Yet what a disappointment it produced after the fever of anxiety and
expectation that had seized hold of everybody present. This strange
epistle furnished no clue whatever to the mystery; and the ray of hope
that had sparkled for an instant in M. Segmuller’s eyes speedily faded
away. As for the versatile Goguet he returned with increased conviction
to his former opinion, that the prisoner had the advantage over his
accusers.
“How unfortunate,” remarked the governor of the Depot, with a shade
of sarcasm in his voice, “that so much trouble, and such marvelous
penetration, should be wasted!”
“So you think, sir, that I have wasted my time!” rejoined Lecoq in a
tone of angry banter, a scarlet flush mantling at the same time over his
features. “Such is not my opinion. This scrap of paper undeniably proves
that if any one has been mistaken as regards the prisoner’s identity, it
is certainly not I.”
“Very well,” was the reply. “M. Gevrol and myself may have been
mistaken: no one is infallible. But have you learned anything more than
you knew before? Have you made any progress?”
“Why, yes. Now that people know the prisoner is not what he pretends to
be, instead of annoying and hampering me, perhaps they will assist us to
discover who he really is.”
Lecoq’s tone, and his allusion to the difficulties he had encountered,
cut the governor to the quick. The knowledge that the reproof was not
altogether undeserved increased his resentment and determined him to
bring this discussion with an inferior to an abrupt close. “You are
right,” said he, sarcastically. “This May must be a very great and
illustrious personage. Only, my dear Monsieur Lecoq (for there is an
only), do me the favor to explain how such an important personage could
disappear, and the police not be advised of it? A man of rank, such
as you suppose this prisoner to be, usually has a family, friends,
relatives, proteges, and numerous connections; and yet not a single
person has made any inquiry during the three weeks that this fellow May
has been under my charge! Come, admit you never thought of that.”
The governor had just advanced the only serious objection that could be
found to the theory adopted by the prosecution. He was wrong, however,
in supposing that Lecoq had failed to foresee it; for it had never once
been out of the young detective’s mind; and he had racked his brain
again and again to find some satisfactory explanation. At the present
moment he would undoubtedly have made some angry retort to the
governor’s sneering criticism, as people are wont to do when their
antagonists discover the weak spot in their armor, had not M. Segmuller
opportunely intervened.
“All these recriminations do no good,” he remarked, calmly; “we can make
no progress while they continue. It would be much wiser to decide upon
the course that is now to be pursued.”
Thus reminded of the present situation of affairs, the young detective
smiled; all his rancor was forgotten. “There is, I think, but one course
to pursue,” he replied in a modest tone; “and I believe it will
be successful by reason of its simplicity. We must substitute a
communication of our own composition for this one. That will not be
at all difficult, since I have the key to the cipher. I shall only
be obliged to purchase a similar volume of Beranger’s songs; and May,
believing that he is addressing his accomplice, will reply in all
sincerity--will reveal everything perhaps--”
“Excuse me!” interrupted the governor, “but how will you obtain
possession of his reply?”
“Ah! you ask me too much. I know the way in which his letters have
reached him. For the rest, I will watch and find a way--never fear!”
Goguet, the smiling clerk, could not conceal an approving grin. If he
had happened to have ten francs in his pocket just then he would have
risked them all on Lecoq without a moment’s hesitation.
“First,” resumed the young detective, “I will replace this missive by
one of my own composition. To-morrow, at breakfast time, if the prisoner
gives the signal, Father Absinthe shall throw the morsel of bread
enclosing my note through the window while I watch the effect through
the hole in the ceiling of the cell.”
Lecoq was so delighted with this plan of his that he at once rang the
bell, and when the magistrate’s messenger appeared, he gave him half a
franc and requested him to go at once and purchase some of the thinnest
tissue paper. When this had been procured, Lecoq took his seat at the
clerk’s desk, and, provided with the volume of Beranger’s songs, began
to compose a fresh note, copying as closely as possible the forms of the
figures used by the unknown correspondent. The task did not occupy him
more than ten minutes, for, fearing lest he might commit some blunder,
he reproduced most of the words of the original letter, giving them,
however, an entirely different meaning.
When completed, his note read as follows: “I have told her your wishes;
she does not submit. Our safety is threatened. We are awaiting your
orders. I tremble.”
Having acquainted the magistrate with the purport of the note, Lecoq
next rolled up the paper, and enclosing it in the fragment of bread,
remarked: “To-morrow we shall learn something new.”
To-morrow! The twenty-four hours that separated the young man from the
decisive moment he looked forward to seemed as it were a century; and he
resorted to every possible expedient to hasten the passing of the time.
At length, after giving precise instructions to Father Absinthe, he
retired to his loft for the night. The hours seemed interminable, and
such was his nervous excitement that he found it quite impossible to
sleep. On rising at daybreak he discovered that the prisoner was already
awake. May was sitting on the foot of his bed, apparently plunged in
thought. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and paced restlessly to and
fro. He was evidently in an unusually agitated frame of mind: for he
gesticulated wildly, and at intervals repeated: “What misery! My God!
what misery!”
“Ah! my fine fellow,” thought Lecoq, “you are anxious about the daily
letter you failed to receive yesterday. Patience, patience! One of my
writing will soon arrive.”
At last the young detective heard the stir usually preceding the
distribution of the food. People were running to and fro, sabots clicked
noisily in the corridors, and the keepers could be heard engaged in loud
conversation. By and by the prison bell began to toll. It was eleven
o’clock, and soon afterward the prisoner commenced to sing his favorite
song:
“Diogene! Sous ton manteau, libre et content--”
Before he commenced the third line the slight sound caused by the
fragment of bread as it fell upon the stone floor caused him to pause
abruptly.
Lecoq, at the opening in the ceiling above, was holding his breath
and watching with both eyes. He did not miss one of the prisoner’s
movements--not so much as the quiver of an eyelid. May looked first at
the window, and then all round the cell, as if it were impossible for
him to explain the arrival of this projectile. It was not until some
little time had elapsed that he decided to pick it up. He held it in
the hollow of his hand, and examined it with apparent curiosity. His
features expressed intense surprise, and any one would have sworn that
he was innocent of all complicity. Soon a smile gathered round his lips,
and after a slight shrug of the shoulders, which might be interpreted,
“Am I a fool?” he hastily broke the pellet in half. The sight of the
paper which it contained seemed to amaze him.
“What does all this mean?” wondered Lecoq.
The prisoner had opened the note, and was examining with knitted brows
the figures which were apparently destitute of all meaning to him. Then,
suddenly rushing to the door of his cell, and hammering upon it with
clenched fists, he cried at the top of his voice: “Here! keeper! here!”
“What do you want?” shouted a turnkey, whose footsteps Lecoq could hear
hastening along the adjoining passage.
“I wish to speak to the magistrate.”
“Very well. He shall be informed.”
“Immediately, if you please. I have a revelation to make.”
“He shall be sent for immediately.”
Lecoq waited to hear no more. He tore down the narrow staircase leading
from the loft, and rushed to the Palais de Justice to acquaint M.
Segmuller with what had happened.
“What can all this mean?” he wondered as he darted over the pavement.
“Are we indeed approaching a denouement? This much is certain, the
prisoner was not deceived by my note. He could only decipher it with
the aid of his volume of Beranger, and he did not even touch the book;
plainly, then, he hasn’t read the letter.”
M. Segmuller was no less amazed than the young detective. They both
hastened to the prison, followed by the smiling clerk, who was the
magistrate’s inevitable shadow. On their way they encountered the
governor of the Depot, arriving all in a flutter, having been greatly
excited by that important word “revelation.” The worthy official
undoubtedly wished to express an opinion, but the magistrate checked him
by the abrupt remark, “I know all about it, and I am coming.”
When they had reached the narrow corridor leading to the secret cells,
Lecoq passed on in advance of the rest of the party. He said to himself
that by stealing upon the prisoner unawares he might possibly find him
engaged in surreptitiously reading the note. In any case, he would have
an opportunity to glance at the interior of the cell. May was seated
beside the table, his head resting on his hands. At the grating of the
bolt, drawn by the governor himself, the prisoner rose to his feet,
smoothed his hair, and remained standing in a respectful attitude,
apparently waiting for the visitors to address him.
“Did you send for me?” inquired the magistrate.
“Yes, sir.”
“You have, I understand, some revelation to make to me.”
“I have something of importance to tell you.”
“Very well! these gentlemen will retire.”
M. Segmuller had already turned to Lecoq and the governor to request
them to withdraw, when the prisoner motioned him not to do so.
“It is not necessary,” said May, “I am, on the contrary, very well
pleased to speak before these gentlemen.”
“Speak, then.”
May did not wait for the injunction to be repeated. Throwing his
chest forward, and his head back as had been his wont throughout his
examinations, whenever he wished to make an oratorical display, he
began as follows: “It shall be for you to say, gentlemen, whether I’m an
honest man or not. The profession matters little. One may, perhaps, act
as the clown of a traveling show, and yet be an honest man--a man of
honor.”
“Oh, spare us your reflections!”
“Very well, sir, that suits me exactly. To be brief, then here is a
little paper which was thrown into my cell a few minutes ago. There are
some numbers on it which may mean something; but I have examined them,
and they are quite Greek to me.”
He paused, and then handing Lecoq’s missive to the magistrate, quietly
added: “It was rolled up in a bit of bread.”
This declaration was so unexpected, that it struck all the officials
dumb with surprise, but the prisoner, without seeming to notice the
effect he had produced, placidly continued: “I suppose the person who
threw it, made a mistake in the window. I know very well that it’s
a mean piece of business to denounce a companion in prison. It’s a
cowardly act and one may get into trouble by doing so; still, a
fellow must be prudent when he’s charged with murder as I am, and with
something very unpleasant, perhaps, in store for him.”
A terribly significant gesture of severing the head from the body
left no doubt whatever as to what May meant by the “something very
unpleasant.”
“And yet I am innocent,” continued May, in a sorrowful, reproachful
tone.
The magistrate had by this time recovered the full possession of his
faculties. Fixing his eyes upon the prisoner and concentrating in one
magnetic glance all his power of will, he slowly exclaimed: “You speak
falsely! It was for you that this note was intended.”
“For me! Then I must be the greatest of fools, or why should I have sent
for you to show it you? For me? In that case, why didn’t I keep it? Who
knew, who could know that I had received it?”
These words were uttered with such a marvelous semblance of honesty,
May’s gaze was frank and open, his voice rang so true, and his reasoning
was so specious, that all the governor’s doubts returned.
“And what if I could prove that you are uttering a falsehood?” insisted
M. Segmuller. “What if I could prove it--here and now?”
“You would have to lie to do so! Oh! pardon! Excuse me; I mean--”
But the magistrate was not in a frame of mind to stickle for nicety
of expression. He motioned May to be silent; and, turning to Lecoq,
exclaimed: “Show the prisoner that you have discovered the key to his
secret correspondence.”
A sudden change passed over May’s features. “Ah! it is this agent of
police who says the letter was for me,” he remarked in an altered tone.
“The same agent who asserts that I am a grand seigneur.” Then, looking
disdainfully at Lecoq, he added: “Under these circumstances there’s no
hope for me. When the police are absolutely determined that a man shall
be found guilty, they contrive to prove his guilt; everybody knows that.
And when a prisoner receives no letters, an agent, who wishes to show
that he is corresponding knows well enough how to write to him.”
May’s features wore such an expression of marked contempt that Lecoq
could scarcely refrain from making an angry reply. He restrained his
impulse, however, in obedience to a warning gesture from the magistrate,
and taking from the table the volume of Beranger’s songs, he endeavored
to prove to the prisoner that each number in the note which he had shown
M. Segmuller corresponded with a word on the page indicated, and
that these various words formed several intelligible phrases. This
overpowering evidence did not seem to trouble May in the least. After
expressing the same admiration for this novel system of correspondence
that a child would show for a new toy, he declared his belief that no
one could equal the police in such machinations.
What could have been done in the face of such obstinacy? M. Segmuller
did not even attempt to argue the point, but quietly retired, followed
by his companions. Until they reached the governor’s office, he did not
utter a word; then, sinking down into an armchair, he exclaimed: “We
must confess ourselves beaten. This man will always remain what he
is--an inexplicable enigma.”
“But what is the meaning of the comedy he has just played? I do not
understand it at all,” remarked the governor.
“Why,” replied Lecoq, “don’t you see that he wished to persuade the
magistrate that the first note, the one that fell into the cell while
you and I were there yesterday, had been written by me in a mad desire
to prove the truth of my theory at any cost? It was a hazardous project;
but the importance of the result to be gained must have emboldened him
to attempt it. Had he succeeded, I should have been disgraced; and he
would have remained May--the stroller, without any further doubt as to
his identity. But how could he know that I had discovered his secret
correspondence, and that I was watching him from the loft overhead? That
will probably never be explained.”
The governor and the young detective exchanged glances of mutual
distrust. “Eh! eh!” thought the former, “yes, indeed, that note which
fell into the cell while I was there the other day might after all have
been this crafty fellow’s work. His Father Absinthe may have served him
in the first instance just as he did subsequently.”
While these reflections were flitting through the governor’s mind, Lecoq
suspiciously remarked to himself: “Who knows but what this fool of
a governor confided everything to Gevrol? If he did so, the General,
jealous as he is, would not have scrupled to play one such a damaging
trick.”
His thoughts had gone no further when Goguet, the smiling clerk, boldly
broke the silence with the trite remark: “What a pity such a clever
comedy didn’t succeed.”
These words startled the magistrate from his reverie. “Yes, a shameful
farce,” said he, “and one I would never have authorized, had I not been
blinded by a mad longing to arrive at the truth. Such tricks only bring
the sacred majesty of justice into contempt!”
At these bitter words, Lecoq turned white with anger. This was the
second affront within an hour. The prisoner had first insulted him, and
now it was the magistrate’s turn. “I am defeated,” thought he. “I must
confess it. Fate is against me! Ah! if I had only succeeded!”
Disappointment alone had impelled M. Segmuller to utter these harsh
words; they were both cruel and unjust, and the magistrate soon
regretted them, and did everything in his power to drive them from
Lecoq’s recollection. They met every day after this unfortunate
incident; and every morning, when the young detective came to give an
account of his investigations, they had a long conference together. For
Lecoq still continued his efforts; still labored on with an obstinacy
intensified by constant sneers; still pursued his investigations with
that cold and determined zeal which keeps one’s faculties on the alert
for years.
The magistrate, however, was utterly discouraged. “We must abandon this
attempt,” said he. “All the means of detection have been exhausted.
I give it up. The prisoner will go to the Assizes, to be acquitted or
condemned under the name of May. I will trouble myself no more about the
matter.”
He said this, but the anxiety and disappointment caused by defeat,
sneering criticism, and perplexity, as to the best course to be pursued,
so affected his health that he became really ill--so ill that he had to
take to his bed.
He had been confined to his room for a week or so, when one morning
Lecoq called to inquire after him.
“You see, my good fellow,” quoth M. Segmuller, despondently, “that this
mysterious murderer is fatal to us magistrates. Ah! he is too much for
us; he will preserve the secret of his identity.”
“Possibly,” replied Lecoq. “At all events, there is now but one way left
to discover his secret; we must allow him to escape--and then track him
to his lair.”
This expedient, although at first sight a very startling one, was not of
Lecoq’s own invention, nor was it by any means novel. At all times, in
cases of necessity, have the police closed their eyes and opened the
prison doors for the release of suspected criminals. And not a few,
dazzled by liberty and ignorant of being watched, have foolishly
betrayed themselves. All prisoners are not like the Marquis de
Lavalette, protected by royal connivance; and one might enumerate
many individuals who have been released, only to be rearrested after
confessing their guilt to police spies or auxiliaries who have won their
confidence.
Naturally, however, it is but seldom, and only in special cases, and as
a last resort, that such a plan is adopted. Moreover, the authorities
only consent to it when they hope to derive some important advantage,
such as the capture of a whole band of criminals. For instance,
the police perhaps arrest one of a band. Now, despite his criminal
propensities the captured culprit often has a certain sense of honor--we
all know that there is honor among thieves--which prompts him to refuse
all information concerning his accomplices. In such a case what is to be
done? Is he to be sent to the Assizes by himself, tried and convicted,
while his comrades escape scot free? No; it is best to set him at
liberty. The prison doors are opened, and he is told that he is free.
But each after step he takes in the streets outside is dogged by skilful
detectives; and soon, at the very moment when he is boasting of his good
luck and audacity to the comrades he has rejoined, the whole gang find
themselves caught in the snare.
M. Segmuller knew all this, and much more, and yet, on hearing Lecoq’s
proposition, he made an angry gesture and exclaimed: “Are you mad?”
“I think not, sir.”
“At all events your scheme is a most foolish one!”
“Why so, sir? You will recollect the famous murder of the Chaboiseaus.
The police soon succeeded in capturing the guilty parties; but a robbery
of a hundred and sixty thousand francs in bank-notes and coin had been
committed at the same time, and this large sum of money couldn’t be
found. The murderers obstinately refused to say where they had concealed
it; for, of course, it would prove a fortune for them, if they ever
escaped the gallows. In the mean while, however, the children of the
victims were ruined. Now, M. Patrigent, the magistrate who investigated
the affair, was the first to convince the authorities that it would be
best to set one of the murderers at liberty. His advice was followed;
and three days later the culprit was surprised unearthing the money from
among a bed of mushrooms. Now, I believe that our prisoner--”
“Enough!” interrupted M. Segmuller. “I wish to hear no more on the
matter. I have, it seems to me, forbidden you to broach the subject.”
The young detective hung his head with a hypocritical air of submission.
But all the while he watched the magistrate out of the corner of his eye
and noted his agitation. “I can afford to be silent,” he thought; “he
will return to the subject of his own accord.”
And in fact M. Segmuller did return to it only a moment afterward.
“Suppose this man were released from prison,” said he, “what would you
do?”
“What would I do, sir! I would follow him like grim death; I would not
once let him out of my sight; I would be his shadow.”
“And do you suppose he wouldn’t discover this surveillance?”
“I should take my precautions.”
“But he would recognize you at a single glance.”
“No, sir, he wouldn’t, for I should disguise myself. A detective who
can’t equal the most skilful actor in the matter of make-up is no
better than an ordinary policeman. I have only practised at it for a
twelvemonth, but I can easily make myself look old or young, dark or
light, or assume the manner of a man of the world, or of some frightful
ruffian of the barrieres.”
“I wasn’t aware that you possessed this talent, Monsieur Lecoq.”
“Oh! I’m very far from the perfection I hope to arrive at; though I may
venture to say that in three days from now I could call on you and talk
with you for half an hour without being recognized.”
M. Segmuller made no rejoinder; and it was evident to Lecoq that the
magistrate had offered this objection rather in the hope of its being
overruled, than with the wish to see it prevail.
“I think, my poor fellow,” he at length observed, “that you are
strangely deceived. We have both been equally anxious to penetrate
the mystery that enshrouds this strange man. We have both admired
his wonderful acuteness--for his sagacity is wonderful; so marvelous,
indeed, that it exceeds the limits of imagination. Do you believe that
a man of his penetration would betray himself like an ordinary prisoner?
He will understand at once, if he is set at liberty, that his freedom is
only given him so that we may surprise his secret.”
“I don’t deceive myself, sir. May will guess the truth of course. I’m
quite aware of that.”
“Very well. Then, what would be the use of attempting what you propose?”
“I have come to this conclusion,” replied Lecoq, “May will find himself
strangely embarrassed, even when he’s set free. He won’t have a sou
in his pocket; we know he has no trade, so what will he do to earn a
living? He may struggle along for a while; but he won’t be willing to
suffer long. Man must have food and shelter, and when he finds himself
without a roof over his head, without even a crust of bread to break, he
will remember that he is rich. Won’t he then try to recover possession
of his property? Yes, certainly he will. He will try to obtain money,
endeavor to communicate with his friends, and I shall wait till that
moment arrives. Months may elapse, before, seeing no signs of my
surveillance, he may venture on some decisive step; and then I will
spring forward with a warrant for his arrest in my hand.”
“And what if he should leave Paris? What if he should go abroad?”
“Oh, I will follow him. One of my aunts has left me a little land in the
provinces worth about twelve thousand francs. I will sell it, and spend
the last sou, if necessary, so long as I only have my revenge. This man
has outwitted me as if I were a child, and I must have my turn.”
“And what if he should slip through your fingers?”
Lecoq laughed like a man that was sure of himself. “Let him try,” he
exclaimed; “I will answer for him with my life.”
“Your idea is not a bad one,” said M. Segmuller, eventually. “But
you must understand that law and justice will take no part in such
intrigues. All I can promise you is my tacit approval. Go, therefore, to
the Prefecture; see your superiors--”
With a really despairing gesture, the young man interrupted M.
Segmuller. “What good would it do for me to make such a proposition?”
he exclaimed. “They would not only refuse my request, but they would
dismiss me on the spot, if my name is not already erased from the roll.”
“What, dismissed, after conducting this case so well?”
“Ah, sir, unfortunately every one is not of that opinion. Tongues have
been wagging busily during your illness. Somehow or other, my enemies
have heard of the last scene we had with May; and impudently declare
that it was I who imagined all the romantic details of this affair,
being eager for advancement. They pretend that the only reasons to doubt
the prisoner’s identity are those I have invented myself. To hear them
talk at the Depot, one might suppose that I invented the scene in the
Widow Chupin’s cabin; imagined the accomplices; suborned the witnesses;
manufactured the articles of conviction; wrote the first note in
cipher as well as the second; duped Father Absinthe, and mystified the
governor.”
“The deuce!” exclaimed M. Segmuller; “in that case, what do they think
of me?”
The wily detective’s face assumed an expression of intense
embarrassment.
“Ah! sir,” he replied with a great show of reluctance, “they pretend
that you have allowed yourself to be deceived by me, and that you
haven’t weighed at their proper worth the proofs I’ve furnished.”
A fleeting flush mantled over M. Segmuller’s forehead. “In a word,” said
he, “they think I’m your dupe--and a fool besides.”
The recollection of certain sarcastic smiles he had often detected on
the faces of colleagues and subordinates alike, the memory of
numerous covert allusions to Casper Hauser, and the Man with the
Iron Mask--allusions which had stung him to the quick--induced him to
hesitate no longer.
“Very well! I will aid you, Monsieur Lecoq,” he exclaimed. “I should
like you to triumph over your enemies. I will get up at once and
accompany you to the Palais de Justice. I will see the public prosecutor
myself; I will speak to him, and plead your case for you.”
Lecoq’s joy was intense. Never, no never, had he dared to hope for such
assistance. Ah! after this he would willingly go through fire on M.
Segmuller’s behalf. And yet, despite his inward exultation, he had
sufficient control over his feelings to preserve a sober face. This
victory must be concealed under penalty of forfeiting the benefits that
might accrue from it. Certainly, the young detective had said nothing
that was untrue; but there are different ways of presenting the truth,
and he had, perhaps, exaggerated a trifle in order to excite the
magistrate’s rancor, and win his needful assistance.
“I suppose,” remarked M. Segmuller, who was now quite calm again--no
outward sign of wounded vanity being perceptible--“I suppose you
have decided what stratagem must be employed to lull the prisoner’s
suspicions if he is permitted to escape.”
“I must confess I haven’t given it a thought,” replied Lecoq. “Besides,
what good would any such stratagem do? He knows too well that he is
the object of suspicion not to remain on the alert. Still, there is one
precaution which I believe absolutely necessary, indispensable indeed,
if we wish to be successful.”
“What precaution do you mean?” inquired the magistrate.
“Well, sir, I think an order should be given to have May transferred to
another prison. It doesn’t in the least matter which; you can select the
one you please.”
“Why should we do that?”
“Because, during the few days preceding his release, it is absolutely
necessary he should hold no communication with his friends outside, and
that he should be unable to warn his accomplice.”
“Then you think he’s badly guarded where he is?” inquired M. Segmuller
with seeming amazement.
“No, sir, I did not say that. I am satisfied that since the affair
of the cipher note the governor’s vigilance has been unimpeachable.
However, news from outside certainly reaches the suspected murderer
at the Depot; we have had material evidence--full proof of that--and
besides--”
The young detective paused in evident embarrassment. He plainly had some
idea in his head to which he feared to give expression.
“And besides?” repeated the magistrate.
“Ah, well, sir! I will be perfectly frank with you. I find that Gevrol
enjoys too much liberty at the Depot; he is perfectly at home there, he
comes and goes as he likes, and no one ever thinks of asking what he is
doing, where he is going, or what he wants. No pass is necessary for his
admission, and he can influence the governor just as he likes. Now, to
tell the truth, I distrust Gevrol.”
“Oh! Monsieur Lecoq!”
“Yes, I know very well that it’s a bold accusation, but a man is not
master of his presentiments: so there it is, I distrust Gevrol. Did
the prisoner know that I was watching him from the loft, and that I had
discovered his secret correspondence, was he ignorant of it? To my mind
he evidently knew everything, as the last scene we had with him proves.”
“I must say that’s my own opinion,” interrupted M. Segmuller.
“But how could he have known it?” resumed Lecoq. “He could not have
discovered it by himself. I endured tortures for a while in the hope of
solving the problem. But all my trouble was wasted. Now the supposition
of Gevrol’s intervention would explain everything.”
M. Segmuller had turned pale with anger. “Ah! if I could really believe
that!” he exclaimed; “if I were sure of it! Have you any proofs?”
The young man shook his head. “No,” said he, “I haven’t; but even if my
hands were full of proofs I should not dare to show them. I should
ruin my future. Ah, if ever I succeed, I must expect many such acts of
treachery. There is hatred and rivalry in every profession. And, mark
this, sir--I don’t doubt Gevrol’s honesty. If a hundred thousand francs
were counted out upon the table and offered to him, he wouldn’t even try
to release a prisoner. But he would rob justice of a dozen criminals in
the mere hope of injuring me, jealous as he is, and fearing lest I might
obtain advancement.”
How many things these simple words explained. Did they not give the key
to many and many an enigma which justice has failed to solve, simply on
account of the jealousy and rivalry that animate the detective force?
Thus thought M. Segmuller, but he had no time for further reflection.
“That will do,” said he, “go into the drawing-room for a moment. I will
dress and join you there. I will send for a cab: for we must make haste
if I am to see the public prosecutor to-day.”
Less than a quarter of an hour afterward M. Segmuller, who usually spent
considerable time over his toilet, was dressed and ready to start. He
and Lecoq were just getting into the cab that had been summoned when a
footman in a stylish livery was seen approaching.
“Ah! Jean,” exclaimed the magistrate, “how’s your master?”
“Improving, sir,” was the reply. “He sent me to ask how you were, and to
inquire how that affair was progressing?”
“There has been no change since I last wrote to him. Give him my
compliments, and tell him that I am out again.”
The servant bowed. Lecoq took a seat beside the magistrate and the cab
started off.
“That fellow is one of D’Escorval’s servants,” remarked M. Segmuller.
“He’s richer than I, and can well afford to keep a footman.”
“D’Escorval’s,” ejaculated Lecoq, “the magistrate who--”
“Precisely. He sent his man to me two or three days ago to ascertain
what we were doing with our mysterious May.”
“Then M. d’Escorval is interested in the case?”
“Prodigiously! I conclude it is because he opened the prosecution, and
because the case rightfully belongs to him. Perhaps he regrets that
it passed out of his hands, and thinks that he could have managed the
investigation better himself. We would have done better with it if we
could. I would give a good deal to see him in my place.”
But this change would not have been at all to Lecoq’s taste. “Ah,”
thought he, “such a fellow as D’Escorval would never have shown me such
confidence as M. Segmuller.” He had, indeed, good reason to congratulate
himself: for that very day M. Segmuller, who was a man of his word,
a man who never rested until he had carried his plan into execution,
actually induced the authorities to allow May to be set at liberty; and
the details of this measure only remained to be decided upon. As regards
the proposed transfer of the suspected murderer to another prison, this
was immediately carried into effect, and May was removed to Mazas, where
Lecoq had no fear of Gevrol’s interference.
That same afternoon, moreover, the Widow Chupin received her conditional
release. There was no difficulty as regards her son, Polyte. He had, in
the mean time, been brought before the correctional court on a charge
of theft; and, to his great astonishment, had heard himself sentenced to
thirteen months’ imprisonment. After this, M. Segmuller had nothing
to do but to wait, and this was the easier as the advent of the Easter
holidays gave him an opportunity to seek a little rest and recreation
with his family in the provinces.
On the day he returned to Paris--the last of the recess, and by chance
a Sunday--he was sitting alone in his library when his cook came to
tell him that there was a man in the vestibule who had been sent from
a neighboring register office to take the place of a servant he had
recently dismissed. The newcomer was ushered into the magistrate’s
presence and proved to be a man of forty or thereabouts, very red in
the face and with carroty hair and whiskers. He was, moreover, strongly
inclined to corpulence, and was clad in clumsy, ill-fitting garments.
In a complacent tone, and with a strong Norman accent, he informed
the magistrate that during the past twenty years he had been in the
employment of various literary men, as well as of a physician, and
notary; that he was familiar with the duties that would be required
of him at the Palais de Justice, and that he knew how to dust papers
without disarranging them. In short, he produced such a favorable
impression that, although M. Segmuller reserved twenty-four hours in
which to make further inquiries, he drew a twenty-franc piece from his
pocket on the spot and tendered it to the Norman valet as the first
instalment of his wages.
But instead of pocketing the proffered coin, the man, with a sudden
change of voice and attitude, burst into a hearty laugh, exclaiming: “Do
you think, sir, that May will recognize me?”
“Monsieur Lecoq!” cried the astonished magistrate.
“The same, sir; and I have come to tell you that if you are ready to
release May, all my arrangements are now completed.”