"Yes, true, they may know--"
And, taking down the receiver, he asked for number 325.04. He was
connected at once and continued:
"Who is that speaking?... The butler? Ah! Is Mme. d'Ersingen at
home?... No?... Or Monsieur?... Not he, either?... Never mind, you can
tell me what I want to know. I am M. Desmalions, the Prefect of Police,
and I need certain information. At what time did Mme. Fauville come last
night?... What do you say?... Are you sure?... At two o'clock in the
morning?... Not before?... And she went away?... In ten minutes
time?... Good ... But you're certain you are not mistaken about the
time when she arrived? I must know this positively: it is most
important.... You say it was two o'clock in the morning? Two o'clock in
the morning?... Very well.... Thank you."
When M. Desmalions turned round, he saw Mme. Fauville standing beside him
and looking at him with an expression of mad anguish. And one and the
same idea occurred to the mind of all the onlookers. They were in the
presence either of an absolutely innocent woman or else of an exceptional
actress whose face lent itself to the most perfect simulation of
innocence.
"What do you want?" she stammered. "What does this mean? Explain
yourself!"
Then M. Desmalions asked simply:
"What were you doing last night between half-past eleven in the evening
and two o'clock in the morning?"
It was a terrifying question at the stage which the examination had
reached, a fatal question implying:
"If you cannot give us an exact and strict account of the way in which
you employed your time while the crime was being committed, we have the
right to conclude that you were not alien to the murder of your husband
and stepson--"
She understood it in this sense and staggered on her feet, moaning:
"It's horrible!... horrible!"
The Prefect repeated:
"What were you doing? The question must be quite easy to answer."
"Oh," she cried, in the same piteous tone, "how can you believe!... Oh,
no, no, it's not possible! How can you believe!"
"I believe nothing yet," he said. "Besides, you can establish the truth
with a single word."
It seemed, from the movement of her lips and the sudden gesture of
resolution that shook her frame, as though she were about to speak that
word. But all at once she appeared stupefied and dumfounded, pronounced a
few unintelligible syllables, and fell huddled into a chair, sobbing
convulsively and uttering cries of despair.
It was tantamount to a confession. At the very least, it was a confession
of her inability to supply the plausible explanation which would have put
an end to the discussion.
The Prefect of Police moved away from her and spoke in a low voice to the
examining magistrate and the public prosecutor. Perenna and Sergeant
Mazeroux were left alone together, side by side.
Mazeroux whispered:
"What did I tell you? I knew you would find out! Oh, what a man you are!
The way you managed!"
He was beaming at the thought that the chief was clear of the matter and
that he had no more crows to pluck with his, Mazeroux's, superiors, whom
he revered almost as much as he did the chief. Everybody was now agreed;
they were "friends all round"; and Mazeroux was choking with delight.
"They'll lock her up, eh?"
"No," said Perenna. "There's not enough 'hold' on her for them to issue
a warrant."
"What!" growled Mazeroux indignantly. "Not enough hold? I hope, in any
case, that you won't let her go. She made no bones, you know, about
attacking you! Come, Chief, polish her off, a she-devil like that!"
Don Luis remained pensive. He was thinking of the unheard-of
coincidences, the accumulation of facts that bore down on Mme. Fauville
from every side. And the decisive proof which would join all these
different facts together and give to the accusation the grounds which it
still lacked was one which Perenna was able to supply. This was the marks
of the teeth in the apple hidden among the shrubs in the garden. To the
police these would be as good as any fingerprint, all the more as they
could compare the marks with those on the cake of chocolate.
Nevertheless, he hesitated; and, concentrating his anxious attention, he
watched, with mingled feelings of pity and repulsion, that woman who, to
all seeming, had killed her husband and her husband's son. Was he to give
her the finishing stroke? Had he the right to play the part of judge? And
supposing he were wrong?
* * * * *
Meantime, M. Desmalions had walked up to him and, while pretending to
speak to Mazeroux, was really asking Perenna:
"What do you think of it?"
Mazeroux shook his head. Perenna replied:
"I think, Monsieur le Préfet, that, if this woman is guilty, she is
defending herself, for all her cleverness, with inconceivable lack
of skill."
"Meaning--?"
"Meaning that she was doubtless only a tool in the hands of an
accomplice."
"An accomplice?"
"Remember, Monsieur le Préfet, her husband's exclamation in your office
yesterday: 'Oh, the scoundrels! the scoundrels!' There is, therefore, at
least one accomplice, who perhaps is the same as the man who was present,
as Sergeant Mazeroux must have told you, in the Café du Pont-Neuf when
Inspector Vérot was last there: a man with a reddish-brown beard,
carrying an ebony walking-stick with a silver handle. So that--"
"So that," said M. Desmalions, completing the sentence, "by arresting
Mme. Fauville to-day, merely on suspicion, we have a chance of laying our
hands on the accomplice."
Perenna did not reply. The Prefect continued, thoughtfully:
"Arrest her ... arrest her.... We should need a proof for that.... Did
you receive no clue?"
"None at all, Monsieur le Préfet. True, my search was only summary."
"But ours was most minute. We have been through every corner of
the room."
"And the garden, Monsieur le Préfet?"
"The garden also."
"With the same care?"
"Perhaps not.... But I think--"
"I think, on the contrary, Monsieur le Préfet, that, as the murderers
passed through the garden in coming and going, there might be a chance--"
"Mazeroux," said M. Desmalions, "go outside and make a more thorough
inspection."
The sergeant went out. Perenna, who was once more standing at one side,
heard the Prefect of Police repeating to the examining magistrate:
"Ah, if we only had a proof, just one! The woman is evidently guilty. The
presumption against her is too great! ... And then there are Cosmo
Mornington's millions.... But, on the other hand, look at her ... look at
all the honesty in that pretty face of hers, look at all the sincerity of
her grief."
She was still crying, with fitful sobs and starts of indignant protest
that made her clench her fists. At one moment she took her tear-soaked
handkerchief, bit it with her teeth and tore it, after the manner of
certain actresses.
Perenna saw those beautiful white teeth, a little wide, moist and
gleaming, rending the dainty cambric. And he thought of the marks of
teeth on the apple. And he was seized with an extreme longing to know the
truth. Was it the same pair of jaws that had left its impress in the pulp
of the fruit?
Mazeroux returned. M. Desmalions moved briskly toward the sergeant, who
showed him the apple which he had found under the ivy. And Perenna at
once realized the supreme importance which the Prefect of Police attached
to Mazeroux's explanations and to his unexpected discovery.
A conversation of some length took place between the magistrates and
ended in the decision which Don Luis foresaw. M. Desmalions walked
across the room to Mme. Fauville. It was the catastrophe. He reflected
for a second on the manner in which he should open this final contest,
and then he asked:
"Are you still unable, Madame, to tell us how you employed your time
last night?"
She made an effort and whispered:
"Yes, yes.... I took a taxi and drove about. ... I also walked a
little--"
"That is a fact which we can easily verify when we have found the
driver of the taxi. Meanwhile, there is an opportunity of removing the
somewhat ... grievous impression which your silence has left on our
minds."
"I am quite ready--"
"It is this: the person or one of the persons who took part in the
crime appears to have bitten into an apple which was afterward thrown
away in the garden and which has just been found. To put an end to any
suppositions concerning yourself, we should like you to perform the
same action."
"Oh, certainly!" she cried, eagerly. "If this is all you need to
convince you--"
She took one of the three apples which Desmalions handed her from the
dish and lifted it to her mouth.
It was a decisive act. If the two marks resembled each other, the proof
existed, assured and undeniable.
Before completing her movement, she stopped short, as though seized with
a sudden fear.... Fear of what? Fear of the monstrous chance that might
be her undoing? Or fear rather of the dread weapon which she was about to
deliver against herself? In any case nothing accused her with greater
directness than this last hesitation, which was incomprehensible if she
was innocent, but clear as day if she was guilty!
"What are you afraid of, Madame?" asked M. Desmalions.
"Nothing, nothing," she said, shuddering. "I don't know.... I am afraid
of everything.... It is all so horrible--"
"But, Madame, I assure you that what we are asking of you has no sort of
importance and, I am persuaded, can only have a fortunate result for you.
If you don't mind, therefore--"
She raised her hand higher and yet higher, with a slowness that betrayed
her uneasiness. And really, in the fashion in which things were
happening, the scene was marked by a certain solemnity and tragedy that
wrung every heart.
"And, if I refuse?" she asked, suddenly.
"You are absolutely entitled to refuse," said the Prefect of Police. "But
is it worth while, Madame? I am sure that your counsel would be the first
to advise you--"
"My counsel?" she stammered, understanding the formidable meaning
conveyed by that reply.
And, suddenly, with a fierce resolve and the almost ferocious air that
contorts the face when great dangers threaten, she made the movement
which they were pressing her to make. She opened her mouth. They saw
the gleam of the white teeth. At one bite, the white teeth dug into
the fruit.
"There you are, Monsieur," she said.