
is neck and tried tostrangle himself with the assistance of a spoon that had been left himwith his food. He was already unconscious, and the prison doctor, whoimmediately bled him, declared that had another ten minutes elapsed,help would have arrived too late.

  When the prisoner regained his senses, he gazed around him with awild, puzzled stare. One might have supposed that he was amazed to findhimself still alive. Suddenly a couple of big tears welled from hisswollen eyelids, and rolled down his cheeks. He was pressed withquestions, but did not vouchsafe so much as a single word in response.As he was in such a desperate frame of mind, and as the orders tokeep him in solitary confinement prevented the governor giving him acompanion, it was decided to put a straight waistcoat on him. Lecoqassisted at this operation, and then walked away, puzzled, thoughtful,and agitated. Intuition told him that these mysterious occurrencesconcealed some terrible drama.

  "Still, what can have occurred since the prisoner's arrival here?" hemurmured. "Has he confessed his guilt to the magistrate, or what is hisreason for attempting so desperate an act?"