"Come, come, you are not going to suggest that he had agreed--"
"I suggest nothing, Monsieur le Préfet," said Don Luis. "So far, you have
followed the logical and natural trend of your thoughts; and that brings
you to your present position."
"Yes, yes, I know, but I am showing you the absurdity of your theory. It
can't be correct, and we can't believe in Marie Fauville's innocence
unless we are prepared to suppose an unheard-of thing, that M. Fauville
took part in his own murder. Why, it's laughable!"
And he gave a laugh; but it was a forced laugh and did not ring true.
"For, after all," he added, "you can't deny that that is where we stand."
"I don't deny it."
"Well?"
"Well, M. Fauville, as you say, took part in his own murder."
This was said in the quietest possible fashion, but with an air of such
certainty that no one dreamed of protesting. After the work of deduction
and supposition which Don Luis had compelled his hearers to undertake,
they found themselves in a corner which it was impossible for them to
leave without stumbling against unanswerable objections.
There was no longer any doubt about M. Fauville's share in his own death.
But of what did that share consist? What part had he played in the
tragedy of hatred and murder? Had he played that part, which ended in the
sacrifice of his life, voluntarily or under compulsion? Who, when all was
said and done, had served as his accomplice or his executioner?
All these questions came crowding upon the minds of M. Desmalions and the
others. They thought of nothing but of how to solve them, and Don Luis
could feel certain that his solution was accepted beforehand. From that
moment he had but to tell his story of what had happened without fear of
contradiction. He did so briefly, after the manner of a succinct report
limited to essentials:
"Three months before the crime, M. Fauville wrote a series of letters
to one of his friends, M. Langernault, who, as Sergeant Mazeroux will
have told you, Monsieur le Préfet, had been dead for several years, a
fact of which M. Fauville cannot have been ignorant. These letters were
posted, but were intercepted by some means which it is not necessary
that we should know for the moment. M. Fauville erased the postmarks
and the addresses and inserted the letters in a machine constructed for
the purpose, of which he regulated the works so that the first letter
should be delivered a fortnight after his death and the others at
intervals of ten days.
"At this moment it is certain that his plan was concerted down to the
smallest detail. Knowing that Sauverand was in love with his wife,
watching Sauverand's movements, he must obviously have noticed that his
detested rival used to pass under the windows of the house every
Wednesday and that Marie Fauville would go to her window.
"This is a fact of the first importance, one which was exceedingly
valuable to me; and it will impress you as being equal to a material
proof. Every Wednesday evening, I repeat, Sauverand used to wander round
the house. Now note this: first, the crime prepared by M. Fauville was
committed on a Wednesday evening; secondly, it was at her husband's
express request that Mme. Fauville went out that evening to go to the
opera and to Mme. d'Ersinger's."
Don Luis stopped for a few seconds and then continued:
"Consequently, on the morning of that Wednesday, everything was ready,
the fatal clock was wound up, the incriminating machinery was working to
perfection, and the proofs to come would confirm the immediate proofs
which M. Fauville held in reserve. Better still, Monsieur le Préfet, you
had received from him a letter in which he told you of the plot hatched
against him, and he implored your assistance for the morning of the next
day--that is to say, _after his death_!
"Everything, in short, led him to think that things would go according to
the 'hater's' wishes, when something occurred that nearly upset his
schemes: the appearance of Inspector Vérot, who had been sent by you,
Monsieur le Préfet, to collect particulars about the Mornington heirs.
What happened between the two men? Probably no one will ever know. Both
are dead; and their secret will not come to life again. But we can at
least say for certain that Inspector Vérot was here and took away with
him the cake of chocolate on which the teeth of the tiger were seen for
the first time, and also that Inspector Vérot succeeded, thanks to
circumstances with which we are unacquainted, in discovering M.
Fauville's projects."
"This we know," explained Don Luis, "because Inspector Vérot said so in
his own agonizing words; because it was through him that we learned that
the crime was to take place on the following night; and because he had
set down his discoveries in a letter which was stolen from him.
"And Fauville knew it also, because, to get rid of the formidable enemy
who was thwarting his designs, he poisoned him; because, when the poison
was slow in acting, he had the audacity, under a disguise which made him
look like Sauverand and which was one day to turn suspicion against
Sauverand, he had the audacity and the presence of mind to follow
Inspector Vérot to the Café du Pont-Neuf, to purloin the letter of
explanation which Inspector Vérot wrote you, to substitute a blank sheet
of paper for it, and then to ask a passer-by, who might become a witness
against Sauverand, the way to the nearest underground station for
Neuilly, where Sauverand lived! There's your man, Monsieur le Préfet."
Don Luis spoke with increasing force, with the ardour that springs from
conviction; and his logical and closely argued speech seemed to conjure
up the actual truth,
"There's your man, Monsieur le Préfet," he repeated. "There's your
scoundrel. And the situation in which he found himself was such, the fear
inspired by Inspector Vérot's possible revelations was such, that, before
putting into execution the horrible deed which he had planned, he came to
the police office to make sure that his victim was no longer alive and
had not been able to denounce him.
"You remember the scene, Monsieur le Préfet, the fellow's agitation and
fright: 'To-morrow evening,' he said. Yes, it was for the morrow that he
asked for your help, because he knew that everything would be over that
same evening and that next day the police would be confronted with a
murder, with the two culprits against whom he himself had heaped up the
charges, with Marie Fauville, whom he had, so to speak, accused in
advance....
"That was why Sergeant Mazeroux's visit and mine to his house, at nine
o'clock in the evening, embarrassed him so obviously. Who were those
intruders? Would they not succeed in shattering his plan? Reflection
reassured him, even as we, by our insistence, compelled him to give way."
"After all, what he did care?" asked Perenna.
"His measures were so well taken that no amount of watching could destroy
them or even make the watchers aware of them. What was to happen would
happen in our presence and unknown to us. Death, summoned by him, would
do its work.... And the comedy, the tragedy, rather, ran its course. Mme.
Fauville, whom he was sending to the opera, came to say good-night. Then
his servant brought him something to eat, including a dish of apples.
Then followed a fit of rage, the agony of the man who is about to die and
who fears death and a whole scene of deceit, in which he showed us his
safe and the drab-cloth diary which was supposed to contain the story of
the plot. ... That ended matters.
"Mazeroux and I retired to the hall passage, closing the door after us;
and M. Fauville remained alone and free to act. Nothing now could prevent
the fulfilment of his wishes. At eleven o'clock in the evening, Mme.
Fauville--to whom no doubt, in the course of the day, imitating
Sauverand's handwriting, he had sent a letter--one of those letters which
are always torn up at once, in which Sauverand entreated the poor woman
to grant him an interview at the Ranelagh--Mme. Fauville would leave the
opera and, before going to Mme. d'Ersinger's party, would spend an hour
not far from the house.
"On the other hand, Sauverand would be performing his usual Wednesday
pilgrimage less than half a mile away, in the opposite direction. During
this time the crime would be committed.
"Both of them would come under the notice of the police, either by M.
Fauville's allusions or by the incident at the Café du Pont-Neuf; both of
them, moreover, would be incapable either of providing an alibi or of
explaining their presence so near the house: were not both of them bound
to be accused and convicted of the crime? ... In the most unlikely event
that some chance should protect them, there was an undeniable proof lying
ready to hand in the shape of the apple containing the very marks of
Marie Fauville's teeth! And then, a few weeks later, the last and
decisive trick, the mysterious arrival at intervals of ten days, of the
letters denouncing the pair. So everything was settled.
"The smallest details were foreseen with infernal clearness. You
remember, Monsieur le Préfet, that turquoise which dropped out of my
ring and was found in the safe? There were only four persons who
could have seen it and picked it up. M. Fauville was one of them.
Well, he was just the one, whom we all excepted; and yet it was he
who, to cast suspicion upon me and to forestall an interference which
he felt would be dangerous, seized the opportunity and placed the
turquoise in the safe! ...
"This time the work was completed. Fate was about to be fulfilled.
Between the 'hater' and his victims there was but the distance of one
act. The act was performed. M. Fauville died."
Don Luis ceased. His words were followed by a long silence; and he felt
certain that the extraordinary story which he had just finished telling
met with the absolute approval of his hearers. They did not discuss, they
believed. And yet it was the most incredible truth that he was asking
them to believe.