THE YELLOW HORSE
The man in the "black overcoat" who had conducted the gendarmes on their
visit to Donnay, was no other than "Grand-Charles," one of Allain's
followers. He had been arrested at Le Chalange on July 14th, and had
consented without hesitation, to show the spot in the Buquets' garden
where the money had been hidden. He recognised the position of the house
and garden, the room in which Allain and his companions had been
received on the night of the robbery, and even the glass which Mme.
Buquet had filled for him. At the bottom of the garden traces of the
excavation that had contained the money were found; the loft contained
linen, and other effects of Mme. Acquet; her miniature was hanging on
the wall of Joseph's room. Joseph alone had fled; his father, mother,
and brother were taken to prison in Caen the same evening.
"Grand-Charles," who did not want to be the only one compromised, showed
the greatest zeal in searching for his accomplices. As Querelle had done
before, he led Manginot and his thirty gendarmes over all the country,
until they reached the village of Mancellière, which passed as the most
famous resort of malcontents in a circuit of twenty leagues. As in the
happiest days of the Chouan revolt, there were bloody combats between
the gendarmes and the deserters. After one of these engagements
Pierre-François Harel,--who had passed most of his time since the
Quesnay robbery in a barrel sunk in the earth at the bottom of a
garden--was arrested in the house of a M. Lebougre, where he had gone to
get some brandy and salt to dress a wound. But Manginot made a more
important capture in Flierlé, who was living peacefully at
Amayé-sur-Orne, with one of his old captains, Rouault des Vaux. Flierlé
told his story as soon as he was interrogated; he knew that "high
personages" were in the plot, and thought they would think twice before
pushing things to an issue.
If Manginot was thus acting with an energy worthy of praise, he received
none from Caffarelli, who was distressed at the turn affairs had taken,
and wished that the affair of Quesnay might be reduced to the
proportions of a simple incident. He interrogated the prisoners with the
reserve and precaution of a man who was interfering in what did not
concern him, and if he learned from Flierlé much that he would rather
not have known about the persistent organisation of the Chouans in
Calvados, he could get no information concerning the deed that had led
to his arrest.
The German did not conceal his fear of assassination if he should speak,
Allain having promised, on June 8th, at the bridge of Landelle, "poison,
or pistol shot to the first who should reveal anything, and the
assistance of two hundred determined men to save those who showed
discretion, from the vengeance of Bonaparte."
Things were different in Paris. The police were working hard, and Fouché
was daily informed of the slightest details bearing on the events that
were taking place in Lower Normandy. For several weeks detectives had
been watching a young man who arrived in Paris the second fortnight of
May; he was often seen in the Palais-Royal, and called himself openly
"General of the Chouans," and assumed great importance. The next report
gave his name as Le Chevalier, from Caen, and more information was
demanded of Caffarelli. The Prefect of Calvados replied that the
description tallied with that of a man who had often been denounced to
him as an incorrigible royalist; he was easy to recognise as he had lost
the use of his left arm:
The police received orders not to lose sight of this person. He lived at
the Hôtel de Beauvais, Rue des Vieux-Augustins, a house that had been
known since the Revolution as the resort of royalists passing through
Paris. Le Chevalier went out a great deal; he dined in town nearly every
night, with people of good position. He was followed for a fortnight;
then the order for his arrest was given, and on July 15th he was taken,
handcuffed, to the prefecture of police and accused of participation in
the robbery at Quesnay.
Le Chevalier was not the man to be caught napping. His looks, his manner
and his eloquence had got him out of so many scrapes, that he doubted
not they would once more save his life. The letter he wrote to Réal on
the day of his arrest is so characteristic of him--at once familiar and
haughty--that it would be a pity not to quote it:
"Arrested on a suspicion of brigandage, of which it is as important
to justify myself as painful to have to do it, but full of
confidence in my honour, which is unimpeachable, and in the
well-known justice of your character, I beg you to grant me a few
minutes' audience, during which--being well disposed to answer your
questions, and even to forestall them--I flatter myself that I can
convince you that the condition of my affairs and, above all, my
whole conduct in life, raise me above any suspicion of brigandage
whatever. I hope also, Monsieur, that this conversation, the favour
of which your justice will accord me, will convince you that I am
not mad enough to engage in political brigandage, or to engage in a
struggle with the government to which the proudest sovereigns have
yielded....
"A. Le Chevalier."
And to prove that he had taken no part in the robbery of June 7th, he
added to his letter twenty affirmations of honourable and well-known
persons who had either seen or dined with him in Paris each day of the
month from the 1st to the 20th. Among these were the names of his
compatriot, the poet Chênedollé, and Dr. Dupuytren whom he had consulted
on the advisability of amputating the fingers of his left hand, long
useless. He had even taken care to be seen at the Te Deum sung in
Notre-Dame for the taking of Dantzig. His precautions had been well
taken, and once again his aplomb was about to save him, when Réal, much
embarrassed by this soft spoken prisoner, thought of sending him to
Caen, in the hope that confronting him with Flierlé, Grand-Charles and
the Buquets might have some result. Caffarelli was convinced that Le
Chevalier was the leader in the plot, yet they had searched carefully in
his house in the Rue Saint-Sauveur; without finding anything but some
private papers. Flierlé had recognised him as the man to whom he acted
as secretary and courier, yet Le Chevalier had contemptuously replied
that "the German was not the sort to be his servant, and that their only
connection was that of benefactor and recipient." It was out of the
question that any tribunal could be found to condemn a man who on the
day of the crime had been sixty leagues from the place where it was
committed. As to convicting him as a royalist who approved of the theft
of public funds--they might as well do the same with all Normandy.
Besides, to Caffarelli, who had no allusions as to the sentiments of the
district, and who was always in fear of a new Chouan explosion, the
presence of Le Chevalier in prison at Caen was a perpetual nightmare.
Allain might suddenly appear with an army, and make an attempt to carry
off his chief similar to that which, under the Directory, saved the
lives of the Vicomte de Chambray and Chevalier Destouches, to the
amusement and delight of the whole province. And this is why the prudent
prefect, not caring to encumber himself with such a compromising
prisoner, in four days, obtained Réal's permission to send him back to
Paris, where he was confined in the Temple. Ah! What a fine letter he
wrote to the Chief of Police, as soon as he arrived there, and how he
posed as the unlucky rival of Napoleon!
This profession of faith is too long to be given entirely, but it throws
such light on the character of the writer, and on the illusions which
the royalists obstinately fostered during the most brilliant period of
the imperial régime, that a few extracts are indispensable.
"You wished to know the truth concerning the declarations of
Flierlé on my account, and on the projects that he divulged. I will
tell you of them. Denial suits well a criminal who fears the eye of
justice, but it is foreign to a character that fears nothing and to
whom the first success of his enterprises lies in the esteem of his
enemies.
* * * * *
"Your Excellency will kindly see in me neither a man trembling at
death, nor a mind seduced by the hope of reward. I ask nothing to
tell what I think, for in telling it I satisfy myself. I planned an
insurrection against Napoleon's government, I desired his ruin, if
I have not been able to effect it, it is because I have always been
badly seconded and often betrayed.
"What were my means of entertaining at least the hope of success?
Not wishing to appear absolutely mad in your eyes, I am going to
make them known; but not wishing to betray the confidence of those
who would have served me, I shall withhold the details.
* * * * *
"I was born generous, and a lover of glory. After the amnesty of
the year VIII I was the richest among my comrades: my money, well
dispensed, procured me followers. For several years I watched for a
favourable moment to revolt. The last campaign in Austria offered
this occasion. Every one in the West believed in the defection of
the French armies; I did not believe in it, but was going to profit
by the general opinion. Victory came too quickly, and I had hardly
time to plan anything.
"After having established connections in several departments, I
left for Paris. There, all concurred in fortifying my hopes. Many
republicans shared my wishes; I negotiated with them for a reunion
of parties, to make action more certain and reaction less strong.
The movement must take place in the capital, a provisional
government must be established,--all France would have passed
through a new régime before the Emperor returned.
"But it did not take me long to discover that the republicans had
not all the means they boasted.... I returned to the royalists in
the capital; they were disunited and without plans. I had only a
few men in Paris; I abandoned my designs there, and returned to the
provinces. There I could collect two or three thousand men, and as
soon as I had done that I should have sent to ask the Bourbon
princes to put themselves at the head of my troops....
"But at the opening of the second campaign my plans were postponed.
However, the measures I had been obliged to take could not remain
secret. Some refractory conscripts, some deserters, appeared armed,
at different places; they had to be maintained, and without an
order _ad hoc_, but by virtue of general instructions, one of my
officers possessed himself of the public funds for the purpose....
The guilty ones are ... myself, for whom I ask nothing, not from
pride, for the haughtiest spirit need not feel humiliated at
receiving grace from one who has granted it to kings, but from
honour. Your Excellency will no doubt wish to know the motive that
urged me to conceive and nourish such projects. The motive is this:
I have seen the unhappiness of the amnestied, and my own
misfortune; people proscribed in the state, classed as serfs,
excluded not only from all employment, but also tyrannised by those
who formerly only lacked the courage to join their cause....
"Whatever fate is reserved for me, I beg you to consider that I
have not ceased to be a Frenchman, that I may have succumbed to
noble madness, but have not sought cowardly success; and I hope
that, in view of this, your Excellency will grant me the only
favour I ask for myself--that my trial, if I am to have one, may be
military, as well as its execution....
"A. Le Chevalier."
One can imagine the stupefaction, on reading this missive of Fouché, of
Réal, Desmarets, Veyrat, and of all those on whom it rested to make his
people appear to the Master as enthusiastic and contented, or at least
silent and submissive. They felt that the letter was not all bragging;
they saw in it Georges' plan amplified; the same threat of a descent of
Bourbons on the coast, the same assurance of overturning, by a blow at
Bonaparte, the immense edifice he had erected. In fact, the belief that
the Empire, to which all Europe now seemed subjugated, was at the mercy
of a battle won or lost, was so firmly established in the mind of the
population, that even a man like Fouché, for example, who thoroughly
understood the undercurrents of opinion, could never believe in the
solidity of the régime that he worked for. Were not the germs of the
whole story of the Restoration in Le Chevalier's profession of faith?
Were they not found again, five years later, in the astonishing
conception of Malet? Were things very different in 1814? The Emperor
vanquished, the defection of the generals, the descent of the princes,
the intervention of a provisional government, the reestablishment of the
monarchy, such were, in reality the events that followed; they were what
Georges had foreseen, what d'Aché had anticipated, what Le Chevalier had
divined with such clear-sightedness. Though they seemed miraculous to
many people they were simply the logical result of continued effort, the
success of a conspiracy in which the actors had frequently been changed,
but which had suffered no cessation from the coup d'état of Brumaire
until the abdication at Fontainebleau. The chiefs of the imperial
police, then, found themselves confronted by a new "affaire Georges."
From Flierlé's partial revelations and the little that had been learned
from the Buquets, they inferred that d'Aché was at the head of it, and
recommended all the authorities to search well, but quietly. In spite of
these exhortations, Caffarelli seemed to lose all interest in the plot,
which he had finally analysed as "vast but mad," and unworthy of any
further attention on his part.
The prefect of the Seine-Inférieure, Savoye-Rollin, had manifested a
zeal and ardour each time that Réal addressed him on the subject of the
affair of Quesnay, in singular contrast with the indifference shown by
his colleague of Calvados. Savoye-Rollin belonged to an old
parliamentary family. Being advocate-general to the parliament of
Grenoble before 1790, he had adopted the more moderate ideas of the
Revolution, and had been made a member of the tribunate on the
eighteenth Brumaire in 1806, at the age of fifty-two, he replaced
Beugnot in the prefecture of Rouen. He was a most worthy functionary, a
distinguished worker, and possessor of a fine fortune.
Réal left it to Savoye-Rollin to find d'Aché, who, they remembered, had
lived at the farm of Saint-Clair near Gournay, before Georges'
disembarkation, and who possessed some property in the vicinity of
Neufchâtel. The police of Rouen was neither better organised nor more
numerous than that of Caen, but its chief was a singular personage whose
activity made up for the qualities lacking in his men. He was a little,
restless, shrewd, clever man, full of imagination and wit, frank with
every one and fearing, as he himself said, "neither woman, God nor
devil." He was named Licquet, and in 1807 was fifty-three years old. At
the time of the Revolution he had been keeper of the rivers and forests
of Caudebec, which position he had resigned in 1790 for a post in the
municipal administration at Rouen. In the year IV he was chief of the
Bureau of Public Instruction, but in reality he alone did all the work
of the mayoralty, and also some of that of the Department, and did it so
well that he found himself, in 1802, in the post of secretary-in-chief
of the municipality. In this capacity he gave and inspected all
passports. For five years past no one had been able to travel in the
Seine-Inférieure without going through his office. As he had a good
memory and his business interested him, he had a very clear recollection
of all whom he had scrutinised and passed. He remembered very well
having signed the passport that took d'Aché from Gournay to
Saint-Germain-en-Laye in 1803, and retained a good idea of the robust
man, tall, with a high forehead and black hair. He remembered, moreover,
that d'Aché's "toe-nails were so grown into his flesh that he walked on
them."
Since this meeting with d'Aché, Licquet's appointments had increased
considerably; while retaining his place as secretary-general, he had
obtained the directorship of police, and fulfilled his functions with so
much energy, authority and cunning that no one dreamt of criticising his
encroachments. He was, besides, much feared for his bitter tongue, but
he pleased the prefect, who liked his wit and appreciated his
cleverness. From the beginning Licquet was fascinated by the idea of
discovering the elusive conspirator and thus demonstrating his
adroitness to the police of Paris; and his satisfaction was profound,
when, on the 17th of August, 1807, three days after having arranged a
plan of campaign and issued instructions to his subordinates, he was
informed that M. d'Aché was confined in the Conciergerie of the Palais
de Justice. He rushed to the Palais and ordered the prisoner to be
brought before him. It was "Tourlour," d'Aché's inoffensive brother
Placide, arrested at Saint Denis-du-Bosguérard, where he had gone to
visit his old mother. Licquet's disappointment was cruel, for he had
nothing to expect from Tourlour; but to hide his chagrin he questioned
him about his brother (whom Placide declared he had not seen for four
years) and how he passed his time, which was spent, said Tourlour, when
he was not in the Rue Saint-Patrice, between Saint-Denis-du-Bosguérard
and Mme. de Combray's château near Gaillon. Placide declared that he
only desired to live in peace, and to care for his aged and infirm
mother. This was the second time Licquet's attention had been attracted
by the name of Mme. de Combray. He had already read it, incidentally, in
the report of Flierlé's examination, and with the instinct of a
detective, for whom a single word will often unravel a whole plot, he
had a sudden intuition that in it lay the key to the entire affair.
Tourlour's imprudent admission, which was to bring terrible catastrophes
on Mme. de Combray's head, gave Licquet a thread that was to lead him
through the maze that Caffarelli had refused to enter.
Nearly a month earlier, Mme. de Combray had expressly forbidden Soyer to
talk about her return with Lefebre. She had shut herself up in her room
with Catherine Querey, her chambermaid; the lawyer had shared
Bonnoeil's room. Next day, Tuesday, July 28th, the Marquise had shown
Lefebre the apartments prepared for the King and the hiding-places in
the great château; Bonnoeil showed him copies of d'Aché's manifesto,
and the Duc d'Enghien's funeral oration, which they read, with deep
respect, after dinner. Towards evening Soyer announced the postmaster
of Gaillon, a friend who had often rendered valuable services to the
people at Tournebut. He had just heard that the commandant had received
orders from Paris to search the château, and would do so immediately.
Mme. de Combray was not at all disturbed; she had long been prepared for
this, and ordered Soyer to take some provisions to the little château,
where she repaired that night with Lefebre. There were two comfortable
hiding-places there whose mechanism she explained to the lawyer. One of
them was large enough to contain two mattresses side by side; she showed
Lefebre in, slipped after him, and shut the panels upon them both.
Bonnoeil remained alone at Tournebut. The quiet life he had led for
the last two years removed him from any suspicion, and he prepared to
receive the gendarmes who appeared at dawn on Friday. The commandant
showed his order, and Bonnoeil, confident of the issue, and completely
cool, opened all the doors and gave up the keys. The soldiers rummaged
the château from top to bottom. Nothing could have been more innocent
than the appearance of this great mansion, most of whose apartments
seemed to have been long unoccupied, and Bonnoeil stated that his
mother had gone a fortnight ago to Lower Normandy, where she went every
year about this time to collect her rents and visit her property near
Falaise. When the servants were interrogated they were all unanimous in
declaring that with the exception of Soyer and Mlle. Querey, they had
seen the Marquise start for Falaise, and did not know of her return.
The commandant returned to Gaillon with his men, little suspecting that
the woman he was looking for was calmly playing cards with one of her
accomplices a few steps away, while they were searching her house.
She lived with her guest for eight days in this house with the false
bottom, so to speak, never appearing outside, wandering through the
unfurnished rooms during the day, and returning to her hiding-place at
night.
They did not return to Tournebut till August 4th. The same day Soyer
received a letter from Mme. Acquet, on the envelope of which she had
written, "For Mama." It was an answer to the letter sent to
Croissanville by Lefebre. Mme. Acquet said that her mother's departure
did her a great wrong, but that all danger was over and Lefebre could
return to Falaise without fear. As for herself, she had found refuge
with a reliable person; the Abbé Moraud, vicar of Guibray, would take
charge of her correspondence. Of the proposal which had been made her to
take refuge at Tournebut, not a word. Evidently Mme. Acquet preferred
the retreat she had chosen for herself--where, she did not say. Mme. de
Combray, either hurt at this unjustifiable defiance, or afraid that she
would prove herself an accomplice in the theft if she did not separate
herself entirely from Mme. Acquet, made her maid reply that it was "too
late for her to come now, that she was very ill and could receive no
one." And thus the feeling that divided these two women was clearly
defined.
Lefebre undertook to give the letter to Abbé Moraud; he was in a great
hurry to return to Falaise, where he felt much safer than at Tournebut.
He left the same day, after having chosen a yellow horse from the
stables of the château. He put on top-boots and an overcoat belonging to
Bonnoeil, and left by a little door in the wall of the park. Soyer led
him as far as the Moulin des Quatre-Vents on the highroad. Lefebre took
the Neubourg road so as to avoid Evreux and Louviers. Two days after, he
breakfasted at Glatigny with Lanoë, leaving there his boots, overcoat,
and the yellow horse, and started gaily for Falaise, where he arrived in
the evening. He saw Mme. Acquet on the 7th, and found her completely at
her ease.
When Lanoë had abandoned her at the farm of Villeneuve, twelve days
before, Mme. Acquet had entreated so pitifully that a woman who was
there had gone to fetch Collin, one of the servants at La Bijude; Mme.
de Combray's daughter had returned with him to Falaise, on one of the
farmer's horses. She dared not go to the house in the Rue du Tripot, and
therefore stopped with an honest woman named Chauvel, who did the
washing for the Combray family. She was drawn there by the fact that the
son, Victor Chauvel, was one of the gendarmes who had been at Donnay the
night before, and she wanted to find out from him if the Buquets had
denounced her.
She went to the Chauvels' under pretence of getting Captain Manginot's
address. The gendarme was at supper. He was a man of thirty-six, an old
hussar, and a good fellow, but although married and the father of three
children, known as a "gadder, and fond of the sex." "When women are
around, Chauvel forgets everything," his comrades used to say. He now
saw Mme. Acquet for the first time, and to her questions replied that
her name had indeed been mentioned, and that Manginot, who was at the
"Grand-Ture," was looking for her. The young woman began to cry. She
implored Mme. Chauvel to keep her, promised to pay her, and appealed to
her pity, so that the washerwoman was touched. She had an attic in the
third story, some bedding was thrown on the floor, and from that place
Mme. Acquet wrote to tell her mother that she had found a safe retreat.
It was very safe indeed, and one can understand that she did not feel
the need of telling too precisely the conditions of the hospitality she
was given. Is it necessary to insist on the sort of relations
established from the moment of her arrival at the Chauvels, between the
poor woman whose fear of capture killed every other feeling and the
soldier on whom her fate depended? Chauvel had only to say one word to
insure her arrest; she yielded to him, he held his tongue and the
existence which then began for them both was so miserable and so tragic
that it excites more pity than disgust. Mme. Acquet had only one
thought--to escape the scaffold; Chauvel had only one wish--to keep this
unexpected mistress, more dear because he sacrificed for her his career,
his honour and perhaps his life. At first things went calmly enough. No
warrant had been issued for the fugitive, and in the evening she used to
go out disguised with Chauvel. Soon she grew bolder and walked in broad
daylight in the streets of Falaise. On the 15th of August Lefebre had
Lanoë to breakfast and invited her also; they talked freely, and Mme.
Acquet made no secret of the fact that she was living with the Chauvels
and that the son kept her informed of all orders received from Caen or
Paris. Lefebre led the conversation round to the "treasure," for the
money hidden at the Buquets had excited much cupidity. Bureau de
Placène, as "banker" to the Chouans, had advanced the claims of the
royal exchequer; Allain and Lerouge the baker--who showed entire
disinterestedness--had gone to Donnay, and with great trouble got 1,200
francs from the Buquets; five times Lerouge had gone in a little cart,
by appointment, to the forest of Harcourt, where he waited under a large
tree near the crossroad till Buquet brought him some money. In this way
Placène received 12,000 francs in crowns, "so coated with mud that his
wife was obliged to wash them." But Joseph's relations, who had been
arrested when he fled, swore that he alone knew where the rest of the
money was buried, and no one could get any more of it.
While at breakfast with the lawyer and Lanoë Mme. Acquet begged the
latter to undertake a search. She believed the money was buried in the
field of buckwheat between the Buquets' house and the walls of the
château, and wanted Lanoë to dig there, but he refused. She seemed to
have lost her head completely. She planned to throw herself at the
Emperor's feet imploring his pardon; she talked of recovering the stolen
money, returning it to the government, adding to it her "dot," and
leaving France forever. When she returned in the evening greatly
excited, she told the washerwoman of her plans; she dwelt on the idea
for three days, and thought she had only to restore the stolen money to
guarantee herself against punishment.
Chauvel was on duty. When he returned on the 19th he brought some news.
Caffarelli was to arrive in Falaise the next day, to interrogate Mme.
Acquet. The night passed in tears and agony. The poor woman attempted
suicide, and Chauvel seized the poison she was about to swallow. An
obscure point is reached here. Even if Caffarelli's ease and
indifference are admitted, it is hard to believe that he was an active
accomplice in the plot; but on the other hand, it is surprising that
Mme. Acquet did not fly as soon as she heard of his intended visit, and
that she consented to appear before him as if she were sure of finding
help and protection. The interview took place in the house of the mayor,
M. de Saint-Léonard, a relative of Mme. de Combray's, and resembled a
family council rather than an examination. Caffarelli was more paternal
than his rôle of judge warranted, and it was long believed in the family
that Mme. de Combray's remote relationship with the Empress Josephine's
family, which they had been careful not to boast of before, was drawn
upon to soften the susceptible prefect. Whatever the reason, Mme.
Acquet left the mayor's completely reassured, told Mme. Chauvel that she
was going away, and took many messages from the good woman to Mme. de
Combray, with whom she said she was going to spend several days at
Tournebut. On the 22d she made a bundle of her belongings, and taking
the arm of the gendarme, left the washerwoman's house disguised as a
peasant.
Life at Tournebut resumed its usual course after Lefebre's departure.
Mme. de Combray, satisfied that her daughter was safe, and that the
prefect of Calvados even if he suspected her, would never venture to
cause her arrest, went fearlessly among her neighbours. She was not
aware that the enquiry had passed from Caffarelli's hands into those of
the prefect of Rouen, and was now managed by a man whose malignity and
stubbornness would not be easily discouraged.
Licquet had taken a fortnight to study the affair. His only clues were
Flierlé's ambiguous replies and the Buquets' cautious confessions, but
during the years that he had eagerly devoted to detective work as an
amateur, he had laid up a good store of suspicions. The failure of the
gendarmes at Tournebut had convinced him that this old manor-house, so
peaceful of aspect, hid terrible secrets, and that its occupants had
arranged within it inaccessible retreats. Then he changed his tactics.
Mme. de Combray and Bonnoeil had gone in perfect confidence to spend
the afternoon at Gaillon; when they returned to Tournebut in the evening
they were suddenly stopped by a detachment of gendarmes posted across
the road. They were obliged to give their names; the officer showed a
warrant, and they all returned to the château, which was occupied by
soldiers. The Marquise protested indignantly against the invasion of her
house, but was forced to be present at a search that was begun
immediately and lasted all the evening. Towards midnight she and her son
were put into a carriage with two gendarmes and taken under escort to
Rouen, where, at dawn, they were thrown into the Conciergerie of the
Palais de Justice.
Licquet was only half satisfied with the result of the expedition; he
had hoped to take d'Aché, whom he believed to be hidden at Tournebut;
the police had arrested Mme. Levasseur and Jean-Baptiste Caqueray,
lately married to Louise d'Aché; but of the conspirator himself there
was no trace. For three years this extraordinary man had eluded the
police. Was it to be believed that he had lived all this time, buried in
some oubliette at Tournebut, and could one expect that Mme. de Combray
would reveal the secret of his retreat?
As soon as she arrived at the Conciergerie, Licquet, without showing
himself, had gone to "study" his prisoner. Like an old, caged lioness,
this woman of sixty-seven behaved with surprising energy; she showed no
evidence of depression or shame; she did as she liked in the prison,
complained of the food, grumbled all day, and raged at the gaolers.
There was no reason to hope that she would belie her character, nor to
count on an emotion she did not feel to obtain any information from
her. The prefect had her brought in a carriage to his house on August
23d, and interrogated her for two days. With the experience and
astuteness of an old offender, the Marquise assumed complete frankness;
but she only confessed to things she could not deny with success.
Licquet asked several questions; she did not reply until she had caused
them to be repeated several times, under pretence that she did not
understand them. She struggled desperately, arguing, quibbling, fighting
foot by foot. If she admitted knowing d'Aché and having frequently
offered him hospitality, she positively denied all knowledge of his
actual residence. In short, when Savoye-Rollin and Licquet sent her back
to the Conciergerie, they felt that they had had the worst of it and
gained nothing. Bonnoeil, when his turn came told them nothing but
what they already knew, and Placide d'Aché flew into a rage and denied
everything.
The prefect and his acolyte were feeling somewhat abashed at their
failure, when the concierge who had taken Mme. de Combray back to the
Palais asked to speak to them. He told them that in the carriage the
Marquise had offered him a large sum if he would take some letters to
one of the prisoners. Accustomed to these requests he had said neither
yes nor no, but had told "the Combray woman" that he would see her at
night, when going the rounds, and he had come to get the prefect's
orders concerning this correspondence. Licquet urged that the concierge
be authorised to receive the letters. He hoped by intercepting them to
learn much from the confidences and advice the Marquise would give her
fellow-prisoners. The idea was at first very repugnant to Savoye-Rollin,
but the Marquise's proposal seemed to establish her guilt so thoroughly,
that he did not feel obliged to be delicate and consented, not without
throwing on his secretary-general (one of Licquet's titles) the
responsibility for the proceeding. Having obtained this concession
Licquet took hold of the enquiry, and found it a good field for the
employment of his particular talents. No duel was ever more pitiless;
never did a detective show more ingenuity and duplicity. From "love of
the art," from sheer delight in it, Licquet worked himself up against
his prisoners with a passion that would be inexplicable, did not his
letters reveal the intense joy the struggle gave him. He felt no hatred
towards his victims, but only a ferocious satisfaction in seeing them
fall into the traps he prepared and in unveiling the mysteries of a plot
whose political significance seemed entirely indifferent to him.
With the keenest anticipation he awaited the time when Mme. de Combray's
letters to Bonnoeil and "Tourlour" should be handed to him. He had to
be patient till next day, and this first letter told nothing; the
Marquise gave her accomplices a sketch of her examination, and did it so
artfully that Licquet suspected her of having known that the letter was
to pass through his hands. The same day the concierge gave him another
letter as insignificant as the first, which, however, ended with this
sentence, whose perusal puzzled Licquet: "Do you not know that
Tourlour's brother has burnt the muslin fichu?"
"Tourlour's brother"--that was d'Aché. Had he recently returned to
Tournebut? Was he still there? Another letter, given to the gaoler by
Bonnoeil, answered these questions affirmatively. It was addressed to
a man of business named Legrand in the Rue Cauchoise, and ran thus: "I
implore you to start at once for Tournebut without telling any one of
the object of your journey; go to Grosmenil (the little château), see
the woman Bachelet, and burn everything she may have that seems
suspicious; you will do us a great service. Return this letter to me.
Tell Soyer that if any one asks if M. d'Aché has returned, it is two
years since he was seen at Tournebut."
That same evening the order for Soyer's arrest was sent to Gaillon, and
twelve hours later he also was in the Conciergerie at Rouen. This did
not prevent Bonnoeil's writing to him the next day, Licquet, as may be
imagined, not having informed the prisoners of his arrest.
"I beg you, my dear Soyer, to look in the two or three desks in my
mother's room, and see if you cannot find anything that could compromise
her, above all any of M. Delorières' (d'Aché's) writing. Destroy it all.
If you are asked how long it is since M. Delorières was at Tournebut,
say he has not been there for nearly two years. Tell this to Collin, to
Catin, and to the yard girl...."
Licquet carefully copied these letters and then sent them to their
destination, hoping that the answers would give him some light. In his
frequent visits to the prisoners he dared not venture on the slightest
allusion to the confidences they exchanged, for fear that they might
suspect the fidelity of their messenger, and refuse his help. Thus, many
points remained obscure to the detective. The next letter from
Bonnoeil to Soyer contained this sentence: "Put the small curtains on
the window of the place where I told you to bury the nail...." We can
imagine Licquet with his head in his hands trying to solve this enigma.
The muslin fichu, the little curtains, the nail--was this a cipher
decided on in advance between the prisoners? And all these precautions
seemed to be taken for the mysterious d'Aché whose safety seemed to be
their sole desire. A word from Mme. de Combray to Bonnoeil leaves no
doubt as to the conspirator's recent sojourn at Tournebut: "I wish Mme.
K.... to go to my house and see with So ... if Delor ... has not left
some paper in the oil-cloth of the little room near the room where the
cooks slept. Let him look everywhere and burn everything." This time the
information seemed so sure that Licquet started for Tournebut, which had
been occupied by gendarmes for a fortnight; he took Soyer to guide him,
and the commissary of police, Legendre, to make a report of the search.
They arrived at Tournebut on the morning of September 5th. Licquet, who
was much exhilarated by this hunt for conspirators, must have felt a
singular emotion on approaching the mysterious mansion, object of all
his thoughts. He took it all in at a glance, he was struck by the
isolation of the château, away from the road below the woods; he found
that it could be entered at twenty different places, without one's being
seen. He sent away the servants, posted a gendarme at each door, and
conducted by Soyer, entered the apartments.
First he went to the brick wing built by de Marillac, where was a vast
chamber occupied by Bonnoeil and leading to the great hall,
astoundingly high and solemn in spite of its dilapidation, with a brick
floor, a ceiling with great beams, and immense windows looking over the
terrace towards the Seine. By a double door with monumental ironwork,
set in a wall as thick as a bastille, Mme. de Combray's apartments were
reached, the first room wainscoted, then a boudoir, next a small room
hidden by a staircase, and communicating with a lot of other small, low
rooms. A long passage, lighted by three windows opening on the terrace,
led, leaving the Marquise's bedchamber on the right, to the most ancient
part of the château the front of which had been recently restored.
Having crossed the landing of the steps leading to the garden, one
reached the salon; then the dining-room, where there was a stone
staircase leading to the first floor. On this were a long passage and
three chambers looking out on the valley of the Seine, and a lot of
small rooms that were not used. All the rest was lofts, where the
framework of the roofs crossed. When a door was opened, frightened bats
flapped their wings with a great noise in the darkness of this forest
of enormous, worm-eaten beams. In fact, everything looked very simple;
there was no sign whatever of a hiding-place. The furniture was opened,
the walls sounded, and the panels examined without finding any hollow
place. It was now Soyer's turn to appear. Whether he feared for himself,
or whether Licquet had made him understand that denial was useless, Mme.
de Combray's confidential man consented to guide the detectives. He took
a bunch of keys and followed by Licquet and Legendre, went up to a
little room under the roof of a narrow building next to Marillac's wing.
This room had only one window, on the north, with a bit of green stuff
for a curtain; its only furniture was a miserable wooden bed drawn into
the middle of the room. Licquet and the commissary examined the
partitions and had them sounded. Soyer allowed them to rummage in all
the corners, then, when they had given up all idea of finding anything
themselves, he went up to the bed, put his hand under the mattress and
removed a nail. They immediately heard the fall of a weight behind the
wall, which opened, disclosing a chamber large enough to hold fifteen
persons. In it were a wooden bench, a large chafing-dish, silver
candlesticks, a trunk full of papers and letters, two packets of hair of
different colours, and some treatises on games. They seized among other
things, the funeral oration of the Duc d'Enghien, copied by Placide, and
the passport d'Aché had obtained at Rouen in 1803, which was signed by
Licquet. When they had put everything in a bag and closed the
partition, when they had sufficiently admired the mechanism which left
no crack or opening visible, Soyer, still followed by two policemen,
went over the whole château, climbed to the loft, and stopped at last in
a little room at the end of the building. It was full of soiled linen
hung on ropes; a thick beam was fixed almost level with the ground, the
whole length of the wall embellished with shelves supported by brackets.
Soyer thrust his hand into a small, worm-eaten hole in the beam, and
drawing out a piece of iron, fitted it on a nail that seemed to be
driven into one of the brackets. Instantly the shelves folded up, a door
opened in the wall, and they entered a room large enough to hold fifty
people with ease. A window--impossible to discover from the
outside--opened on the roof of the chapel, and gave light and air to
this apartment; it contained only a large wardrobe, in which were an
earthen dish and an altar stone.
And so this old manor-house, with its venerable and homelike air, was
arranged as a resort for brigands, and an arsenal and retreat for a
little army of conspirators. For Soyer also revealed the secrets of the
_oubliettes_ of the little château, whose unfurnished rooms could
shelter a considerable garrison; they only found there three trunks full
of silver, marked with so many different arms that Licquet believed it
must have come from the many thefts perpetrated during the last fifteen
years in the neighbourhood. On examination it proved to be nothing of
the sort, but that all these different pieces of silver bore the arms
of branches of the families of Brunelle and Combray; but even though he
was obliged to withdraw his first supposition, Licquet was firm in
attributing to the owners of Tournebut all the misdeeds that had been
committed in the region since the Directory. These perfect
hiding-places, this château on the banks of the river, in the woods
between two roads, like the rocky nests in which the robber-chiefs of
the middle ages fortified themselves, explained so well the attacks on
the coaches, the bands of brigands who disappeared suddenly, and
remained undiscoverable, that the detective gave free rein to his
imagination. He persuaded himself that d'Aché was there, buried in some
hollow wall of which even Soyer had not the secret, and as the only
hope, in this event, was to starve him out, Licquet sent all of Mme. de
Combray's servants away, and left a handful of soldiers in the château,
the keys of which, as well as the administration of the property, he
left in the hands of the mayor of Aubevoye.
His first thought on returning to Rouen was for his prisoners. They had
continued to correspond during his absence, and copies of all their
letters were faithfully delivered to him; but they seemed to have told
each other all they had that was interesting to tell, and the
correspondence threatened to become monotonous. The imagination of the
detective found a way of reawakening the interest. One evening, when
every one was asleep in the prison, Licquet gave the gaoler orders to
open several doors hastily, to push bolts, and walk about noisily in the
corridors, and when, next day, Mme. de Combray enquired the cause of
all this hubbub, she was easily induced to believe that Lefebre had been
arrested at Falaise and imprisoned during the night. An hour later the
concierge, with a great show of secrecy, gave the Marquise a note
written by Licquet, in which "Lefebre" informed her of his arrest, and
said that he had disguised his writing as an act of prudence. The
stratagem was entirely successful. Mme. de Combray answered, and her
letter was immediately given to Licquet, who, awaiting some definite
information, was astonished to find himself confronted with a fresh
mystery. "Let me know," said the Marquise, "how the horse went back;
that no one saw it anywhere."
What horse? What answer should he give? If Lefebre had been really in
prison, it would have been possible to give a sensible reply, but
without his help how could Licquet avoid awakening her suspicions as to
the personality of her correspondent? In the rôle of the lawyer he wrote
a few lines, avoiding any mention of the horse, and asking how the
examinations went off. To this the Marquise replied: "The prefect and a
bad fellow examined us. But you do not tell me if the horse has been
sent back, and by whom. If they asked me, what should I say?"
The "bad fellow" was Licquet himself, and he knew it; but this time he
must answer. Hoping that chance would favour him, he adopted an
expedient to gain time. He let Mme. de Combray hear that Lefebre had
fainted during an examination, and was not in a condition to write. But
she did not slacken her correspondence, and wrote several letters daily
to the lawyer, which greatly increased Licquet's perplexity:
"Tell me what has become of my yellow horse. The police are still at
Tournebut; now if they hear about the horse--you can guess the rest. Be
smart enough to say that you sold it at the fair at Rouen. Little
Licquet is sharp and clever, but he often lies. My only worry is the
horse; they will soon have the clue. My hand trembles; can you read
this? If I hear anything about the horse I will let you know at once,
but just now I know nothing. Don't worry about the saddle and bridle.
They were sent to Deslorières, who told me he had received them."
This yellow horse assumed gigantic proportions in Licquet's imagination;
it haunted him day and night, and galloped through all his nightmares. A
fresh search at Tournebut proved that the stables contained only a small
donkey and four horses, instead of the usual five, and the peasants said
that the missing beast was "reddish, inclining to yellow." As the
detective sent Réal all of Mme. de Combray's letters in his daily
budget, they were just as much agitated in Paris over this mysterious
animal, whose discovery was, as the Marquise said, the clue to the whole
affair. Whom had this horse drawn or carried? One of the Bourbon
princes, perhaps? D'Aché? Mme. Acquet, whom they were vainly seeking
throughout Normandy? Licquet was obliged to confess to his chiefs that
he did not know to what occurrence the story of the horse referred. He
felt that the weight attached by Mme. de Combray to its return,
increased the importance of knowing what it had been used for. "This is
the main point," he said; "the horse, the saddle and bridle must be
found."
In the absence of Lefebre, who could have solved the enigma, and whom
Caffarelli had not decided to arrest, there remained one way of
discovering Mme. de Combray's secret--an odious way, it is true, but one
that Licquet, in his bewilderment, did not hesitate to employ. This was
to put a spy with her, who would make her speak. There was in the
Conciergerie at Rouen a woman named Delaitre, who had been there for six
years. This woman was employed in the infirmary; she had good enough
manners, expressed herself well, and was about the same age as Mme.
Acquet. It was easy to believe that, in return for some remission of her
sentence, she would act as Licquet's spy. They spoke of her to the
Marquise, taking care to represent her as a royalist, persecuted for her
opinions. The Marquise expressed a wish to see her; Delaitre played her
part to perfection, saying that she had been educated with Mme. Acquet
at the convent of the Nouvelles Catholique, and that she felt honoured
in sharing the prison of the mother of her old school friend. In short,
that evening she was in a position to betray the Marquise's confidence
to Licquet. She had learned that Mme. Acquet had assisted at many of the
attacks on coaches, dressed as a man. Mme. de Combray dreaded nothing
more than to have her daughter fall into the hands of the police. "If
she is taken," she said, "she will accuse me." The Marquise was resigned
to her fate; she knew she was destined for the scaffold; "after all, the
King and the Queen had perished on the guillotine, and she would die
there also." However, she was anxious to know if she could be saved by
paying a large sum; but not a word was said about the yellow horse.
The next day she again wrote of the fear she felt for her daughter; she
would have liked to warn her to disguise herself and go as a servant ten
or twelve leagues from Falaise. "If she is arrested she will speak, and
then I am lost," she continued; so that Licquet came to the conclusion
that the reason the Marquise did not want the yellow horse to be found
was that it would lead to the discovery of her daughter. Mme. Acquet had
so successfully disappeared during the last two weeks that Réal was
convinced she had escaped to England. Nothing could be done without
d'Aché or Mme. Acquet. The failure of the pursuit, showing the organised
strength of the royalist party and the powerlessness of the government,
would justify Caffarelli's indolent neutrality. On the other hand,
Licquet knew that failure spelled ruin for him. He had made the affair
his business; his prefect, Savoye-Rollin, was very half-hearted about
it, and quite ready to stop all proceedings at the slightest hitch. Réal
was even preparing to sacrifice his subordinate if need be, and to the
amiable letters at first received from the ministry of police,
succeeded curt orders that implied disfavour. "It is indispensable to
find Mme. Acquet's retreat." "You must arrest d'Aché without delay, and
above all find the yellow horse."
As if the Marquise were enjoying the confusion into which the mention of
this phantom beast threw her persecutor, she continued to scribble on
scraps of paper which the concierge was told to take to the lawyer, who
never received them.
"There is one great difficulty; the yellow horse is wanted. I shall send
a safe and intelligent man to the place where it is, to tell the people
to have it killed twelve leagues away and skinned at once. Send me in
writing the road he must take, and the people to whom he must apply, so
as to be able to do it without asking anything. He is strong and able to
do fifteen leagues a day. Send me an answer."
Mme. de Combray had applied to the woman Delaitre for this "safe and
intelligent man," and the latter had, at Licquet's instance, offered the
services of her husband, an honest royalist, who in reality did not
exist, but was to be personated by a man whom Licquet had ready to send
in search of the horse as soon as its whereabouts should be determined.
Lefebre refused to answer this question for the same reason that he had
refused to answer others, and the detective was obliged to confess his
perplexity to Réal. "There is no longer any trouble in intercepting the
prisoner's letters; the difficulty of sending replies increases each
day. You must give me absolution, Monsieur, for all the sins that this
affair has caused me to commit; for the rest, all is fair in love and
war, and surely we are at war with these people." To which Réal replied:
"I cannot believe that the horse only served for Mme. Acquet's flight;
they would not advise the strange precaution of taking it twelve leagues
away, killing, and skinning it on the spot. These anxieties show the
existence of some grave offence, for which the horse was employed, and
which its discovery will disclose. You must find out the history of this
animal; how long Mme. de Combray has had it, and who owned it before."
In vain Licquet protested that he had exhausted his supply of inventions
and ruses; the invariable reply was, "Find the yellow horse!"
He cursed his own zeal; but an unexpected event renewed his confidence
and energy. Lefebre, who was arrested early in September, had just been
thrown into the Conciergerie at Rouen. This new card, if well played,
would set everything right. It was easy to induce Mme. de Combray to
write another letter insisting once more on knowing "the exact address
of the horse," and the lawyer at last answered unsuspectingly, "With
Lanoë at Glatigny, near Bretteville-sur-Dives."
With Lanoë! Why had Licquet never guessed it! This name, indeed, so
often mentioned in the declarations of the prisoners, had made no
impression on him. Mme. Acquet was hidden there without doubt, and he
triumphantly sent off an express to Réal announcing the good news, and
sent two sharp men to Glatigny at the same time. They left Rouen on
September 15th, and time lagged for Licquet while awaiting their return.
Three days, five days, ten days passed without any news of them. In his
impatience he spent his time worrying Lefebre. A continuous
correspondence was established between him and Mme. de Combray; but in
his letters, as in his examination, he showed great mistrust, and
Licquet even began to fear that the prudent lawyer would not have told
where the yellow horse was, if he had not been sure that the hunt for it
would be fruitless. And so the detective, who had played his last card,
was in an agony during the two weeks' absence of his men. At last they
returned, discomfited and weary, leading the foundered yellow horse, and
accompanied by a sort of colossus, "somewhat resembling a grenadier,"
who was no other than Lanoë's wife.
The story told by Licquet's emissaries was as short as it was delusive.
On arriving at Bretteville-sur-Dives they had gone to the farm of
Glatigny, but had not found Lanoë, whom Caffarelli had arrested a
fortnight before. His wife had received them, and after their first
enquiry had led them to the famous horse's stable, enchanted at being
relieved of the famished beast who consumed all her fodder. The men had
gone as far as Caen, and obtained the prefect's authorisation to speak
to Lanoë. The latter remembered that Lefebre had left the horse with him
at the end of July, on returning from Tournebut, but he denied all
knowledge of Mme. Acquet's retreat. If he was to be believed, she was "a
prisoner of her family," and would never be found, as the whole country
round Falaise was "sold" to the mayor, M. de Saint-Léonard, who had
declared himself his cousin's protector.
Lanoë's wife was sent back to Glatigny, but the horse was kept at
Rouen--apparently in the hope that this dumb witness would bring some
revelation. Licquet even cut off some of its hairs and sent them,
carefully wrapped up, to Mme. de Combray, implying that they came from
the faithful Delaitre, to whom the Marquise had confided the task of
disposing of the compromising animal. The same evening the Marquise,
completely reassured, wrote the following note to the lawyer:
"You see that my commissioner was speedy. I have had certain proof. He
went to Lanoë's wife, found the horse, got on it, went five or six
leagues, killed it, and brought away the skin. He brought me some of its
coat, and I send you half, so that you may see the truth for yourself,
and so have no fear. I am going to write to Soyer to say that he sold
the horse at Guibray for 350 livres."
In her joy at being delivered from her nightmare, she wrote the same day
to Colas, her groom, who was also in the Conciergerie: "Do not worry: do
you need money? I will send you twelve francs. The cursed horse! They
have sent me some of its skin, which I send for recognition. Burn this."
And to her chambermaid, Catherine Querey: "The horse is killed. My agent
skinned and burnt it. If you are asked about the missing horse, say that
it was sold. My miserable daughter gives me a great deal of pain."
Thus ends the story of the yellow horse. It finished its mysterious
odyssey in the stables of Savoye-Rollin, where Licquet often visited it,
as if he could thus learn its secret. For a doubt remained, and Réal's
suggestion haunted him: "If the horse had only served for Mme. Acquet's
flight, they would not advise the strange precaution of taking it twelve
leagues away, killing, and skinning it on the spot." Even now a great
deal of mystery hangs about it. The horse had not been used by Mme.
Acquet, because we know that since the robbery of June 7th, she had not
left the neighbourhood of Falaise. Lefebre had ridden it from Tournebut;
but was that a fact to be so carefully concealed? Why did the Marquise
in her confidential letters insist on this point? "Say that the lawyer
returned to his house on foot," is a sentence that we find in each of
her letters. Since no mystery was made of the journey, why was its means
of accomplishment important?
There was something unexplained, and Licquet was not satisfied. His
tricks had brought no result. D'Aché was not found; Mme. Acquet had
disappeared; her description had in vain been sent to all the brigades.
Manginot, in despair of finding her, had renounced the search, and
Savoye-Rollin himself was "determined to suspend all action." Such was
the situation during the last days of September. It seemed most probable
that the affair of Quesnay and the great plot of which it was an
off-shoot, were going to join many others of the same kind, whose
originators Fouché's police had despaired of finding, when an unexpected
event reawakened Licquet's fervour and suggested to him a new
machination.