"Let's see; did you ask what was the shape of the dirk bought by
Guespin? Was it long or short, wide or narrow?"
"Faith, no. What was the use?"
"Simply, my brave fellow, to compare this weapon with the victim's
wounds, and to see whether its handle corresponds to that which left a
distinct and visible imprint between the victim's shoulders."
"I forgot it; but it is easily remedied."
"An oversight may, of course, be pardoned; but you can at least tell us
in what sort of money Guespin paid for his purchases?"
The poor man seemed so embarrassed, humiliated, and vexed, that the
judge hastened to his assistance.
"The money is of little consequence, it seems to me," said he.
"I beg you to excuse me I don't agree with you," returned M. Lecoq.
"This matter may be a very grave one. What is the most serious evidence
against Guespin? The money found in his pocket. Let us suppose for a
moment that night before last, at ten o'clock, he changed a
one-thousand-franc note in Paris. Could the obtaining of that note have
been the motive of the crime at Valfeuillu? No, for up to that hour the
crime had not been committed. Where could it have come from? That is no
concern of mine, at present. But if my theory is correct, justice will
be forced to agree that the several hundred francs found in Guespin's
possession can and must be the change for the note."
"That is only a theory," urged M. Domini in an irritated tone.
"That is true; but one which may turn out a certainty. It remains for me
to ask this man how Guespin carried away the articles which he bought?
Did he simply slip them into his pocket, or did he have them done up in
a bundle, and if so, how?"
The detective spoke in a sharp, hard, freezing tone, with a bitter
raillery in it, frightening his Corbeil colleague out of his assurance.
"I don't know," stammered the latter. "They didn't tell me--I thought--"
M. Lecoq raised his hands as if to call the heavens to witness: in his
heart, he was charmed with this fine occasion to revenge himself for M.
Domini's disdain. He could not, dared not say anything to the judge; but
he had the right to banter the agent and visit his wrath upon him.
"Ah so, my lad," said he, "what did you go to Paris for? To show
Guespin's picture and detail the crime to the people at Vulcan's Forges?
They ought to be very grateful to you; but Madame Petit, Monsieur
Plantat's housekeeper, would have done as much."
At this stroke the man began to get angry; he frowned, and in his
bluffest tone, began:
"Look here now, you--"
"Ta, ta, ta," interrupted M. Lecoq. "Let me alone, and know who is
talking to you. I am Monsieur Lecoq."
The effect of the famous detective's name on his antagonist was magical.
He naturally laid down his arms and surrendered, straightway becoming
respectful and obsequious. It almost flattered him to be roughly handled
by such a celebrity. He muttered, in an abashed and admiring tone:
"What, is it possible? You, Monsieur Lecoq!"
"Yes, it is I, young man; but console yourself; I bear no grudge against
you. You don't know your trade, but you have done me a service and you
have brought us a convincing proof of Guespin's innocence."
M. Domini looked on at this scene with secret chagrin. His recruit went
over to the enemy, yielding without a struggle to a confessed
superiority. M. Lecoq's presumption, in speaking of a prisoner's
innocence whose guilt seemed to the judge indisputable, exasperated him.
"And what is this tremendous proof, if you please?" asked he.
"It is simple and striking," answered M. Lecoq, putting on his most
frivolous air as his conclusions narrowed the field of probabilities.
"You doubtless recollect that when we were at Valfeuillu we found the
hands of the clock in the bedroom stopped at twenty minutes past three.
Distrusting foul play, I put the striking apparatus in motion--do you
recall it? What happened? The clock struck eleven. That convinced us
that the crime was committed before that hour. But don't you see that if
Guespin was at the Vulcan's Forges at ten he could not have got back to
Valfeuillu before midnight? Therefore it was not--he who did the deed."
The detective, as he came to this conclusion, pulled out the inevitable
box and helped himself to a lozenge, at the same time bestowing upon the
judge a smile which said:
"Get out of that, if you can."
The judge's whole theory tumbled to pieces if M. Lecoq's deductions were
right; but he could not admit that he had been so much deceived; he
could not renounce an opinion formed by deliberate reflection.
"I don't pretend that Guespin is the only criminal," said he. "He could
only have been an accomplice; and that he was."
"An accomplice? No, Judge, he was a victim. Ah, Tremorel is a great
rascal! Don't you see now why he put forward the hands? At first I
didn't perceive the object of advancing the time five hours; now it is
clear. In order to implicate Guespin the crime must appear to have been
committed after midnight, and--"
He suddenly checked himself and stopped with open mouth and fixed eyes
as a new idea crossed his mind. The judge, who was bending over his
papers trying to find something to sustain his position, did not
perceive this.
"But then," said the latter, "how do you explain Guespin's refusal to
speak and to give an account of where he spent the night?"
M. Lecoq had now recovered from his emotion, and Dr. Gendron and M.
Plantat, who were watching him with the deepest attention, saw a
triumphant light in his eyes. Doubtless he had just found a solution of
the problem which had been put to him.
"I understand," replied he, "and can explain Guespin's obstinate
silence. I should be perfectly amazed if he decided to speak just now."
M. Domini misconstrued the meaning of this; he thought he saw in it a
covert intention to banter him.
"He has had a night to reflect upon it," he answered. "Is not twelve
hours enough to mature a system of defence?"
The detective shook his head doubtfully.
"It is certain that he does not need it," said he. "Our prisoner doesn't
trouble himself about a system of defence, that I'll swear to."
"He keeps quiet, because he hasn't been able to get up a plausible
story."
"No, no; believe me, he isn't trying to get up one. In my opinion,
Guespin is a victim; that is, I suspect Tremorel of having set an
infamous trap for him, into which he has fallen, and in which he sees
himself so completely caught that he thinks it useless to struggle. The
poor wretch is convinced that the more he resists the more surely he
will tighten the web that is woven around him."
"I think so, too," said M. Plantat.
"The true criminal, Count Hector," resumed the detective, "lost his
presence of mind at the last moment, and thus lost all the advantages
which his previous caution had gained. Don't let us forget that he is an
able man, perfidious enough to mature the most infamous stratagems, and
unscrupulous enough to execute them. He knows that justice must have its
victims, one for every crime; he does not forget that the police, as
long as it has not the criminal, is always on the search with eye and
ear open; and he has thrown us Guespin as a huntsman, closely pressed,
throws his glove to the bear that is close upon him. Perhaps he thought
that the innocent man would not be in danger of his life; at all events
he hoped to gain time by this ruse; while the bear is smelling and
turning over the glove, the huntsman gains ground, escapes and reaches
his place of refuge; that was what Tremorel proposed to do."
The Corbeil policeman was now undoubtedly Lecoq's most enthusiastic
listener. Goulard literally drank in his chief's words. He had never
heard any of his colleagues express themselves with such fervor and
authority; he had had no idea of such eloquence, and he stood erect, as
if some of the admiration which he saw in all the faces were reflected
back on him. He grew in his own esteem as he thought that he was a
soldier in an army commanded by such generals. He had no longer any
opinion excepting that of his superior. It was not so easy to persuade,
subjugate, and convince the judge.
"But," objected the latter, "you saw Guespin's countenance?"
"Ah, what matters the countenance--what does that prove? Don't we know
if you and I were arrested to-morrow on a terrible charge, what our
bearing would be?"
M. Domini gave a significant start; this hypothesis scarcely pleased
him.
"And yet you and I are familiar with the machinery of justice. When I
arrested Lanscot, the poor servant in the Rue Marignan, his first words
were: 'Come on, my account is good.' The morning that Papa Tabaret and I
took the Viscount de Commarin as he was getting out of bed, on the
accusation of having murdered the widow Lerouge, he cried: 'I am lost.'
Yet neither of them were guilty; but both of them, the viscount and the
valet, equal before the terror of a possible mistake of justice, and
running over in their thoughts the charges which would be brought
against them, had a moment of overwhelming discouragement."
"But such discouragement does not last two days," said M. Domini.
M. Lecoq did not answer this; he went on, growing more animated as he
proceeded.
"You and I have seen enough prisoners to know how deceitful appearances
are, and how little they are to be trusted. It would be foolish to base
a theory upon a prisoner's bearing. He who talked about 'the cry of
innocence' was an idiot, just as the man was who prated about the 'pale
stupor' of guilt. Neither crime nor virtue have, unhappily, any especial
countenance. The Simon girl, who was accused of having killed her
father, absolutely refused to answer any questions for twenty-two days;
on the twenty-third, the murderer was caught. As to the Sylvain
affair--"
M. Domini rapped lightly on his desk to check the detective. As a man,
the judge held too obstinately to his opinions; as a magistrate he was
equally obstinate, but was at the same time ready to make any sacrifice
of his self-esteem if the voice of duty prompted it. M. Lecoq's
arguments had not shaken his convictions, but they imposed on him the
duty of informing himself at once, and to either conquer the detective
or avow himself conquered.
"You seem to be pleading," said he to M. Lecoq. "There is no need of
that here. We are not counsel and judge; the same honorable intentions
animate us both. Each, in his sphere, is searching after the truth. You
think you see it shining where I only discern clouds; and you may be
mistaken as well as I."
Then by an act of heroism, he condescended to add:
"What do you think I ought to do?"
The judge was at least rewarded for the effort he made by approving
glances from M. Plantat and the doctor. But M. Lecoq did not hasten to
respond; he had many weighty reasons to advance; that, he saw, was not
what was necessary. He ought to present the facts, there and at once,
and produce one of those proofs which can be touched with the finger.
How should he do it? His active mind searched eagerly for such a proof.
"Well?" insisted M. Domini.
"Ah," cried the detective. "Why can't I ask Guespin two or three
questions?"
The judge frowned; the suggestion seemed to him rather presumptuous. It
is formally laid down that the questioning of the accused should be done
in secret, and by the judge alone, aided by his clerk. On the other hand
it is decided, that after he has once been interrogated he may be
confronted with witnesses. There are, besides, exceptions in favor of
the members of the police force. M. Domini reflected whether there were
any precedents to apply to the case.
"I don't know," he answered at last, "to what point the law permits me
to consent to what you ask. However, as I am convinced the interests of
truth outweigh all rules, I shall take it on myself to let you question
Guespin."
He rang; a bailiff appeared.
"Has Guespin been carried back to prison?"
"Not yet, Monsieur."
"So much the better; have him brought in here."
M. Lecoq was beside himself with joy; he had not hoped to achieve such a
victory over one so determined as M. Domini.
"He will speak now," said he, so full of confidence that his eyes shone,
and he forgot the portrait of the dear defunct, "for I have three means
of unloosening his tongue, one of which is sure to succeed. But before
he comes I should like to know one thing. Do you know whether Tremorel
saw Jenny after Sauvresy's death?"
"Jenny?" asked M. Plantat, a little surprised.
"Yes."
"Certainly he did."
"Several times?"
"Pretty often. After the scene at the Belle Image the poor girl plunged
into terrible dissipation. Whether she was smitten with remorse, or
understood that it was her conduct which had killed Sauvresy, or
suspected the crime, I don't know. She began, however, to drink
furiously, falling lower and lower every week--"
"And the count really consented to see her again?"
"He was forced to do so; she tormented him, and he was afraid of her.
When she had spent all her money she sent to him for more, and he gave
it. Once he refused; and that very evening she went to him the worse for
wine, and he had the greatest difficulty in the world to send her away
again. In short, she knew what his relations with Madame Sauvresy had
been, and she threatened him; it was a regular black-mailing operation.
He told me all about the trouble she gave him, and added that he would
not be able to get rid of her without shutting her up, which he could
not bring himself to do."
"How long ago was their last interview?"
"Why," answered the doctor, "not three weeks ago, when I had a
consultation at Melun, I saw the count and this demoiselle at a hotel
window; when he saw me he suddenly drew back."
"Then," said the detective, "there is no longer any doubt--"
He stopped. Guespin came in between two gendarmes.
The unhappy gardener had aged twenty years in twenty-four hours. His
eyes were haggard, his dry lips were bordered with foam.
"Let us see," said the judge. "Have you changed your mind about
speaking?"
The prisoner did not answer.
"Have you decided to tell us about yourself?"
Guespin's rage made him tremble from head to foot, and his eyes became
fiery.
"Speak!" said he hoarsely. "Why should I?"
He added with the gesture of a desperate man who abandons himself,
renounces all struggling and all hope:
"What have I done to you, my God, that you torture me this way? What do
you want me to say? That I did this crime--is that what you want? Well,
then--yes--it was I. Now you are satisfied. Now cut my head off, and do
it quick--for I don't want to suffer any longer."
A mournful silence welcomed Guespin's declaration. What, he confessed
it!
M. Domini had at least the good taste not to exult; he kept still, and
yet this avowal surprised him beyond all expression.
M. Lecoq alone, although surprised, was not absolutely put out of
countenance. He approached Guespin and tapping him on the shoulder, said
in a paternal tone:
"Come, comrade, what you are telling us is absurd. Do you think the
judge has any secret grudge against you? No, eh? Do you suppose I am
interested to have you guillotined? Not at all. A crime has been
committed, and we are trying to find the assassin. If you are innocent,
help us to find the man who isn't: What were you doing from Wednesday
evening till Thursday morning?"
But Guespin persisted in his ferocious and stupid obstinacy.
"I've said what I have to say," said he.
M. Lecoq changed his tone to one of severity, stepping back to watch the
effect he was about to produce upon Guespin.
"You haven't any right to hold your tongue. And even if you do, you
fool, the police know everything. Your master sent you on an errand,
didn't he, on Wednesday night; what did he give you? A
one-thousand-franc note?"
The prisoner looked at M. Lecoq in speechless amazement.
"No," he stammered. "It was a five-hundred-franc note."
The detective, like all great artists in a critical scene, was really
moved. His surprising genius for investigation had just inspired him
with a bold stroke, which, if it succeeded, would assure him the
victory.
"Now," said he, "tell me the woman's name."
"I don't know."
"You are only a fool then. She is short, isn't she, quite pretty, brown
and pale, with very large eyes?"
"You know her, then?" said Guespin, in a voice trembling with emotion.
"Yes, comrade, and if you want to know her name, to put in your prayers,
she is called--Jenny."
Men who are really able in some specialty, whatever it may be, never
uselessly abuse their superiority; their satisfaction at seeing it
recognized is sufficient reward. M. Lecoq softly enjoyed his triumph,
while his hearers wondered at his perspicacity. A rapid chain of
reasoning had shown him not only Tremorel's thoughts, but also the means
he had employed to accomplish his purpose.
Guespin's astonishment soon changed to anger. He asked himself how this
man could have been informed of things which he had every reason to
believe were secret. Lecoq continued:
"Since I have told you the woman's name, tell me now, how and why the
count gave you a five-hundred-franc note."
"It was just as I was going out. The count had no change, and did not
want to send me to Orcival for it. I was to bring back the rest."
"And why didn't you rejoin your companions at the wedding in the
Batignolles?"
No answer.
"What was the errand which you were to do for the count?"
Guespin hesitated. His eyes wandered from one to another of those
present, and he seemed to discover an ironical expression on all the
faces. It occurred to him that they were making sport of him, and had
set a snare into which he had fallen. A great despair took possession of
him.
"Ah," cried he, addressing M. Lecoq, "you have deceived me. You have
been lying so as to find out the truth. I have been such a fool as to
answer you, and you are going to turn it all against me."
"What? Are you going to talk nonsense again?"
"No, but I see just how it is, and you won't catch me again! Now I'd
rather die than say a word."
The detective tried to reassure him; but he added:
"Besides, I'm as sly as you; I've told you nothing but lies."
This sudden whim surprised no one. Some prisoners intrench themselves
behind a system of defence, and nothing can divert them from it; others
vary with each new question, denying what they have just affirmed, and
constantly inventing some new absurdity which anon they reject again. M.
Lecoq tried in vain to draw Guespin from his silence; M. Domini made the
same attempt, and also failed; to all questions he only answered, "I
don't know."
At last the detective waxed impatient.
"See here," said he to Guespin, "I took you for a young man of sense,
and you are only an ass. Do you imagine that we don't know anything?
Listen: On the night of Madame Denis's wedding, you were getting ready
to go off with your comrades, and had just borrowed twenty francs from
the valet, when the count called you. He made you promise absolute
secrecy (a promise which, to do you justice, you kept); he told you to
leave the other servants at the station and go to Vulcan's Forges, where
you were to buy for him a hammer, a file, a chisel, and a dirk; these
you were to carry to a certain woman. Then he gave you this famous
five-hundred-franc note, telling you to bring him back the change when
you returned next day. Isn't that so?"
An affirmative response glistened in the prisoner's eyes; still, he
answered, "I don't recollect it."
"Now," pursued M. Lecoq, "I'm going to tell you what happened
afterwards. You drank something and got tipsy, and in short spent a part
of the change of the note. That explains your fright when you were
seized yesterday morning, before anybody said a word to you. You thought
you were being arrested for spending that money. Then, when you learned
that the count had been murdered during the night, recollecting that on
the evening before you had bought all kinds of instruments of theft and
murder, and that you didn't know either the address or the name of the
woman to whom you gave up the package, convinced that if you explained
the source of the money found in your pocket, you would not be
believed--then, instead of thinking of the means to prove your
innocence, you became afraid, and thought you would save yourself by
holding your tongue."
The prisoner's countenance visibly changed; his nerves relaxed; his
tight lips fell apart; his mind opened itself to hope. But he still
resisted.
"Do with me as you like," said he.
"Eh! What should we do with such a fool as you?" cried M. Lecoq angrily.
"I begin to think you are a rascal too. A decent fellow would see that
we wanted to get him out of a scrape, and he'd tell us the truth. You
are prolonging your imprisonment by your own will. You'd better learn
that the greatest shrewdness consists in telling the truth. A last time,
will you answer?"
Guespin shook his head; no.
"Go back to prison, then; since it pleases you," concluded the
detective. He looked at the judge for his approval, and added:
"Gendarmes, remove the prisoner."
The judge's last doubt was dissipated like the mist before the sun. He
was, to tell the truth, a little uneasy at having treated the detective
so rudely; and he tried to repair it as much as he could.
"You are an able man, Monsieur Lecoq," said he. "Without speaking of
your clearsightedness, which is so prompt as to seem almost like second
sight, your examination just now was a master-piece of its kind. Receive
my congratulations, to say nothing of the reward which I propose to
recommend in your favor to your chiefs."
The detective at these compliments cast down his eyes with the abashed
air of a virgin. He looked tenderly at the dear defunct's portrait, and
doubtless said to it:
"At last, darling, we have defeated him--this austere judge who so
heartily detests the force of which we are the brightest ornament, makes
his apologies; he recognizes and applauds our services."
He answered aloud:
"I can only accept half of your eulogies, Monsieur; permit me to offer
the other half to my friend Monsieur Plantat."