M. Floçon, the Chief, was an early man, and he paid a first visit to
his office about 7 A.M.
He lived just round the corner in the Rue des Arcs, and had not far to
go to the Prefecture. But even now, soon after daylight, he was
correctly dressed, as became a responsible ministerial officer. He wore
a tight frock coat and an immaculate white tie; under his arm he
carried the regulation portfolio, or lawyer’s bag, stuffed full of
reports, dispositions, and documents dealing with cases in hand. He was
altogether a very precise and natty little personage, quiet and
unpretending in demeanour, with a mild, thoughtful face in which two
small ferrety eyes blinked and twinkled behind gold-rimmed glasses. But
when things went wrong, when he had to deal with fools, or when scent
was keen, or the enemy near, he would become as fierce and eager as any
terrier.
He had just taken his place at his table and begun to arrange his
papers, which, being a man of method, he kept carefully sorted by lots
each in an old copy of the _Figaro_, when he was called to the
telephone. His services were greatly needed, as we know, at the Lyons
station and the summons was to the following effect:
“Crime on train No. 45. A man murdered in the sleeper. All the
passengers held. Please come at once. Most important.”
A fiacre was called instantly, and M. Floçon, accompanied by Galipaud
and Block, the two first inspectors for duty, was driven with all
possible speed across Paris.
He was met outside the station, just under the wide verandah, by the
officials, who gave him a brief outline of the facts, so far as they
were known, and as they have already been put before the reader.
“The passengers have been detained?” asked M. Floçon at once.
“Those in the sleeping-car only—”
“Tut, tut! they should have been all kept—at least until you had taken
their names and addresses. Who knows what they might not have been able
to tell?”
It was suggested that as the crime was committed presumably while the
train was in motion, only those in the one car could be implicated.
“We should never jump to conclusions,” said the Chief snappishly.
“Well, show me the train card—the list of the travellers in the
sleeper.”
“It cannot be found, sir.”
“Impossible! Why, it is the porter’s business to deliver it at the end
of the journey to his superiors, and under the law—to us. Where is the
porter? In custody?”
“Surely, sir, but there is something wrong with him.”
“So I should think! Nothing of this kind could well occur without his
knowledge. If he was doing his duty—unless, of course, he—but let us
avoid hasty conjectures.”
“He has also lost the passengers’ tickets, which you know he retains
till the end of the journey. After the catastrophe, however, he was
unable to lay his hand upon his pocket-book. It contained all his
papers.”
“Worse and worse. There is something behind all this. Take me to him.
Stay, can I have a private room close to the other—where the prisoners,
those held on suspicion, are? It will be necessary to hold
investigations, take their depositions. M. le Juge will be here
directly.”
M. Floçon was soon installed in a room actually communicating with the
waiting-room, and as a preliminary of the first importance, taking
precedence even of the examination of the sleeping-car, he ordered the
porter to be brought in to answer certain questions.
The man, Ludwig Groote, as he presently gave his name, thirty-two years
of age, born at Amsterdam, looked such a sluggish, slouching,
blear-eyed creature that M. Floçon began by a sharp rebuke.
“Now. Sharp! Are you always like this?” cried the Chief.
The porter still stared straight before him with lack-lustre eyes, and
made no immediate reply.
“Are you drunk? are you—Can it be possible?” he said, and in vague
reply to a sudden strong suspicion, he went on:
“What were you doing between Laroche and Paris? Sleeping?”
The man roused himself a little. “I think I slept. I must have slept. I
was very drowsy. I had been up two nights; but so it is always, and I
am not like this generally. I do not understand.”
“Hah!” The Chief thought he understood. “Did you feel this drowsiness
before leaving Laroche?”
“No, monsieur, I did not. Certainly not. I was fresh till then—quite
fresh.”
“Hum; exactly; I see;” and the little Chief jumped to his feet and ran
round to where the porter stood sheepishly, and sniffed and smelt at
him.
“Yes, yes.” Sniff, sniff, sniff, the little man danced round and round
him, then took hold of the porter’s head with one hand, and with the
other turned down his lower eyelid so as to expose the eyeball, sniffed
a little more, and then resumed his seat.
“Exactly. And now, where is your train card?”
“Pardon, monsieur, I cannot find it.”
“That is absurd. Where do you keep it? Look again—search—I must have
it.”
The porter shook his head hopelessly.
“It is gone, monsieur, and my pocket-book.”
“But your papers, the tickets—”
“Everything was in it, monsieur. I must have dropped it.”
Strange, very strange. However—the fact was to be recorded, for the
moment. He could of course return to it.
“You can give me the names of the passengers?”
“No, monsieur. Not exactly. I cannot remember, not enough to
distinguish between them.”
“_Fichtre!_ But this is most devilishly irritating. To think that I
have to do with a man so stupid—such an idiot, such an ass!”
“At least you know how the berths were occupied, how many in each, and
which persons? Yes? You can tell me that? Well, go on. By and by we
will have the passengers in, and you can fix their places, after I have
ascertained their names. Now, please! For how many was the car?”
“Sixteen. There were two compartments of four berths each, and four of
two berths each.”
“Stay, let us make a plan. I will draw it. Here, now, is that right?”
and the Chief held up the rough diagram, here shown—
[Illustration]
“Here we have the six compartments. Now take _a_, with berths 1, 2, 3,
and 4. Were they all occupied?”
“No; only two, by Englishmen. I know that they talked English, which I
understand a little. One was a soldier; the other, I think, a
clergyman, or priest.”
“Good! we can verify that directly. Now, _b_, with berths 5 and 6. Who
was there?”
“One gentleman. I don’t remember his name. But I shall know him by
appearance.”
“Go on. In _c_, two berths, 7 and 8?”
“Also one gentleman. It was he who—I mean, that is where the crime
occurred.”
“Ah, indeed, in 7 and 8? Very well. And the next, 9 and 10?”
“A lady. Our only lady. She came from Rome.”
“One moment. Where did the rest come from? Did any embark on the road?”
“No, monsieur; all the passengers travelled through from Rome.”
“The dead man included? Was he Roman?”
“That I cannot say, but he came on board at Rome.”
“Very well. This lady—she was alone?”
“In the compartment, yes. But not altogether.”
“I do not understand!”
“She had her servant with her.”
“In the car?”
“No, not in the car. As a passenger by second class. But she came to
her mistress sometimes, in the car.”
“For her service, I presume?”
“Well, yes, monsieur, when I would permit it. But she came a little too
often, and I was compelled to protest, to speak to Madame la Comtesse—”
“She was a countess, then?”
“The maid addressed her by that title. That is all I know. I heard
her.”
“When did you see the lady’s maid last?”
“Last night. I think at Amberieux. about 8 p.m.”
“Not this morning?”
“No, sir, I am quite sure of that.”
“Not at Laroche? She did not come on board to stay, for the last stage,
when her mistress would be getting up, dressing, and likely to require
her?”
“No; I should not have permitted it.”
“And where is the maid now, d’you suppose?”
The porter looked at him with an air of complete imbecility.
“She is surely somewhere near, in or about the station. She would
hardly desert her mistress now,” he said, stupidly, at last.
“At any rate we can soon settle that.” The Chief turned to one of his
assistants, both of whom had been standing behind him all the time, and
said:
“Step out, Galipaud, and see. No, wait. I am nearly as stupid as this
simpleton. Describe this maid.”
“Tall and slight, dark-eyed, very black hair. Dressed all in black,
plain black bonnet. I cannot remember more.”
“Find her, Galipaud—keep your eye on her. We may want her—why, I cannot
say, as she seems disconnected with the event, but still she ought to
be at hand.” Then, turning to the porter, he went on. “Finish, please.
You said 9 and 10 was the lady’s. Well, 11 and 12?”
“It was vacant all through the run.”
“And the last compartment, for four?”
“There were two berths, occupied both by Frenchmen, at least so I
judged them. They talked French to each other and to me.”
“Then now we have them all. Stand aside, please, and I will make the
passengers come in. We will then determine their places and affix their
names from their own admissions. Call them in, Block, one by one.”