"Come, now," said Plantat, in a paternally severe tone. "Don't let's get
angry. The people have failed in address, no doubt; but reflect that
they could not, in their calculations, take account of the craft of a
man like you."
M. Lecoq, who had the vanity which all actors possess, was flattered by
the compliment, and but poorly dissimulated an expression of pleasure.
"We must be indulgent; come now," pursued Plantat. "Besides," he paused
a moment to give more weight to what he was going to say, "besides, you
haven't seen everything yet."
No one could tell when M. Lecoq was playing a comedy. He did not always
know, himself. This great artist, devoted to his art, practised the
feigning of all the emotions of the human soul, just as he accustomed
himself to wearing all sorts of costumes. He was very indignant against
the assassins, and gesticulated about in great excitement; but he never
ceased to watch Plantat slyly, and the last words of the latter made him
prick up his ears.
"Let's see the rest, then," said he.
As he followed his worthy comrade to the garden, he renewed his
confidences to the dear defunct.
"Confound this old bundle of mystery! We can't take this obstinate
fellow by surprise, that's clear. He'll give us the word of the riddle
when we have guessed it; not before. He is as strong as we, my darling;
he only needs a little practice. But look you--if he has found something
which has escaped us, he must have previous information, that we don't
know of."
Nothing had been disturbed in the garden.
"See here, Monsieur Lecoq," said the old justice of the peace, as he
followed a winding pathway which led to the river. "It was here that one
of the count's slippers was found; below there, a little to the right of
these geraniums, his silk handkerchief was picked up."
They reached the river-bank, and lifted, with great care, the planks
which had been placed there to preserve the foot-prints.
"We suppose," said M. Plantat, "that the countess, in her flight,
succeeded in getting to this spot; and that here they caught up with her
and gave her a finishing blow."
Was this really Plantat's opinion, or did he only report the morning's
theory? M. Lecoq could not tell.
"According to my calculations," he said, "the countess could not have
fled, but was brought here already dead, or logic is not logic. However,
let us examine this spot carefully."
He knelt down and studied the sand on the path, the stagnant water, and
the reeds and water-plants. Then going along a little distance, he threw
a stone, approaching again to see the effect produced on the mud. He
next returned to the house, and came back again under the willows,
crossing the lawn, where were still clearly visible traces of a heavy
burden having been dragged over it. Without the least respect for his
pantaloons, he crossed the lawn on all-fours, scrutinizing the smallest
blades of grass, pulling away the thick tufts to see the earth better,
and minutely observing the direction of the broken stems. This done, he
said:
"My conclusions are confirmed. The countess was carried across here."
"Are you sure of it?" asked Plantat.
There was no mistaking the old man's hesitation this time; he was
clearly undecided, and leaned on the other's judgment for guidance.
"There can be no error, possibly."
The detective smiled, as he added:
"Only, as two heads are better than one, I will ask you to listen to me,
and then, you will tell me what you think."
M. Lecoq had, in searching about, picked up a little flexible stick, and
while he talked, he used it to point out this and that object, like the
lecturer at the panorama.
"No," said he, "Madame de Tremorel did not fly from her murderers. Had
she been struck down here, she would have fallen violently; her weight,
therefore, would have made the water spirt to some distance, as well as
the mud; and we should certainly have found some splashes."
"But don't you think that, since morning, the sun--"
"The sun would have absorbed the water; but the stain of dry mud would
have remained. I have found nothing of the sort anywhere. You might
object, that the water and mud would have spirted right and left; but
just look at the tufts of these flags, lilies, and stems of cane--you
find a light dust on every one. Do you find the least trace of a drop of
water? No. There was then no splash, therefore no violent fall;
therefore the countess was not killed here; therefore her body was
brought here, and carefully deposited where you found it."