Le crime d'Orcival. English

  XXIV

  Nine o'clock had just struck in the belfry of the church of St.Eustache, when M. Plantat reached Rue Montmartre, and entered the housebearing the number which M. Lecoq had given him.

  "Monsieur Lecoq?" said he to an old woman who was engaged in gettingbreakfast for three large cats which were mewing around her. The womanscanned him with a surprised and suspicious air. M. Plantat, when he wasdressed up, had much more the appearance of a fine old gentleman than ofa country attorney; and though the detective received many visits fromall sorts of people, it was rarely that the denizens of the FaubourgSaint Germaine rung his bell.

  "Monsieur Lecoq's apartments," answered the old woman, "are on the thirdstory, the door facing the stairs."

  The justice of the peace slowly ascended the narrow, ill-lightedstaircase, which in its dark corners was almost dangerous. He wasthinking of the strange step he was about to take. An idea had occurredto him, but he did not know whether it were practicable, and at allevents he needed the aid and advice of the detective. He was forced todisclose his most secret thoughts, as it were, to confess himself; andhis heart beat fast. The door opposite the staircase on the third storywas not like other doors; it was of plain oak, thick, without mouldings,and fastened with iron bars. It would have looked like a prison door hadnot its sombreness been lightened by a heavily colored engraving of acock crowing, with the legend "Always Vigilant." Had the detective puthis coat of arms up there? Was it not more likely that one of his menhad done it? After examining the door more than a minute, and hesitatinglike a youth before his beloved's gate, he rang the bell. A creaking oflocks responded, and through the narrow bars of the peephole he saw thehairy face of an old crone.

  "What do you want?" said the woman, in a deep, bass voice.

  "Monsieur Lecoq."

  "What do you want of him?"

  "He made an appointment with me for this morning."

  "Your name and business?"

  "Monsieur Plantat, justice of the peace at Orcival."

  "All right. Wait."

  The peephole was closed and the old man waited.

  "Peste!" growled he. "Everybody can't get in here, it seems." Hardly hadthis reflection passed through his mind when the door opened with anoise as of chains and locks. He entered, and the old crone, afterleading him through a dining-room whose sole furniture was a table andsix chairs, introduced him to a large room, half toilet-room and halfworking-room, lighted by two windows looking on the court, and guardedby strong, close bars.

  "If you will take the trouble to sit," said the servant, "Monsieur Lecoqwill soon be here; he is giving orders to one of his men."

  But M. Plantat did not take a seat; he preferred to examine the curiousapartment in which he found himself. The whole of one side of the wallwas taken up with a long rack, where hung the strangest and mostincongruous suits of clothes. There were costumes belonging to allgrades of society; and on some wooden pegs above, wigs of all colorswere hanging; while boots and shoes of various styles were ranged on thefloor. A toilet-table, covered with powders, essences, and paints, stoodbetween the fireplace and the window. On the other side of the room wasa bookcase full of scientific works, especially of physic and chemistry.The most singular piece of furniture in the apartment, however, was alarge ball, shaped like a lozenge, in black velvet, suspended beside thelooking-glass. A quantity of pins were stuck in this ball, so as to formthe letters composing these two names: HECTOR-JENNY.

  These names glittering on the black background attracted the old man'sattention at once. This must have been M. Lecoq's reminder. The ball wasmeant to recall to him perpetually the people of whom he was in pursuit.Many names, doubtless, had in turn glittered on that velvet, for it wasmuch frayed and perforated. An unfinished letter lay open upon thebureau.

  M. Plantat leaned over to read it; but he took his trouble for nothing,for it was written in cipher.

  He had no sooner finished his inspection of the room than the noise of adoor opening made him turn round. He saw before him a man of his ownage, of respectable mien, and polite manners, a little bald, with goldspectacles and a light-colored flannel dressing-gown.

  M. Plantat bowed, saying:

  "I am waiting here for Monsieur Lecoq."

  The man in gold spectacles burst out laughing, and clapped his handswith glee.

  "What, dear sir," said he, "don't you know me? Look at me well--it isI--Monsieur Lecoq!" And to convince him, he took off his spectacles.Those might, indeed, be Lecoq's eyes, and that his voice; M. Plantat wasconfounded.

  "I never should have recognized you," said he.

  "It's true, I have changed a little--but what would you have? It's mytrade."

  And pushing a chair toward his visitor, he pursued:

  "I have to beg a thousand pardons for the formalities you've had toendure to get in here; it's a dire necessity, but one I can't help. Ihave told you of the dangers to which I am exposed; they pursue me to myvery door. Why, last week a railway porter brought a package hereaddressed to me. Janouille--that's my old woman--suspected nothing,though she has a sharp nose, and told him to come in. He held out thepackage, I went up to take it, when pif! paf! off went two pistol-shots.The package was a revolver wrapped up in oilcloth, and the porter was aconvict escaped from Cayenne, caught by me last year. Ah, I put himthrough for this though!"

  He told this adventure carelessly, as if it were the most natural thingin the world.

  "But let's not starve ourselves to death," he continued, ringing thebell. The old hag appeared, and he ordered her to bring on breakfastforthwith, and above all, some good wine.

  "You are observing my Janouille," remarked he, seeing that M. Plantatlooked curiously at the servant. "She's a pearl, my dear friend, whowatches over me as if I were her child, and would go through the firefor me. I had a good deal of trouble the other day to prevent herstrangling the false railway porter. I picked her out of three or fourthousand convicts. She had been convicted of infanticide and arson. Iwould bet a hundred to one that, during the three years that she hasbeen in my service, she has not even thought of robbing me of so much asa centime."

  But M. Plantat only listened to him with one ear; he was trying to findan excuse for cutting Janouille's story short, and to lead theconversation to the events of the day before.

  "I have, perhaps, incommoded you a little this morning, Monsieur Lecoq?"

  "Me? then you did not see my motto--'always vigilant?' Why, I've beenout ten times this morning; besides marking out work for three of mymen. Ah, we have little time to ourselves, I can tell you. I went to theVulcan's Forges to see what news I could get of that poor devil of aGuespin."

  "And what did you hear?"

  "That I had guessed right. He changed a five-hundred-franc note therelast Wednesday evening at a quarter before ten."

  "That is to say, he is saved?"

  "Well, you may say so. He will be, as soon as we have found Miss Jenny."

  The old justice of the peace could not avoid showing his uneasiness.

  "That will, perhaps, be long and difficult?"

  "Bast! Why so? She is on my black ball there--we shall have her,accidents excepted, before night."

  "You really think so?"

  "I should say I was sure, to anybody but you. Reflect that this girl hasbeen connected with the Count de Tremorel, a man of the world, a princeof the mode. When a girl falls to the gutter, after having, as they say,dazzled all Paris for six months with her luxury, she does not disappearentirely, like a stone in the mud. When she has lost all her friendsthere are still her creditors, who follow and watch her, awaiting theday when fortune will smile on her once more. She doesn't troubleherself about them, she thinks they've forgotten her; a mistake! I knowa milliner whose head is a perfect dictionary of the fashionable world;she has often done me a good turn. We will go and see her if you say so,after breakfast, and in two hours she will give us Jenny's address. Ah,if I were only as sure of pinching Tremorel!"

  M. Plantat gave a sigh of
relief. The conversation at last took the turnhe wished.

  "You are thinking of him, then?" asked he.

  "Am I?" shouted M. Lecoq, who started from his seat at the question."Now just look at my black ball there. I haven't thought of anybodyelse, mark you, since yesterday; I haven't had a wink of sleep all nightfor thinking of him. I must have him, and I will!"

  "I don't doubt it; but when?"

  "Ah, there it is! Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a month; it depends onthe correctness of my calculations and the exactness of my plan."

  "What, is your plan made?"

  "And decided on."

  M. Plantat became attention itself.

  "I start from the principle that it is impossible for a man, accompaniedby a woman, to hide from the police. In this case, the woman is young,pretty, and in a noticeable condition; three impossibilities more. Admitthis, and we'll study Hector's character. He isn't a man of superiorshrewdness, for we have found out all his dodges. He isn't a fool,because his dodges deceived people who are by no means fools. He is thena medium sort of a man, and his education, reading, relations, and dailyconversation have procured him a number of acquaintances whom he willtry to use. Now for his mind. We know the weakness of his character;soft, feeble, vacillating, only acting in the last extremity. We haveseen him shrinking from decisive steps, trying always to delay matters.He is given to being deceived by illusions, and to taking his desiresfor accomplished events. In short, he is a coward. And what is hissituation? He has killed his wife, he hopes he has created a belief inhis own death, he has eloped with a young girl, and he has got nearly orquite a million of francs in his pocket. Now, this position admitted, aswell as the man's character and mind, can we by an effort of thought,reasoning from his known actions, discover what he has done in such andsuch a case? I think so, and I hope I shall prove it to you."

  M. Lecoq rose and promenaded, as his habit was, up and down the room."Now let's see," he continued, "how I ought to proceed in order todiscover the probable conduct of a man whose antecedents, traits, andmind are known to me. To begin with, I throw off my own individualityand try to assume his. I substitute his will for my own. I cease to be adetective and become this man, whatever he is. In this case, forinstance, I know very well what I should do if I were Tremorel. I shouldtake such measures as would throw all the detectives in the universe offthe scent. But I must forget Monsieur Lecoq in order to become Hector deTremorel. How would a man reason who was base enough to rob his friendof his wife, and then see her poison her husband before his very eyes?We already know that Tremorel hesitated a good while before deciding tocommit this crime. The logic of events, which fools call fatality, urgedhim on. It is certain that he looked upon the murder in every point ofview, studied its results, and tried to find means to escape fromjustice. All his acts were determined on long beforehand, and neitherimmediate necessity nor unforeseen circumstances disturbed his mind. Themoment he had decided on the crime, he said to himself: 'Grant thatBertha has been murdered; thanks to my precautions, they think that Ihave been killed too; Laurence, with whom I elope, writes a letter inwhich she announces her suicide; I have money, what must I do?' Theproblem, it seems to me, is fairly put in this way."

  "Perfectly so," approved M. Plantat.

  "Naturally, Tremorel would choose from among all the methods of flightof which he had ever heard, or which he could imagine, that which seemedto him the surest and most prompt. Did he meditate leaving the country?That is more than probable. Only, as he was not quite out of his senses,he saw that it was most difficult, in a foreign country, to put justiceoff the track. If a man flies from France to escape punishment, he actsabsurdly. Fancy a man and woman wandering about a country of whoselanguage they are ignorant; they attract attention at once, areobserved, talked about, followed. They do not make a purchase which isnot remarked; they cannot make any movement without exciting curiosity.The further they go the greater their danger. If they choose to crossthe ocean and go to free America, they must go aboard a vessel; and themoment they do that they may be considered as good as lost. You mightbet twenty to one they would find, on landing on the other side, adetective on the pier armed with a warrant to arrest them. I wouldengage to find a Frenchman in eight days, even in London, unless hespoke pure enough English to pass for a citizen of the United Kingdom.Such were Tremorel's reflections. He recollected a thousand futileattempts, a hundred surprising adventures, narrated by the papers; andit is certain that he gave up the idea of going abroad."

  "It's clear," cried M. Plantat, "perfectly plain and precise. We mustlook for the fugitives in France."

  "Yes," replied M. Lecoq. "Now let's find out where and how people canhide themselves in France. Would it be in the provinces? Evidently not.In Bordeaux, one of our largest cities, people stare at a man who is nota Bordelais. The shopkeepers on the quays say to their neighbors: 'Eh!do you know that man?' There are two cities, however, where a man maypass unnoticed--Marseilles and Lyons; but both of these are distant, andto reach them a long journey must be risked--and nothing is so dangerousas the railway since the telegraph was established. One can fly quickly,it's true; but on entering a railway carriage a man shuts himself in,and until he gets out of it he remains under the thumb of the police.Tremorel knows all this as well as we do. We will put all the largetowns, including Lyons and Marseilles, out of the question."

  "In short, it's impossible to hide in the provinces."

  "Excuse me--there is one means; that is, simply to buy a modest littleplace at a distance from towns and railways, and to go and reside on itunder a false name. But this excellent project is quite above Tremorel'scapacity, and requires preparatory steps which he could not risk,watched as he was by his wife. The field of investigation is thus muchnarrowed. Putting aside foreign parts, the provinces, the cities, thecountry, Paris remains. It is in Paris that we must look for Tremorel."

  M. Lecoq spoke with the certainty and positiveness of a mathematicalprofessor; the old justice of the peace listened, as do the professor'sscholars. But he was already accustomed to the detective's surprisingclearness, and was no longer astonished. During the four-and-twentyhours that he had been witnessing M. Lecoq's calculations and gropings,he had seized the process and almost appropriated it to himself. Hefound this method of reasoning very simple, and could now explain tohimself certain exploits of the police which had hitherto seemed to himmiraculous. But M. Lecoq's "narrow field" of observation appeared stillimmense.

  "Paris is a large place," observed the old justice.

  M. Lecoq smiled loftily.

  "Perhaps so; but it is mine. All Paris is under the eye of the police,just as an ant is under that of the naturalist with his microscope. Howis it, you may ask, that Paris still holds so many professional rogues?Ah, that is because we are hampered by legal forms. The law compels usto use only polite weapons against those to whom all weapons areserviceable. The courts tie our hands. The rogues are clever, but besure that our cleverness is much greater than theirs."

  "But," interrupted M. Plantat, "Tremorel is now outside the law; we havethe warrant."

  "What matters it? Does the warrant give me the right to search any housein which I may have reason to suppose he is hiding himself? No. If Ishould go to the house of one of Hector's old friends he would kick meout of doors. You must know that in France the police have to contendnot only with the rogues, but also with the honest people."

  M. Lecoq always waxed warm on this subject; he felt a strong resentmentagainst the injustice practised on his profession. Fortunately, at themoment when he was most excited, the black ball suddenly caught his eye.

  "The devil!" exclaimed he, "I was forgetting Hector."

  M. Plantat, though listening patiently to his companion's indignantutterances, could not help thinking of the murderer.

  "You said that we must look for Tremorel in Paris," he remarked.

  "And I said truly," responded M. Lecoq in a calmer tone. "I have come tothe conclusion that here, perhaps within two streets of us
, perhaps inthe next house, the fugitives are hid. But let's go on with ourcalculation of probabilities. Hector knows Paris too well to hope toconceal himself even for a week in a hotel or lodging-house; he knowsthese are too sharply watched by the police. He had plenty of timebefore him, and so arranged to hire apartments in some convenienthouse."

  "He came to Paris three or four times some weeks ago."

  "Then there's no longer any doubt about it. He hired some apartmentsunder a false name, paid in advance, and to-day he is comfortablyensconced in his new residence."

  M. Plantat seemed to feel extremely distressed at this.

  "I know it only too well, Monsieur Lecoq," said he, sadly. "You must beright. But is not the wretch thus securely hidden from us? Must we waittill some accident reveals him to us? Can you search one by one all thehouses in Paris?"

  The detective's nose wriggled under his gold spectacles, and the justiceof the peace, who observed it, and took it for a good sign, felt all hishopes reviving in him.

  "I've cudgelled my brain in vain--" he began.

  "Pardon me," interrupted M. Lecoq. "Having hired apartments, Tremorelnaturally set about furnishing them."

  "Evidently."

  "Of course he would furnish them sumptuously, both because he is fond ofluxury and has plenty of money, and because he couldn't carry a younggirl from a luxurious home to a garret. I'd wager that they have as finea drawing-room as that at Valfeuillu."

  "Alas! How can that help us?"

  "Peste! It helps us much, my dear friend, as you shall see. Hector, ashe wished for a good deal of expensive furniture, did not have recourseto a broker; nor had he time to go to the Faubourg St. Antoine.Therefore, he simply went to an upholsterer."

  "Some fashionable upholsterer--"

  "No, he would have risked being recognized. It is clear that he assumeda false name, the same in which he had hired his rooms. He chose someshrewd and humble upholsterer, ordered his goods, made sure that theywould be delivered on a certain day, and paid for them."

  M. Plantat could not repress a joyful exclamation; he began to see M.Lecoq's drift.

  "This merchant," pursued the latter, "must have retained his richcustomer in his memory, this customer who did not beat him down, andpaid cash. If he saw him again, he would recognize him."

  "What an idea!" cried M. Plantat, delighted. "Let's get photographs andportraits of Tremorel as quick as we can--let's send a man to Orcivalfor them."

  M. Lecoq smiled shrewdly and proceeded:

  "Keep yourself easy; I have done what was necessary. I slipped three ofthe count's cartes-de-visite in my pocket yesterday during the inquest.This morning I took down, out of the directory, the names of all theupholsterers in Paris, and made three lists of them. At this momentthree of my men, each with a list and a photograph, are going fromupholsterer to upholsterer showing them the picture and asking them ifthey recognize it as the portrait of one of their customers. If one ofthem answers 'yes,' we've got our man."

  "And we will get him!" cried the old man, pale with emotion.

  "Not yet; don't shout victory too soon. It is possible that Hector wasprudent enough not to go to the upholsterer's himself. In this case weare beaten in that direction. But no, he was not so sly as that--"

  M. Lecoq checked himself. Janouille, for the third time, opened thedoor, and said, in a deep bass voice:

  "Breakfast is ready."

  Janouille was a remarkable cook; M. Plantat had ample experience of thefact when he began upon her dishes. But he was not hungry, and could notforce himself to eat; he could not think of anything but a plan which hehad to propose to his host, and he had that oppressive feeling which isexperienced when one is about to do something which has been decided onwith hesitation and regret. The detective, who, like all men of greatactivity, was a great eater, vainly essayed to entertain his guest, andfilled his glass with the choicest Chateau Margaux; the old man satsilent and sad, and only responded by monosyllables. He tried to speakout and to struggle against the hesitation he felt. He did not think,when he came, that he should have this reluctance; he had said tohimself that he would go in and explain himself. Did he fear to beridiculed? No. His passion was above the fear of sarcasm or irony. Andwhat did he risk? Nothing. Had not M. Lecoq already divined the secretthoughts he dared not impart to him, and read his heart from the first?He was reflecting thus when the door-bell rang. Janouille went to thedoor, and speedily returned with the announcement that Goulard begged tospeak with M. Lecoq, and asked if she should admit him.

  "Certainly."

  The chains clanked and the locks scraped, and presently Goulard made hisappearance. He had donned his best clothes, with spotless linen, and avery high collar. He was respectful, and stood as stiffly as awell-drilled grenadier before his sergeant.

  "What the deuce brought you here?" said M. Lecoq, sternly. "And whodared to give you my address?"

  "Monsieur," said Goulard, visibly intimidated by his reception, "pleaseexcuse me; I was sent by Doctor Gendron with this letter for MonsieurPlantat."

  "Oh," cried M. Plantat, "I asked the doctor, last evening, to let meknow the result of the autopsy, and not knowing where I should put up,took the liberty of giving your address."

  M. Lecoq took the letter and handed it to his guest. "Read it, read it,"said the latter. "There is nothing in it to conceal."

  "All right; but come into the other room. Janouille, give this man somebreakfast. Make yourself at home, Goulard, and empty a bottle to myhealth."

  When the door of the other room was closed, M. Lecoq broke the seal ofthe letter, and read:

  "MY DEAR PLANTAT:

  "You asked me for a word, so I scratch off a line or two which I shallsend to our sorcerer's--"

  "Oh, ho," cried M. Lecoq. "Monsieur Gendron is too good, too flattering,really!"

  No matter, the compliment touched his heart. He resumed the letter:

  "At three this morning we exhumed poor Sauvresy's body. I certainlydeplore the frightful circumstances of this worthy man's death as muchas anyone; but on the other hand, I cannot help rejoicing at thisexcellent opportunity to test the efficacy of my sensitive paper--"

  "Confound these men of science," cried the indignant Plantat. "They areall alike!"

  "Why so? I can very well comprehend the doctor's involuntary sensations.Am I not ravished when I encounter a fine crime?"

  And without waiting for his guest's reply, he continued reading theletter:

  "The experiments promised to be all the more conclusive as aconitine isone of those drugs which conceal themselves most obstinately fromanalysis. I proceed thus: After heating the suspected substances intwice their weight of alcohol, I drop the liquid gently into a vase withedges a little elevated, at the bottom of which is a piece of paper onwhich I have placed my tests. If my paper retains its color, there is nopoison; if it changes, the poison is there. In this case my paper was ofa light yellow color, and if we were not mistaken, it ought either tobecome covered with brown spots, or completely brown. I explained thisexperiment beforehand to the judge of instruction and the experts whowere assisting me. Ah, my friend, what a success I had! When the firstdrops of alcohol fell, the paper at once became a dark brown; yoursuspicions are thus proved to be quite correct. The substances which Isubmitted to the test were liberally saturated with aconitine. I neverobtained more decisive results in my laboratory. I expect that myconclusions will be disputed in court; but I have means of verifyingthem, so that I shall surely confound all the chemists who oppose me. Ithink, my dear friend, that you will not be indifferent to thesatisfaction I feel--"

  M. Plantat lost patience.

  "This is unheard-of!" cried he. "Incredible! Would you say, now, thatthis poison which he found in Sauvresy's body was stolen from his ownlaboratory? Why, that body is nothing more to him than 'suspectedmatter!' And he already imagines himself discussing the merits of hissensitive paper in court!"

  "He has reason to look for antagonists in court."

  "And meanwhi
le he makes his experiments, and analyzes with the coolestblood in the world; he continues his abominable cooking, boiling andfiltering, and preparing his arguments--!"

  M. Lecoq did not share in his friend's indignation; he was not sorry atthe prospect of a bitter struggle in court, and he imagined a greatscientific duel, like that between Orfila and Raspail, the provincialand Parisian chemists.

  "If Tremorel has the face to deny his part in Sauvresy's murder," saidhe, "we shall have a superb trial of it."

  This word "trial" put an end to M. Plantat's long hesitation.

  "We mustn't have any trial," cried he.

  The old man's violence, from one who was usually so calm andself-possessed, seemed to amaze M. Lecoq.

  "Ah ha," thought he, "I'm going to know all." He added aloud:

  "What, no trial?"

  M. Plantat had turned whiter than a sheet; he was trembling, and hisvoice was hoarse, as if broken by sobs.

  "I would give my fortune," resumed he "to avoid a trial--every centimeof it, though it doesn't amount to much. But how can we secure thiswretch Tremorel from a conviction? What subterfuge shall we invent? Youalone, my friend, can advise me in the frightful extremity to which yousee me reduced, and aid me to accomplish what I wish. If there is anyway in the world, you will find it and save me--"

  "But, my--"

  "Pardon--hear me, and you will comprehend me. I am going to be frankwith you, as I would be with myself; and you will see the reason of myhesitation, my silence, in short, of all my conduct since the discoveryof the crime."

  "I am listening."

  "It's a sad history, Lecoq. I had reached an age at which a man's careeris, as they say, finished, when I suddenly lost my wife and my two sons,my whole joy, my whole hope in this world. I found myself alone in life,more lost than the shipwrecked man in the midst of the sea, without aplank to sustain me. I was a soulless body, when chance brought me tosettle down at Orcival. There I saw Laurence; she was just fifteen, andnever lived there a creature who united in herself so much intelligence,grace, innocence, and beauty. Courtois became my friend, and soonLaurence was like a daughter to me. I doubtless loved her then, but Idid not confess it to myself, for I did not read my heart clearly. Shewas so young, and I had gray hairs! I persuaded myself that my love forher was like that of a father, and it was as a father that she cherishedme. Ah, I passed many a delicious hour listening to her gentle prattleand her innocent confidences; I was happy when I saw her skipping aboutin my garden, picking the roses I had reared for her, and laying wastemy parterres; and I said to myself that existence is a precious giftfrom God. My dream then was to follow her through life. I fancied herwedded to some good man who made her happy, while I remained the friendof the wife, after having been the confidant of the maiden. I took goodcare of my fortune, which is considerable, because I thought of herchildren, and wished to hoard up treasures for them. Poor, poorLaurence!"

  M. Lecoq fidgeted in his chair, rubbed his face with his handkerchief,and seemed ill at ease. He was really much more touched than he wishedto appear.

  "One day," pursued the old man, "my friend Courtois spoke to me of hermarriage with Tremorel; then I measured the depth of my love. I feltterrible agonies which it is impossible to describe; it was like along-smothered fire which suddenly breaks forth and devours everything.To be old, and to love a child! I thought I was going crazy; I tried toreason, to upbraid myself, but it was of no avail. What can reason orirony do against passion? I kept silent and suffered. To crown all,Laurence selected me as her confidant--what torture! She came to me totalk of Hector; she admired in him all that seemed to her superior toother men, so that none could be compared with him. She was enchantedwith his bold horseback riding, and thought everything he said sublime."

  "Did you know what a wretch Tremorel was?"

  "Alas, I did not yet know it. What was this man who lived at Valfeuilluto me? But from the day that I learned that he was going to deprive meof my most precious treasure, I began to study him. I should have beensomewhat consoled if I had found him worthy of her; so I dogged him, asyou, Monsieur Lecoq, cling to the criminal whom you are pursuing. I wentoften to Paris to learn what I could of his past life; I became adetective, and went about questioning everybody who had known him, andthe more I heard of him the more I despised him. It was thus that Ifound out his interviews with Jenny and his relations with Bertha."

  "Why didn't you divulge them?"

  "Honor commanded silence. Had I a right to dishonor my friend and ruinhis happiness and life, because of this ridiculous, hopeless love? Ikept my own counsel after speaking to Courtois about Jenny, at which heonly laughed. When I hinted something against Hector to Laurence, shealmost ceased coming to see me."

  "Ah! I shouldn't have had either your patience or your generosity."

  "Because you are not as old as I, Monsieur Lecoq. Oh, I cruelly hatedthis Tremorel! I said to myself, when I saw three women of suchdifferent characters smitten with him, 'what is there in him to be soloved?'"

  "Yes," answered M. Lecoq, responding to a secret thought, "women oftenerr; they don't judge men as we do."

  "Many a time," resumed the justice of the peace, "I thought of provokinghim to fight with me, that I might kill him; but then Laurence would nothave looked at me any more. However, I should perhaps have spoken atlast, had not Sauvresy fallen ill and died. I knew that he had made hiswife and Tremorel swear to marry each other; I knew that a terriblereason forced them to keep their oath; and I thought Laurence saved.Alas, on the contrary she was lost! One evening, as I was passing themayor's house, I saw a man getting over the wall into the garden; it wasTremorel. I recognized him perfectly. I was beside myself with rage, andswore that I would wait and murder him. I did wait, but he did not comeout that night."

  M. Plantat hid his face in his hands; his heart bled at the recollectionof that night of anguish, the whole of which he had passed in waitingfor a man in order to kill him. M. Lecoq trembled with indignation.

  "This Tremorel," cried he, "is the most abominable of scoundrels. Thereis no excuse for his infamies and crimes. And yet you want to save himfrom trial, the galleys, the scaffold which await him."

  The old man paused a moment before replying. Of the thoughts which nowcrowded tumultuously in his mind, he did not know which to utter first.Words seemed powerless to betray his sensations; he wanted to expressall that he felt in a single sentence.

  "What matters Tremorel to me?" said he at last. "Do you think I careabout him? I don't care whether he lives or dies, whether he succeeds inflying or ends his life some morning in the Place Roquette."

  "Then why have you such a horror of a trial?"

  "Because--"

  "Are you a friend to his family, and anxious to preserve the great namewhich he has covered with mud and devoted to infamy?"

  "No, but I am anxious for Laurence, my friend; the thought of her neverleaves me."

  "But she is not his accomplice; she is totally ignorant--there's nodoubt of it--that he has killed his wife."

  "Yes," resumed M. Plantat, "Laurence is innocent; she is only the victimof an odious villain. It is none the less true, though, that she wouldbe more cruelly punished than he. If Tremorel is brought before thecourt, she will have to appear too, as a witness if not as a prisoner.And who knows that her truth will not be suspected? She will be askedwhether she really had no knowledge of the project to murder Bertha, andwhether she did not encourage it. Bertha was her rival; it is natural tosuppose that she hated her. If I were the judge I should not hesitate toinclude Laurence in the indictment."

  "With our aid she will prove victoriously that she was ignorant of all,and has been outrageously deceived."

  "May be; but will she be any the less dishonored and forever lost? Mustshe not, in that case, appear in public, answer the judge's questions,and narrate the story of her shame and misfortunes? Must not she saywhere, when, and how she fell, and repeat the villain's words to her?Can you imagine that of her own free will she compelled hers
elf toannounce her suicide at the risk of killing her parents with grief? No.Then she must explain what menaces forced her to do this, which surelywas not her own idea. And worse than all, she will be compelled toconfess her love for Tremorel."

  "No," answered the detective. "Let us not exaggerate anything. You knowas well as I do that justice is most considerate with the innocentvictims of affairs of this sort."

  "Consideration? Eh! Could justice protect her, even if it would, fromthe publicity in which trials are conducted? You might touch themagistrates' hearts; but there are fifty journalists who, since thiscrime, have been cutting their pens and getting their paper ready. Doyou think that, to please us, they would suppress the scandalousproceedings which I am anxious to avoid, and which the noble name of themurderer would make a great sensation? Does not this case unite everyfeature which gives success to judicial dramas? Oh, there's nothingwanting, neither unworthy passion, nor poison, nor vengeance, normurder. Laurence represents in it the romantic and sentimental element;she--my darling girl--will become a heroine of the assizes; it is shewho will attract the readers of the Police Gazette; the reporters willtell when she blushes and when she weeps; they will rival each other indescribing her toilet and bearing. Then there will be the photographersbesieging her, and if she refuses to sit, portraits of some hussy of thestreet will be sold as hers. She will yearn to hide herself--but where?Can a few locks and bars shelter her from eager curiosity? She willbecome famous. What shame and misery! If she is to be saved, MonsieurLecoq, her name must not be spoken. I ask of you, is it possible? Answerme."

  The old man was very violent, yet his speech was simple, devoid of thepompous phrases of passion. Anger lit up his eyes with a strange fire;he seemed young again--he loved, and defended his beloved.

  M. Lecoq was silent; his companion insisted.

  "Answer me."

  "Who knows?"

  "Why seek to mislead me? Haven't I as well as you had experience inthese things? If Tremorel is brought to trial, all is over withLaurence! And I love her! Yes, I dare to confess it to you, and let yousee the depth of my grief, I love her now as I have never loved her. Sheis dishonored, an object of contempt, perhaps still adores thiswretch--what matters it? I love her a thousand times more than beforeher fall, for then I loved her without hope, while now--"

  He stopped, shocked at what he was going to say. His eyes fell before M.Lecoq's steady gaze, and he blushed for this shameful yet human hopethat he had betrayed.

  "You know all, now," resumed he, in a calmer tone; "consent to aid me,won't you? Ah, if you only would, I should not think I had repaid youwere I to give you half my fortune--and I am rich--"

  M. Lecoq stopped him with a haughty gesture.

  "Enough, Monsieur Plantat," said he, in a bitter tone, "I can do aservice to a person whom I esteem, love and pity with all my soul; but Icannot sell such a service."

  "Believe that I did not wish--"

  "Yes, yes, you wished to pay me. Oh, don't excuse yourself, don't denyit. There are professions, I know, in which manhood and integrity seemto count for nothing. Why offer me money? What reason have you forjudging me so mean as to sell my favors? You are like the rest, whocan't fancy what a man in my position is. If I wanted to be rich--richerthan you--I could be so in a fortnight. Don't you see that I hold in myhands the honor and lives of fifty people? Do you think I tell all Iknow? I have here," added he, tapping his forehead, "twenty secrets thatI could sell to-morrow, if I would, for a plump hundred thousandapiece."

  He was indignant, but beneath his anger a certain sad resignation mightbe perceived. He had often to reject such offers.

  "If you go and resist this prejudice established for ages, and say thata detective is honest and cannot be otherwise, that he is tenfold morehonest than any merchant or notary, because he has tenfold thetemptations, without the benefits of his honesty; if you say this,they'll laugh in your face. I could get together to-morrow, withimpunity, without any risk, at least a million. Who would mistrust it? Ihave a conscience, it's true; but a little consideration for thesethings would not be unpleasant. When it would be so easy for me todivulge what I know of those who have been obliged to trust me, orthings which I have surprised, there is perhaps a merit in holding mytongue. And still, the first man who should come along to-morrow--adefaulting banker, a ruined merchant, a notary who has gambled on'change--would feel himself compromised by walking up the boulevard withme! A policeman--fie! But old Tabaret used to say to me, that thecontempt of such people was only one form of fear."

  M. Plantat was dismayed. How could he, a man of delicacy, prudence andfinesse, have committed such an awkward mistake? He had just cruellywounded this man, who was so well disposed toward him, and he hadeverything to fear from his resentment.

  "Far be it from me, dear friend," he commenced, "to intend the offenceyou imagine. You have misunderstood an insignificant phrase, which I letescape carelessly, and had no meaning at all."

  M. Lecoq grew calmer.

  "Perhaps so. You will forgive my being so susceptible, as I am moreexposed to insults than most people. Let's leave the subject, which is apainful one, and return to Tremorel."

  M. Plantat was just thinking whether he should dare to broach hisprojects again, and he was singularly touched by M. Lecoq's delicatelyresuming the subject of them.

  "I have only to await your decision," said the justice of the peace.

  "I will not conceal from you," resumed M. Lecoq, "that you are asking avery difficult thing, and one which is contrary to my duty, whichcommands me to search for Tremorel, to arrest him, and deliver him up tojustice. You ask me to protect him from the law--"

  "In the name of an innocent creature whom you will thereby save."

  "Once in my life I sacrificed my duty. I could not resist the tears of apoor old mother, who clung to my knees and implored pardon for her son.To-day I am going to exceed my right, and to risk an attempt for whichmy conscience will perhaps reproach me. I yield to your entreaty."

  "Oh, my dear Lecoq, how grateful I am!" cried M. Plantat, transportedwith joy.

  But the detective remained grave, almost sad, and reflected.

  "Don't let us encourage a hope which may be disappointed," he resumed."I have but one means of keeping a criminal like Tremorel out of thecourts; will it succeed?"

  "Yes, yes. If you wish it, it will!"

  M. Lecoq could not help smiling at the old man's faith.

  "I am certainly a clever detective," said he. "But I am only a man afterall, and I can't answer for the actions of another man. All depends uponHector. If it were another criminal, I should say I was sure. I amdoubtful about him, I frankly confess. We ought, above all, to countupon the firmness of Mademoiselle Courtois; can we, think you?"

  "She is firmness itself."

  "Then there's hope. But can we really suppress this affair? What willhappen when Sauvresy's narrative is found? It must be concealedsomewhere in Valfeuillu, and Tremorel, at least, did not find it."

  "It will not be found," said M. Plantat, quickly.

  "You think so?"

  "I am sure of it."

  M. Lecoq gazed intently at his companion, and simply said:

  "Ah!"

  But this is what he thought: "At last I am going to find out where themanuscript which we heard read the other night, and which is in twohandwritings, came from."

  After a moment's hesitation, M. Plantat went on:

  "I have put my life in your hands, Monsieur Lecoq; I can, of course,confide my honor to you. I know you. I know that, happen what may--"

  "I shall keep my mouth shut, on my honor."

  "Very well. The day that I caught Tremorel at the mayor's, I wished toverify the suspicions I had, and so I broke the seal of Sauvresy'spackage of papers."

  "And you did not use them?"

  "I was dismayed at my abuse of confidence. Besides, had I the right todeprive poor Sauvresy, who was dying in order to avenge himself, of hisvengeance?"

  "But you gave the papers to
Madame de Tremorel?"

  "True; but Bertha had a vague presentiment of the fate that was in storefor her. About a fortnight before her death she came and confided to meher husband's manuscript, which she had taken care to complete. I brokethe seals and read it, to see if he had died a violent death."

  "Why, then, didn't you tell me? Why did you let me hunt, hesitate, gropeabout--"

  "I love Laurence, Monsieur Lecoq, and to deliver up Tremorel was to openan abyss between her and me."

  The detective bowed. "The deuce," thought he, "the old justice isshrewd--as shrewd as I am. Well, I like him, and I'm going to give him asurprise."

  M. Plantat yearned to question his host and to know what the sole meansof which he spoke were, which might be successful in preventing a trialand saving Laurence, but he did not dare to do so.

  The detective bent over his desk lost in thought. He held a pencil inhis hand and mechanically drew fantastic figures on a large sheet ofwhite paper which lay before him. He suddenly came out of his revery. Hehad just solved a last difficulty; his plan was now entire and complete.He glanced at the clock.

  "Two o'clock," cried he, "and I have an appointment between three andfour with Madame Charman about Jenny."

  "I am at your disposal," returned his guest.

  "All right. When Jenny is disposed of we must look after Tremorel; solet's take our measures to finish it up to-day."

  "What! do you hope to do everything to-day--"

  "Certainly. Rapidity is above all necessary in our profession. It oftentakes a month to regain an hour lost. We've a chance now of catchingHector by surprise; to-morrow it will be too late. Either we shall havehim within four-and-twenty hours or we must change our batteries. Eachof my three men has a carriage and a good horse; they may be able tofinish with the upholsterers within an hour from now. If I calculatearight, we shall have the address in an hour, or at most in two hours,and then we will act."

  Lecoq, as he spoke, took a sheet of paper surmounted by his arms out ofhis portfolio, and rapidly wrote several lines.

  "See here," said he, "what I've written to one of my lieutenants."

  "MONSIEUR JOB--"Get together six or eight of our men at once and takethem to the wine merchant's at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs and theRue Lamartine; await my orders there."

  "Why there and not here?"

  "Because we must avoid needless excursions. At the place I havedesignated we are only two steps from Madame Charman's and nearTremorel's retreat; for the wretch has hired his rooms in the quarter ofNotre Dame de Lorette."

  M. Plantat gave an exclamation of surprise.

  "What makes you think that?"

  The detective smiled, as if the question seemed foolish to him.

  "Don't you recollect that the envelope of the letter addressed byMademoiselle Courtois to her family to announce her suicide bore theParis postmark, and that of the branch office of Rue St. Lazare? Nowlisten to this: On leaving her aunt's house, Laurence must have gonedirectly to Tremorel's apartments, the address of which he had givenher, and where he had promised to meet her on Thursday morning. Shewrote the letter, then, in his apartments. Can we admit that she had thepresence of mind to post the letter in another quarter than that inwhich she was? It is at least probable that she was ignorant of theterrible reasons which Tremorel had to fear a search and pursuit. HadHector foresight enough to suggest this trick to her? No, for if hewasn't a fool he would have told her to post the letter somewhereoutside of Paris. It is therefore scarcely possible that it was postedanywhere else than at the nearest branch office."

  These suppositions were so simple that M. Plantat wondered he had notthought of them before. But men do not see clearly in affairs in whichthey are deeply interested; passion dims the eyes, as heat in a roomdims a pair of spectacles. He had lost, with his coolness, a part of hisclearsightedness. His anxiety was very great; for he thought M. Lecoqhad a singular mode of keeping his promise.

  "It seems to me," he could not help remarking, "that if you wish to keepHector from trial, the men you have summoned together will be moreembarrassing than useful."

  M. Lecoq thought that his guest's tone and look betrayed a certaindoubt, and was irritated by it.

  "Do you distrust me, Monsieur Plantat?"

  The old man tried to protest.

  "Believe me--"

  "You have my word," resumed M. Lecoq, "and if you knew me better youwould know that I always keep it when I have given it. I have told youthat I would do my best to save Mademoiselle Laurence; but remember thatI have promised you my assistance, not absolute success. Let me, then,take such measures as I think best."

  So saying, he rang for Janouille.

  "Here's a letter," said he when she appeared, "which must be sent to Jobat once."

  "I will carry it."

  "By no means. You will be pleased to remain here and wait for the menthat I sent out this morning. As they come in, send them to the winemerchant's at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs; you know it--oppositethe church. They'll find a numerous company there."

  As he gave his orders, he took off his gown, assumed a long black coat,and carefully adjusted his wig.

  "Will Monsieur be back this evening?" asked Janouille.

  "I don't know."

  "And if anybody comes from over yonder?"

  "Over yonder" with a detective, always means "the house"--otherwise theprefecture of police.

  "Say that I am out on the Corbeil affair."

  M. Lecoq was soon ready. He had the air, physiognomy, and manners of ahighly respectable chief clerk of fifty. Gold spectacles, an umbrella,everything about him exhaled an odor of the ledger.

  "Now," said he to M. Plantat. "Let's hurry away." Goulard, who had madea hearty breakfast, was waiting for his hero in the dining-room.

  "Ah ha, old fellow," said M. Lecoq. "So you've had a few words with mywine. How do you find it?"

  "Delicious, my chief; perfect--that is to say, a true nectar."

  "It's cheered you up, I hope."

  "Oh, yes, my chief."

  "Then you may follow us a few steps and mount guard at the door of thehouse where you see us go in. I shall probably have to confide a prettylittle girl to your care whom you will carry to Monsieur Domini. Andopen your eyes; for she's a sly creature, and very apt to inveigle youon the way and slip through your fingers."

  They went out, and Janouille stoutly barricaded herself behind them.