"Well then," he went on, "I am sure, perfectly sure, that if Madame de
Tremorel had died suddenly, the count would have ransacked the house to
find a certain paper, which he knew to be in his wife's possession, and
which I myself have had in my hands."
"Then," said M. Lecoq, "there's the drama complete. On reaching
Valfeuillu, I, like you, was struck with the frightful disorder of the
rooms. Like you, I thought at first that this disorder was the result of
design. I was wrong; a more careful scrutiny has convinced me of it. The
assassin, it is true, threw everything into disorder, broke the
furniture, hacked the chairs in order to make us think that some furious
villains had been there. But amid these acts of premeditated violence I
have followed up the involuntary traces of an exact, minute, and I may
say patient search. Everything seemed turned topsy-turvy by chance;
articles were broken open with the hatchet, which might have been opened
with the hands; drawers had been forced which were not shut, and the
keys of which were in the locks. Was this folly? No. For really no
corner or crevice where a letter might be hid has been neglected. The
table and bureau-drawers had been thrown here and there, but the narrow
spaces between the drawers had been examined--I saw proofs of it, for I
found the imprints of fingers on the dust which lay in these spaces. The
books had been thrown pell-mell upon the floor, but every one of them
had been handled, and some of them with such violence that the bindings
were torn off. We found the mantel-shelves in their places, but every
one had been lifted up. The chairs were not hacked with a sword, for the
mere purpose of ripping the cloth--the seats were thus examined. My
conviction of the certainty that there had been a most desperate search,
at first roused my suspicions. I said to myself, 'The villains have been
looking for the money which was concealed; therefore they did not belong
to the household.'"
"But," observed the doctor, "they might belong to the house, and yet not
know the money was hidden; for Guespin--"
"Permit me," interrupted M. Lecoq, "I will explain myself. On the other
hand, I found indications that the assassin must have been closely
connected with Madame de Tremorel--her lover, or her husband. These were
the ideas that then struck me."
"And now?"
"Now," responded the detective, "with the certainty that something
besides booty might have been the object of the search, I am not far
from thinking that the guilty man is he whose body is being searched
for--the Count Hector de Tremorel."
M. Plantat and Dr. Gendron had divined the name; but neither had as yet
dared to utter his suspicions. They awaited this name of Tremorel; and
yet, pronounced as it was in the middle of the night, in this great
sombre room, by this at least strange personage, it made them shudder
with an indescribable fright.
"Observe," resumed M. Lecoq, "what I say; I believe it to be so. In my
eyes, the count's guilt is only as yet extremely probable. Let us see if
we three can reach the certainty of it. You see, gentlemen, the inquest
of a crime is nothing more nor less than the solution of a problem.
Given the crime, proved, patent, you commence by seeking out all the
circumstances, whether serious or superficial; the details and the
particulars. When these have been carefully gathered, you classify them,
and put them in their order and date. You thus know the victim, the
crime, and the circumstances; it remains to find the third term of the
problem, that is, x, the unknown quantity--the guilty party. The task is
a difficult one, but not so difficult as is imagined. The object is to
find a man whose guilt explains all the circumstances, all the details
found--all, understand me. Find such a man, and it is probable--and in
nine cases out of ten, the probability becomes a reality--that you hold
the perpetrator of the crime."
So clear had been M. Lecoq's exposition, so logical his argument, that
his hearers could not repress an admiring exclamation:
"Very good! Very good!"
"Let us then examine together if the assumed guilt of the Count de
Tremorel explains all the circumstances of the crime at Valfeuillu."
He was about to continue when Dr. Gendron, who sat near the window, rose
abruptly.
"There is someone in the garden," said he.
All approached the window. The weather was glorious, the night very
clear, and a large open space lay before the library window; they looked
out, but saw no one.
"You are mistaken, Doctor," said Plantat, resuming his arm-chair.