"Tremorel speaks English, doesn't he?" asked he of M. Plantat.
"Quite well; and Laurence too."
"If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorel
shaved his beard off on the night of the murder. We can go on--"
Palot meanwhile seemed a little uneasy at not receiving the praise he
expected.
"My lad," said M. Lecoq, turning to him, "I think you have done
admirably, and a good reward shall prove it to you. Being ignorant of
what we know, your conclusions were perfectly right. But let's go to the
house at once; have you got a plan of the ground-floor?"
"Yes, and also of the first floor above. The porter was not dumb, and so
he gave me a good deal of information about his master and mistress,
though he has only been there two days. The lady is dreadfully
melancholy, and cries all the time."
"We know it; the plan--"
"Below, there is a large and high paved arch for the carriages to pass
through; on the other side is a good-sized courtyard, at the end of
which are the stable and carriage-house. The porter's lodge is on the
left of the arch; on the right a glass door opens on a staircase with
six steps, which conducts to a vestibule into which the drawing-room,
dining-room, and two other little rooms open. The chambers are on the
first floor, a study, a--"
"Enough," M. Lecoq said, "my plan is made."
And rising abruptly, he opened the door, and followed by M. Plantat and
Palot, went into the large room. All the men rose at his approach as
before.
"Monsieur Job," said the detective, "listen attentively to what I have
to say. As soon as I am gone, pay up what you owe here, and then, as I
must have you all within reach, go and install yourselves in the first
wine-shop on the right as you go up the Rue d'Amsterdam. Take your
dinner there, for you will have time--but soberly, you understand."
He took two napoleons out of his pocket and placed them on the table,
adding:
"That's for the dinner."
M. Lecoq and the old justice went into the street, followed closely by
Palot. The detective was anxious above all to see for himself the house
inhabited by Tremorel. He saw at a glance that the interior must be as
Palot had described.
"That's it, undoubtedly," said he to M. Plantat; "we've got the game in
our hands. Our chances at this moment are ninety to ten."
"What are you going to do?" asked the justice, whose emotion increased
as the decisive moment approached.
"Nothing, just yet, I must wait for night before I act. As it is two
hours yet before dark, let's imitate my men; I know a restaurant just by
here where you can dine capitally; we'll patronize it."
And without awaiting a reply, he led M. Plantat to a restaurant in the
Passage du Havre. But at the moment he was about to open the door, he
stopped and made a signal. Palot immediately appeared.
"I give you two hours to get yourself up so that the porter won't
recognize you, and to have some dinner. You are an upholsterer's
apprentice. Now clear out; I shall wait for you here."
M. Lecoq was right when he said that a capital dinner was to be had in
the Passage du Havre; unfortunately M. Plantat was not in a state to
appreciate it. As in the morning, he found it difficult to swallow
anything, he was so anxious and depressed. He longed to know the
detective's plans; but M. Lecoq remained impenetrable, answering all
inquiries with:
"Let me act, and trust me."
M. Plantat's confidence was indeed very great; but the more he
reflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt to save
Tremorel from a trial. The most poignant doubts troubled and tortured
his mind. His own life was at stake; for he had sworn to himself that he
would not survive the ruin of Laurence in being forced to confess in
full court her dishonor and her love for Hector.
M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take at
least some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw the
uselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if he were
alone. He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of the result of his
plans never entered his head. He drank much and often, and soon emptied
his bottle of Leoville. Night having now come on the waiters began to
light the chandeliers, and the two friends found themselves almost
alone.
"Isn't it time to begin?" asked the old justice, timidly.
"We have still nearly an hour," replied M. Lecoq, consulting his watch;
"but I shall make my preparations now."
He called a waiter, and ordered a cup of coffee and writing materials.
"You see," said he, while they were waiting to be served, "we must try
to get at Laurence without Tremorel's knowing it. We must have a ten
minutes' talk with her alone, and in the house. That is a condition
absolutely necessary to our success."
M. Plantat had evidently been expecting some immediate and decisive
action, for M. Lecoq's remark filled him with alarm.
"If that's so," said he mournfully, "it's all over with our project."
"How so?"
"Because Tremorel will not leave Laurence by herself for a moment."
"Then I'll try to entice him out."
"And you, you who are usually so clear-sighted, really think that he
will let himself be taken in by a trick! You don't consider his
situation at this moment. He must be a prey to boundless terrors. We
know that Sauvresy's declaration will not be found, but he does not; he
thinks that perhaps it has been found, that suspicions have been
aroused, and that he is already being searched for and pursued by the
police."
"I've considered all that," responded M. Lecoq with a triumphant smile,
"and many other things besides. Well, it isn't easy to decoy Tremorel
out of the house. I've been cudgelling my brain about it a good deal,
and have found a way at last. The idea occurred to me just as we were
coming in here. The Count de Tremorel, in an hour from now, will be in
the Faubourg St. Germain. It's true it will cost me a forgery, but you
will forgive me under the circumstances. Besides, he who seeks the end
must use the means."
He took up a pen, and as he smoked his cigar, rapidly wrote the
following:
"MONSIEUR WILSON:
"Four of the thousand-franc notes which you paid me are counterfeits; I
have just found it out by sending them to my banker's. If you are not
here to explain the matter before ten o'clock, I shall be obliged to put
in a complaint this evening before the procureur.
"RECH."
"Now," said M. Lecoq, passing the letter to his companion. "Do you
comprehend?"
The old justice read it at a glance and could not repress a joyful
exclamation, which caused the waiters to turn around and stare at him.
"Yes," said he, "this letter will catch him; it'll frighten him out of
all his other terrors. He will say to himself that he might have slipped
some counterfeit notes among those paid to the upholsterer, that a
complaint against him will provoke an inquiry, and that he will have to
prove that he is really Monsieur Wilson or he is lost."
"So you think he'll come out?"
"I'm sure of it, unless he has become a fool."
"I tell you we shall succeed then, for this is the only serious
obstacle--"
He suddenly interrupted himself. The restaurant door opened ajar, and a
man passed his head in and withdrew it immediately.
"That's my man," said M. Lecoq, calling the waiter to pay for the
dinner, "he is waiting for us in the passage; let us go."
A young man dressed like a journeyman upholsterer was standing in the
passage looking in at the shop-windows. He had long brown locks, and his
mustache and eyebrows were coal-black. M. Plantat certainly did not
recognize him as Palot, but M. Lecoq did, and even seemed dissatisfied
with his get-up.
"Bad," growled he, "pitiable. Do you think it is enough, in order to
disguise yourself, to change the color of your beard? Look in that
glass, and tell me if the expression of your face is not just what it
was before? Aren't your eye and smile the same? Then your cap is too
much on one side, it is not natural; and your hand is put in your pocket
awkwardly."
"I'll try to do better another time, Monsieur Lecoq," Palot modestly
replied.
"I hope so; but I guess your porter won't recognize you to-night, and
that is all we want."
"And now what must I do?"
"I'll give you your orders; and be very careful not to blunder. First,
hire a carriage, with a good horse; then go to the wine-shop for one of
our men, who will accompany you to Monsieur Wilson's house. When you get
there ring, enter alone and give the porter this letter, saying that it
is of the utmost importance. This done, put yourself with your companion
in ambuscade before the house. If Monsieur Wilson goes out--and he will
go out or I am not Lecoq--send your comrade to me at once. As for you,
you will follow Monsieur Wilson and not lose sight of him. He will take
a carriage, and you will follow him with yours, getting up on the
hackman's seat and keeping a lookout from there. Have your eyes open,
for he is a rascal who may feel inclined to jump out of his cab and
leave you in pursuit of an empty vehicle."
"Yes, and the moment I am informed--"
"Silence, please, when I am speaking. He will probably go to the
upholsterer's in the Rue des Saints-Peres, but I may be mistaken. He may
order himself to be carried to one of the railway stations, and may take
the first train which leaves. In this case, you must get into the same
railway carriage that he does, and follow him everywhere he goes; and be
sure and send me a despatch as soon as you can."
"Very well, Monsieur Lecoq; only if I have to take a train--"
"What, haven't you any money?"
"Well--no, my chief."
"Then take this five-hundred-franc note; that's more than is necessary
to make the tour of the world. Do you comprehend everything?"
"I beg your pardon--what shall I do if Monsieur Wilson simply returns to
his house?"
"In that case I will finish with him. If he returns, you will come back
with him, and the moment his cab stops before the house give two loud
whistles, you know. Then wait for me in the street, taking care to
retain your cab, which you will lend to Monsieur Plantat if he needs
it."
"All right," said Palot, who hastened off without more ado.
M. Plantat and the detective, left alone, began to walk up and down the
gallery; both were grave and silent, as men are at a decisive moment;
there is no chatting about a gaming-table. M. Lecoq suddenly started; he
had just seen his agent at the end of the gallery. His impatience was so
great that he ran toward him, saying:
"Well?"
"Monsieur, the game has flown, and Palot after him!"
"On foot or in a cab?"
"In a cab."
"Enough. Return to your comrades, and tell them to hold themselves
ready."
Everything was going as Lecoq wished, and he grasped the old justice's
hand, when he was struck by the alteration in his features.
"What, are you ill?" asked he, anxiously.
"No, but I am fifty-five years old, Monsieur Lecoq, and at that age
there are emotions which kill one. Look, I am trembling at the moment
when I see my wishes being realized, and I feel as if a disappointment
would be the death of me. I'm afraid, yes, I'm afraid. Ah, why can't I
dispense with following you?"
"But your presence is indispensable; without your help I can do
nothing:"
"What could I do?"
"Save Laurence, Monsieur Plantat."
This name restored a part of his courage.
"If that is so--" said he. He began to walk firmly toward the street,
but M. Lecoq stopped him.
"Not yet," said the detective, "not yet; the battle now depends on the
precision of our movements. A single fault miserably upsets all my
combinations, and then I shall be forced to arrest and deliver up the
criminal. We must have a ten minutes' interview with Mademoiselle
Laurence, but not much more, and it is absolutely necessary that this
interview should be suddenly interrupted by Tremorel's return. Let's
make our calculations. It will take the rascal half an hour to go to the
Rue des Saints-Peres, where he will find nobody; as long to get back;
let us throw in fifteen minutes as a margin; in all, an hour and a
quarter. There are forty minutes left us."
M. Plantat did not reply, but his companion said that he could not stay
so long on his feet after the fatigues of the day, agitated as he was,
and having eaten nothing since the evening before. He led him into a
neighboring cafe, and forced him to eat a biscuit and drink a glass of
wine. Then seeing that conversation would be annoying to the unhappy old
man, he took up an evening paper and soon seemed to be absorbed in the
latest news from Germany. The old justice, his head leaning on the back
of his chair and his eyes wandering over the ceiling, passed in mental
review the events of the past four years. It seemed to him but yesterday
that Laurence, still a child, ran up his garden-path and picked his
roses and honeysuckles. How pretty she was, and how divine were her
great eyes! Then, as it seemed, between dusk and dawn, as a rose blooms
on a June night, the pretty child had become a sweet and radiant young
girl. She was timid and reserved with all but him--was he not her old
friend, the confidant of all her little griefs and her innocent hopes?
How frank and pure she was then; what a heavenly ignorance of evil!
Nine o'clock struck; M. Lecoq laid down his paper.
"Let us go," said he.
M. Plantat followed him with a firmer step, and they soon reached M.
Wilson's house, accompanied by Job and his men.
"You men," said M. Lecoq, "wait till I call before you go in; I will
leave the door ajar."
He rang; the door swung open; and M. Plantat and the detective went in
under the arch. The porter was on the threshold of his lodge.
"Monsieur Wilson?" asked M. Lecoq.
"He is out."
"I will speak to Madame, then."
"She is also out."
"Very well. Only, as I must positively speak with Madame Wilson, I'm
going upstairs."
The porter seemed about to resist him by force; but, as Lecoq now called
in his men, he thought better of it and kept quiet.
M. Lecoq posted six of his men in the court, in such a position that
they could be easily seen from the windows on the first floor, and
instructed the others to place themselves on the opposite sidewalk,
telling them to look ostentatiously at the house. These measures taken,
he returned to the porter.
"Attend to me, my man. When your master, who has gone out, comes in
again, beware that you don't tell him that we are upstairs; a single
word would get you into terribly hot water--"
"I am blind," he answered, "and deaf."
"How many servants are there in the house?"
"Three; but they have all gone out."
The detective then took M. Plantat by the arm, and holding him firmly:
"You see, my dear friend," said he, "the game is ours. Come along--and
in Laurence's name, have courage!"