"It is possible," said he, "that Monsieur Plantat is right. The
probability is in favor of my theory; but probability, in such an
affair, is not sufficient; we must have certainty. There happily remains
a mode of testing the matter--the bed; I'll wager it is rumpled up."
Then addressing the mayor, "I shall need a servant to lend me a hand."
"I'll help you," said Plantat, "that will be a quicker way."
They lifted the top of the bed and set it on the floor, at the same time
raising the curtains.
"Hum!" cried M. Lecoq, "was I right?"
"True," said M. Domini, surprised, "the bed is rumpled."
"Yes; and yet no one has lain in it."
"But--" objected M. Courtois.
"I am sure of what I say," interrupted the detective. "The sheets, it is
true, have been thrown back, perhaps someone has rolled about in the
bed; the pillows have been tumbled, the quilts and curtains ruffled, but
this bed has not the appearance of having been slept in. It is, perhaps,
more difficult to rumple up a bed than to put it in order again. To make
it up, the coverings must be taken off, and the mattresses turned. To
disarrange it, one must actually lie down in it, and warm it with the
body. A bed is one of those terrible witnesses which never misguide, and
against which no counter testimony can be given. Nobody has gone to bed
in this--"
"The countess," remarked Plantat, "was dressed; but the count might have
gone to bed first."
"No," answered M. Lecoq, "I'll prove to the contrary. The proof is easy,
indeed, and a child of ten, having heard it, wouldn't think of being
deceived by this intentional disorder of the bedclothes."
M. Lecoq's auditors drew up to him. He put the coverings back upon the
middle of the bed, and went on:
"Both of the pillows are much rumpled, are they not? But look under the
bolster--it is all smooth, and you find none of those wrinkles which are
made by the weight of the head and the moving about of the arms. That's
not all; look at the bed from the middle to the foot. The sheets being
laid carefully, the upper and under lie close together everywhere. Slip
your hand underneath--there--you see there is a resistance to your hand
which would not occur if the legs had been stretched in that place. Now
Monsieur de Tremorel was tall enough to extend the full length of the
bed."
This demonstration was so clear, its proof so palpable, that it could
not be gainsaid.
"This is nothing," continued M. Lecoq. "Let us examine the second
mattress. When a person purposely disarranges a bed, he does not think
of the second mattress."
He lifted up the upper mattress, and observed that the covering of the
under one was perfectly even.
"H'm, the second mattress," muttered M. Lecoq, as if some memory crossed
his mind.
"It appears to be proved," observed the judge, "that Monsieur de
Tremorel had not gone to bed."
"Besides," added the doctor, "if he had been murdered in his bed, his
clothes would be lying here somewhere."
"Without considering," suggested M. Lecoq, "that some blood must have
been found on the sheets. Decidedly, these criminals were not shrewd."
"What seems to me surprising," M. Plantat observed to the judge, "is
that anybody would succeed in killing, except in his sleep, a young man
so vigorous as Count Hector."
"And in a house full of weapons," added Dr. Gendron; "for the count's
cabinet is full of guns, swords and hunting knives; it's a perfect
arsenal."
"Alas!" sighed M. Courtois, "we know of worse catastrophes. There is not
a week that the papers don't--"
He stopped, chagrined, for nobody was listening to him. Plantat claimed
the general attention, and continued:
"The confusion in the house seems to you surprising; well now, I'm
surprised that it is not worse than it is. I am, so to speak, an old
man; I haven't the energy of a young man of thirty-five; yet it seems to
me that if assassins should get into my house, when I was there, and up,
it would go hard with them. I don't know what I would do; probably I
should be killed; but surely I would give the alarm. I would defend
myself, and cry out, and open the windows, and set the house afire."
"Let us add," insisted the doctor, "that it is not easy to surprise a
man who is awake. There is always an unexpected noise which puts one on
his guard. Perhaps it is a creaking door, or a cracking stair. However
cautious the murderer, he does not surprise his victim."
"They may have used fire-arms;" struck in the worthy mayor, "that has
been done. You are quietly sitting in your chamber; it is summer, and
your windows are open; you are chatting with your wife, and sipping a
cup of tea; outside, the assassins are supplied with a short ladder; one
ascends to a level with the window, sights you at his ease, presses the
trigger, the bullet speeds--"
"And," continued the doctor, "the whole neighborhood, aroused by it,
hastens to the spot."
"Permit me, pardon, permit me," said M. Courtois, testily, "that would
be so in a populous town. Here, in the midst of a vast park, no. Think,
doctor, of the isolation of this house. The nearest neighbor is a long
way off, and between there are many large trees, intercepting the sound.
Let us test it by experience. I will fire a pistol in this room, and
I'll wager that you will not hear the echo in the road."
"In the daytime, perhaps, but not in the night."
"Well," said M. Domini, who had been reflecting while M. Courtois was
talking, "if against all hope, Guespin does not decide to speak
to-night, or to-morrow, the count's body will afford us a key to the
mystery."
During this discussion, M. Lecoq had continued his investigations,
lifting the furniture, studying the fractures, examining the smallest
pieces, as if they might betray the truth. Now and then, he took out an
instrument-case, from which he produced a shank, which he introduced and
turned in the locks. He found several keys on the carpet, and on a rack,
a towel, which he carefully put one side, as if he deemed it important.
He came and went from the bedroom to the count's cabinet, without losing
a word that was said; noting in his memory, not so much the phrases
uttered, as the diverse accents and intonations with which they were
spoken. In an inquest such as that of the crime of Orcival, when several
officials find themselves face to face, they hold a certain reserve
toward each other. They know each other to have nearly equal experience,
to be shrewd, clear-headed, equally interested in discovering the truth,
not disposed to confide in appearances, difficult to surprise. Each one,
likely enough, gives a different interpretation to the facts revealed;
each may have a different theory of the deed; but a superficial observer
would not note these differences. Each, while dissimulating his real
thoughts, tries to penetrate those of his neighbor, and if they are
opposed to his own, to convert him to his opinion. The great importance
of a single word justifies this caution. Men who hold the liberty and
lives of others in their hands, a scratch of whose pen condemns to
death, are apt to feel heavily the burden of their responsibility. It is
an ineffable solace, to feel that this burden is shared by others. This
is, why no one dares take the initiative, or express himself openly; but
each awaits other opinions, to adopt or oppose them. They exchange fewer
affirmations than suggestions. They proceed by insinuation; then they
utter commonplaces, ridiculous suppositions, asides, provocative, as it
were, of other explanations.
In this instance, the judge of instruction and Plantat were far from
being of the same opinion; they knew it before speaking a word. But M.
Domini, whose opinion rested on material and palpable facts, which
appeared to him indisputable, was not disposed to provoke contradiction.
Plantat, on the contrary, whose system seemed to rest on impressions, on
a series of logical deductions, would not clearly express himself,
without a positive and pressing invitation. His last speech,
impressively uttered, had not been replied to; he judged that he had
advanced far enough to sound the detective.
"Well, Monsieur Lecoq," asked he, "have you found any new traces?"
M. Lecoq was at that moment curiously examining a large portrait of the
Count Hector, which hung opposite the bed. Hearing M. Plantat's
question, he turned.
"I have found nothing decisive," answered he, "and I have found nothing
to refute my conjectures. But--"
He did not finish; perhaps he too, recoiled before his share of the
responsibility.
"What?" insisted M. Domini, sternly.
"I was going to say," resumed M. Lecoq, "that I am not yet satisfied. I
have my lantern and a candle in it; I only need a match--"
"Please preserve your decorum," interrupted the judge severely.
"Very well, then," continued M. Lecoq, in a tone too humble to be
serious, "I still hesitate. If the doctor, now, would kindly proceed to
examine the countess's body, he would do me a great service."
"I was just going to ask the same favor, Doctor," said M. Domini.
The doctor answering, "Willingly," directed his steps toward the door.