"I start from the principle that it is impossible for a man, accompanied
by a woman, to hide from the police. In this case, the woman is young,
pretty, and in a noticeable condition; three impossibilities more. Admit
this, and we'll study Hector's character. He isn't a man of superior
shrewdness, for we have found out all his dodges. He isn't a fool,
because his dodges deceived people who are by no means fools. He is then
a medium sort of a man, and his education, reading, relations, and daily
conversation have procured him a number of acquaintances whom he will
try to use. Now for his mind. We know the weakness of his character;
soft, feeble, vacillating, only acting in the last extremity. We have
seen him shrinking from decisive steps, trying always to delay matters.
He is given to being deceived by illusions, and to taking his desires
for accomplished events. In short, he is a coward. And what is his
situation? He has killed his wife, he hopes he has created a belief in
his own death, he has eloped with a young girl, and he has got nearly or
quite a million of francs in his pocket. Now, this position admitted, as
well as the man's character and mind, can we by an effort of thought,
reasoning from his known actions, discover what he has done in such and
such a case? I think so, and I hope I shall prove it to you."
M. Lecoq rose and promenaded, as his habit was, up and down the room.
"Now let's see," he continued, "how I ought to proceed in order to
discover the probable conduct of a man whose antecedents, traits, and
mind are known to me. To begin with, I throw off my own individuality
and try to assume his. I substitute his will for my own. I cease to be a
detective and become this man, whatever he is. In this case, for
instance, I know very well what I should do if I were Tremorel. I should
take such measures as would throw all the detectives in the universe off
the scent. But I must forget Monsieur Lecoq in order to become Hector de
Tremorel. How would a man reason who was base enough to rob his friend
of his wife, and then see her poison her husband before his very eyes?
We already know that Tremorel hesitated a good while before deciding to
commit this crime. The logic of events, which fools call fatality, urged
him on. It is certain that he looked upon the murder in every point of
view, studied its results, and tried to find means to escape from
justice. All his acts were determined on long beforehand, and neither
immediate necessity nor unforeseen circumstances disturbed his mind. The
moment he had decided on the crime, he said to himself: 'Grant that
Bertha has been murdered; thanks to my precautions, they think that I
have been killed too; Laurence, with whom I elope, writes a letter in
which she announces her suicide; I have money, what must I do?' The
problem, it seems to me, is fairly put in this way."
"Perfectly so," approved M. Plantat.
"Naturally, Tremorel would choose from among all the methods of flight
of which he had ever heard, or which he could imagine, that which seemed
to him the surest and most prompt. Did he meditate leaving the country?
That is more than probable. Only, as he was not quite out of his senses,
he saw that it was most difficult, in a foreign country, to put justice
off the track. If a man flies from France to escape punishment, he acts
absurdly. Fancy a man and woman wandering about a country of whose
language they are ignorant; they attract attention at once, are
observed, talked about, followed. They do not make a purchase which is
not remarked; they cannot make any movement without exciting curiosity.
The further they go the greater their danger. If they choose to cross
the ocean and go to free America, they must go aboard a vessel; and the
moment they do that they may be considered as good as lost. You might
bet twenty to one they would find, on landing on the other side, a
detective on the pier armed with a warrant to arrest them. I would
engage to find a Frenchman in eight days, even in London, unless he
spoke pure enough English to pass for a citizen of the United Kingdom.
Such were Tremorel's reflections. He recollected a thousand futile
attempts, a hundred surprising adventures, narrated by the papers; and
it is certain that he gave up the idea of going abroad."
"It's clear," cried M. Plantat, "perfectly plain and precise. We must
look for the fugitives in France."
"Yes," replied M. Lecoq. "Now let's find out where and how people can
hide themselves in France. Would it be in the provinces? Evidently not.
In Bordeaux, one of our largest cities, people stare at a man who is not
a Bordelais. The shopkeepers on the quays say to their neighbors: 'Eh!
do you know that man?' There are two cities, however, where a man may
pass unnoticed--Marseilles and Lyons; but both of these are distant, and
to reach them a long journey must be risked--and nothing is so dangerous
as the railway since the telegraph was established. One can fly quickly,
it's true; but on entering a railway carriage a man shuts himself in,
and until he gets out of it he remains under the thumb of the police.
Tremorel knows all this as well as we do. We will put all the large
towns, including Lyons and Marseilles, out of the question."
"In short, it's impossible to hide in the provinces."
"Excuse me--there is one means; that is, simply to buy a modest little
place at a distance from towns and railways, and to go and reside on it
under a false name. But this excellent project is quite above Tremorel's
capacity, and requires preparatory steps which he could not risk,
watched as he was by his wife. The field of investigation is thus much
narrowed. Putting aside foreign parts, the provinces, the cities, the
country, Paris remains. It is in Paris that we must look for Tremorel."
M. Lecoq spoke with the certainty and positiveness of a mathematical
professor; the old justice of the peace listened, as do the professor's
scholars. But he was already accustomed to the detective's surprising
clearness, and was no longer astonished. During the four-and-twenty
hours that he had been witnessing M. Lecoq's calculations and gropings,
he had seized the process and almost appropriated it to himself. He
found this method of reasoning very simple, and could now explain to
himself certain exploits of the police which had hitherto seemed to him
miraculous. But M. Lecoq's "narrow field" of observation appeared still
immense.
"Paris is a large place," observed the old justice.