INVESTIGATIONS
A curious thing happened while I was at Bellevue. I received from my
notary, who had received it from the judicial authorities, a package
which contained a number of things found at my house: a few letters from
President Faure, some letters from M. B., and the President's talisman!
If these objects are returned to me, I thought, it is evidently because
it is not desired that anything concerning the late President of the
Republic and the Attorney-General be brought up in the "Affair of the
Impasse Ronsin." This impression was right, as will be fully realised
later on. Every phase of my past life, from my earliest years to the
date of the mysterious murder, was investigated, _except_ my relations
with magistrates and with President Faure.
The circle of my friends was daily growing smaller, which was perhaps
only human, since I was in trouble. I still received many letters from
friends and acquaintances, but they were every day fewer in number. And
their tone grew less sympathetic, their style more formal.... Soon no
letters reached me at all. No one seemed to remember me, not even the
few friends in whom I had absolute confidence, and I painfully repeated
to myself a saying of my mother's: "A friend who ceases to be a friend
never was a friend."
Letters, however, kept pouring into the letter-box of Vert-Logis. But
they were all anonymous letters, a few threatening me or calling me a
criminal, the others denouncing as the authors of the double-murder, my
cook, Mariette, her son, Alexandre Wolff, my valet, Rémy Couillard and
others. The letters gave me all kinds of "information" about their past
life and doings, suggested theories of the crime that were so crowded
with details that one might have thought the writers had been present
when it was committed. I burnt them all, except a few, which, when I was
not too ill, I read and re-read, with an interest that became almost
morbid.... They haunted me, some of those letters, and I lived in an
atmosphere of suspicion that was painful and distractful.
Couillard was at Bellevue. Naturally enough he had not wanted to remain
at the house in the Impasse Ronsin. He was nervous, trembling,
frightened of everybody and everything, and was a pitiful object to look
at.... I pitied him... and I pitied myself.
Marthe was with me, and her presence, her solicitude, her love, enabled
me to bear my cross. At the same time, I remembered the Inspector's
startling promises, and the words spoken both by M. Leydet and M.
Hamard: "Be patient... we will find them...."
Doctor Regal--appointed by the authorities--came on June 26th with
Inspector Pouce to see if I were strong enough to bear the journey from
Bellevue to Boulogne (on the Seine). It appeared that M. Leydet was
compelled, on account of the public feeling against me, to ask me
further questions, in the presence this time of M. Grandjean,
_substitut_ of the _Procureur de la République_. The new examination
would take place at the house of M. Brouard, the husband of M.
Steinheil's sister Marguerite, whom the reader perhaps remembers as the
lady who received me in Paris, when I returned from my wedding-trip.
I was only too anxious to assist the law in its investigations, and I
consented to go to Boulogne--where I was to be kept from 1 P.M. till
late in the evening! The nurse, who had accompanied us, of course, had
to give me occasional doses of ether to enable me to breathe, and to
reply to the questions I was asked. Marthe and M. Boeswilwald were in
the next room, for serious fears were entertained that I might utterly
collapse. I spent several long hours lying full length on a stretcher
placed on the floor. The nurse remained near me.
I was asked the most fantastic questions by M. Leydet and M.
Grandjean.... But here again I will quote from the _dossier_ the
questions and my answers.
I pass over the questions about the gate and the doors of the Impasse
Ronsin, the story of the key lost by Couillard, and of the return of the
dog he had borrowed, the story of my husband's revolver which Couillard
did not hand back to M. Steinheil, and which was found in his apron, and
of our delayed departure for Boulogne on account of my mother's
ill-health.... These points have already been dealt with. I had nothing
to add to my first statements. But here are some new questions, and my
replies.
_Question._ "According to what you told us on the morning after the
crime, the criminals appearing suddenly before you, in the middle of the
night, in your daughter's room, which you were occupying, took you for
your daughter. There is no doubt that you were then in a room which was
evidently that of a young girl, and that you were in your daughter's
bed, but we cannot conceal from you that the criminals' mistake is open
to scepticism."
_Answer._ "I can only repeat the words that were spoken to me and which
implied that mistake. I may add that my face was in repose, that my hair
was loose, and merely held by a ribbon of blue satin, and was spread
around my head. I wore no jewels, no rings, no wedding-ring. All these
were left in the dressing-room--and were stolen. I wore a plain
night-dress of pale blue _linon_. It has frequently happened in society
that I was taken for my daughter's elder sister. Believe me, there is no
question of coquetry in this. If I tell you all this, it is merely
because you ask me to reply to those who are sceptical. I am slender, I
lost much weight last winter, about thirty pounds, during my
illness--gastro-enteritis. Although the criminals had two dark-lanterns,
the scene lasted so short a time that they certainly had not much time
to examine me carefully. Everything took place with fantastic
rapidity...."
_Question._ "Whatever the acts of violence you had to suffer that night
(blows, gags, and ropes round neck, hands and feet) it may appear
possible that the criminals spared your life. This has given rise to
various rumours. It seems difficult to admit that the criminals allowed
a young lady--or rather the person whom they took for a
seventeen-year-old young lady--that is, a most dangerous witness, to
survive. Unless the chief of the gang yielded to a feeling of pity,
which, by the way, is sometimes met with among hardened criminals, then
another explanation must be found. Here is one which has been
suggested--and it compels me to ask you a 'delicate' question. Suppose
that in a moment of weakness you had relations with a man of doubtful
morality, who, at some time might be capable of burglary and 'plunder
and violence,' in order to obtain money. Suppose that man entering at
night into your house, finding it inhabited contrary to his
expectations; suppose that man, suddenly finding himself in your
presence and, as far as you are concerned, not daring to go as far as
murder, because of 'the past'--would you not have hesitated to denounce
him?"
_Answer._ "I swear to you by all that I hold most sacred, on my poor
dead mother and husband, on the head of my little Marthe, that I never
had the 'weakness' you refer to in your most painful question. Even
though I had been deceived by appearances, I should not hesitate,
however painful it might be, to denounce the man."
_Question._ "The cord--three metres in length--with which your husband
was strangled has been compared with and found similar to a ball of cord
which was found in a basket in the cupboard of the pantry. Have you any
interesting remarks to make on that matter?"
_Answer._ "All I can say is that the ball you mention was blind-cord and
was used for various purposes in the house. Some was used at the time of
the exhibition of paintings which took place in the 'winter garden.' I
have no recollection of any piece of cord that might have been left
somewhere in the rooms."
(_Dossier_, Cote 79.)
This _Cote_ 79 contained only sixteen foolscap pages, and they represent
the gist of an examination which lasted several hours! There were
frequent interruptions, when I felt so ill that the woman had to come
and give me ether.... Part of the examination was what I can only call
conversation. I did my best to call the attention of M. Leydet to M. de
Balincourt, to the "mysterious German," to the various men who had come
into my husband's life during the weeks immediately preceding the crime.
I remember the judge telling me: "You don't mention Couillard. It looks
as if you were protecting him...." And I replied: "Some tell me
Couillard 'must know something,' others assert that he is absolutely
innocent... I have nothing to say. Let the law make investigations,
discover the truth and arrest the murderers...."
I was greatly surprised when Couillard was sent for. I admit the
anonymous letters had had some influence on me, and that I had certain
suspicions against Couillard, but of late they had vanished. I thought
only of the "clue of clues," of the man whose photographs had been shown
me (Mr. Burlingham).
When I returned to Bellevue it was very late. Couillard had left for
Boulogne. He returned at 1.30 A.M.
During the following days the detectives came just as often as before.
They did not seem, however, to make much progress in the "case."
Mariette was still with me, and was as devoted as ever, to say the
least. Her son, Alexandre, a horse-dealer, whom I had known when he was
a mere lad, came twice to Bellevue. He was better dressed than usual and
seemed to roll in money. I mention the two details because they were
also mentioned in the anonymous letters I received, and because, five
months later, and in circumstances which I will fully describe, I
accused Alexandre Wolff.
As for Couillard, I no longer required his services now that my life was
so completely changed, and I sent him to a motor-car garage to learn to
be a chauffeur.
M. Souloy brought me the altered jewels. I gave one of the "new" rings
(sapphire and diamonds) to Marthe, and kept the others.
The Inspector continued his assurances that they would soon arrest the
murderers. They had fresh clues, they were on the right track.... All
would soon be well.... But nothing happened, and I hoped and waited in
vain....
Towards the end of July I felt a little stronger and could walk about. I
asked a doctor to allow me to go to Normandy with Marthe. He said a
change would do me much good. I left Bellevue and went to stay at
Louvières (Calvados) with some friends who ran their own farm. Their
daughter was an intimate friend of Marthe, who was, of course, with me.
For a whole month we led the simple life. There were no detectives
around me. I avoided reading the newspapers. The country people, who
knew who I was, were kind and sympathetic, and Marthe and I breathed
again. It was as if we were at last allowed to live, to be like all
other human beings, and we blessed those good friends who had invited us
to spend a few weeks with them in happy and beautiful Normandy.
After a time, however, when the meadows seemed less green, the sky less
blue and the air less exhilarating than during the first days after our
arrival at Louvières, the nightmare once more beset me.... Once more I
thought of the night of terror, of the murderers... who were at large. I
wanted to avenge the dead, and I wanted to put an end once and for all
to all the dreadful suspicions against me which had sprung up everywhere
because... the murderers had spared me. My unpardonable sin was to be
alive! If I was not a murderess, why did I not prove it?... That is what
I had heard, and read, alas!...
And I wondered, wondered, wondered what the police were doing! I
received letters in which I was told that the _Affaire of the Impasse
Ronsin_ was being "_classée_," that is put aside, abandoned, given
up.... And at the same time I heard public opinion was still against me.
One letter written in vulgar slang and forwarded from Paris, said "You
are the assassin; only, as you are highly connected (_comme vous
connaissez des gens de la haute_) the police are not doing what they
would do in the case of any poor wretch.... You coward, you have gone
and hidden yourself in the country!..." Even the two or three "former"
friends who occasionally wrote to me, gave me to understand that the
pleasant relations, the friendship of the old days, would be impossible
"until the murderers had been arrested." As if I knew where they were!
As if I had only to call them or point to them and have them arrested!
As if I were not more anxious than any one on earth to know who were the
murderers of my husband and my mother!...
There are mental pains which are almost unbearable, and none greater
perhaps than to see the being one loves best in all the world suffer
near you.... Marthe, brave little girl that she was, tried to smile so
as to give me courage to live. We spent long hours, under a tree or in
the fields... in silence. I watched her, so worn, so pale, her pallor
heightened by her mourning dress, her head bent down, her eyes filled
with tears which she dared not shed. She knew my thoughts, and I knew
hers. Her mind was in Paris.... She thought of her father, of her
grandmother... and of Pierre, her _fiancé_, her lover, who no longer
wrote... who would never write to her again, until the murderers were
arrested. Not that he believed I was guilty, but probably because, like
his parents, he dreaded Public Opinion....
And as I turned and turned these thoughts over in my distracted mind, I
grew more and more resolute.... Public Opinion, indeed! Well, I would
face it! I would go to the bitter end--and the end was bitter, my
God!--I would look for those assassins, who after making two victims
were now claiming two more, my child and myself, I would hunt them down,
and if the Law were reluctant or disheartened, if the Law refused to go
on with the search, I would force the Law to do its duty....
A letter came, at that moment, a letter from M. Marcel Hutin, a
journalist on the staff of the _Echo de Paris_ and the friend of a
friend of mine. He told me that most people were still against me, and
that he had placed himself entirely at my disposal.
I wrote a long letter to Maître Antony Aubin, entreating him to reproach
the authorities for their apathy....
A little pacified, I tried to forget my trial, and, knowing that the
best antidote to haunting thoughts and fixed ideas is work, I started
with Marthe's assistance to decorate the whole house of our host and
hostess.... We painted ornaments, huge decorative flowers, altered the
appearance of the rooms, and even improved the gardens....
Sometimes we went to the seaside, or made an excursion to some beauty
spot in Normandy. Once again I began to "forget." This country life was
beautiful and simple. I thought of Beaucourt, and, as I watched Marthe,
I said to myself: "How my father would have loved her!" The sorrow
written in such pathetic lines on her sweet face--so young and fresh
that it should not as yet have shown care or pain--made me ashamed to
think of my own overwhelming grief. Seeing that the simple healthy life
we led did us much good, our friends suggested that we should take half
their house, and settle down permanently in Normandy....
But Marthe shook her little head. She longed to return to Paris, to see
Pierre at all costs, to hear his voice.... And I was more than anxious
to go on with the Impasse Ronsin affair--to press inquiries, to trace
the murderers, to solve that mystery which was ruining my child's
happiness, and which made me the most miserable and most unjustly abused
creature in the world....
With all my heart I thanked our friends. Our stay with them if it had
not cured our minds, had strengthened our bodies, and Marthe and I had
both known many an hour of comforting peace.
At the end of August we left Louvières and returned to Bellevue. We
would not go to the Impasse Ronsin yet, for the house was in the hands
of the builders, who were dividing it, so that I could let a part of it,
as well as the vast studio.
M. and Mme. Buisson came to Vert-Logis, but not often, and Marthe saw
her Pierre....
The visits of Inspectors began again. It was chiefly Inspector Pouce who
came to see me. I had been keenly interested in the "Burlingham" clue,
and I asked what had been discovered during the month I had been away.
The Inspector replied that all was well, that matters were very
hopeful... and it was then that the all-important facts of the two
cards in the Underground, and of the stolen gowns, were revealed to me.
The "Burlingham" clue had been arrived at in this way:
On May 27th, when M. Goldstein, M. Feinberg and Mlle. Jankel had called
at Guilbert's to order a number of costumes for the Hebrew Theatre,
there had been present in the shop some fifteen to twenty persons, among
whom was Mr. Burlingham with some of his friends. It was M. Goldstein
and Mlle. Jankel who said this. I may add that M. Goldstein also said
that he believed that later he had seen Burlingham leaving the
Underground, at the _Gare du Nord_, and that he had followed the
red-bearded man early in June, but had lost sight of him. "The man
carried a football bag," M. Goldstein added.
The Inspector procured a photograph which represented Mr. Burlingham, a
friend of his, and a woman. He showed it to me at Bellevue on June 19th,
and I remarked that the bearded man in that photograph looked very much
like the red-bearded man I had seen on the night of the crime.
The Inspector gave me many curious details about Mr. Burlingham and his
friends: they mixed with all kinds of strange people, they walked about
wearing sandals, and used long sticks very much like the alpenstock
found near my husband's body!
The apparently very interesting Burlingham clue had no value whatever.
I hasten to add that it was afterwards established beyond a shadow of
doubt that at the time of the crime Mr. Burlingham, who had left Paris
on May 22nd on a tramp to Switzerland with a friend, was at Montbard, in
Burgundy, a small city which he left for Dijon the next morning.
But this entirely convincing alibi had not been established when
Inspector Pouce--who, I really admit, did his utmost in this case and
spared no effort to trace the murderers--explained to me the importance
of the Burlingham clue.
I did not start these investigations about Mr. Burlingham. I was shown a
photograph in which he appeared, and I merely said: "This bearded man
looks very much like the red-bearded man I saw on the fatal night!" I
was told that the clue was a conclusive one, and I was, naturally
enough, inclined to believe it.
At the _Sûreté_ when the photograph of Mr. Burlingham was shown to me
once more, and I was asked: "Is that the man?" I replied (I quote the
very words I used): "If my assertion alone was to bring about the arrest
of the man whose photograph you are showing me, and whom otherwise I
don't know, I would certainly never dare make such an assertion.... But
I am very much struck by the likeness."
_I was asked_ to disguise myself, and to accompany the detectives, who
would show me Mr. Burlingham without my being recognised by him. Once I
wrapped myself in an ample cloak; another time I had to put on a short
skirt that considerably changed my appearance. We followed Mr.
Burlingham on foot and in a carriage....
We went several times to Paris for the purpose of my identifying him. I
remember seeing him leaving his house near the Gare Montparnasse, I
believe, and I found that he was very like the red-bearded man I had
seen on the night of the double murder "near the door, frightened and
dumb." On another occasion we saw him, from our carriage, in front of
the School of Fine Arts. At that time I still had my full reason and was
incapable of accusing any one without absolute proofs of their guilt....
But my mind was at work.
Mr. Burlingham was "shown" to me again.... Later, the _Matin_ arranged
that I should see him at their offices in the Boulevard Poissonnière....
Through a door left slightly open for the purpose I saw the
"red-bearded" man. I "recognised" him, but not absolutely.
Then, once more, I was called to the _Sûreté_, and there, after so many
meetings with the red-bearded man, I said that I unhesitatingly
recognised him as one of the men I had seen on the fatal night.... Is it
really very much to be wondered at that I did...?
The most wonderful thing about this, as my able counsel Maître Antony
Aubin exclaimed at my trial, "is not that Mme. Steinheil _then_
'recognised' Mr. Burlingham, but that she did not 'recognise' him
before."
* * * * *
I returned to Bellevue. The inspectors and detectives all told me: "Be
brave! We are nearing the goal!" And I believed them. We are always so
ready to believe what we long for.
Whilst firmly believing in the Burlingham clue, I was utterly bewildered
by the contents of the anonymous letters I received. Most of them
mentioned Couillard, Mariette, and Wolff. A few denounced M. de
Balincourt, and, I need hardly add, several denounced... me. A large
proportion of these letters were actually brought by hand to Bellevue
and dropped, probably by the writers themselves, into my letter-box. The
average number was twelve to fifteen a day.... In Paris, a few weeks
later, the number rose to thirty or forty.
I read every one of these letters. In any one of them I might find a
clue, a useful suggestion, perhaps the whole truth, and I could not
afford to neglect this correspondence, disheartening though it was....
Day after day the detectives came and told me of what was going on.
Journalists called... and each had his theory, which he propounded with
the confidence and eloquence of those who deal in theories only. Had I
listened to everybody I should have denounced at least one hundred
persons as being the murderers! The majority mentioned Couillard and
Wolff, and as the days went by these two names became more and more
deeply engraven on my mind. Alas! all these suggestions were, a few
weeks later, to hypnotise me to such an extent that, without more proofs
than mere circumstantial evidence, and the denunciations anonymous
writers afforded, I accused first Couillard and then Wolff of being the
criminal.
Mme. Buisson rarely came to Bellevue now. Pierre came to see Marthe,
secretly, from time to time, and held a pistol to my head when he told
me in his usual weak, timid and despondent manner, that the murderers
would have to be found, or else it would be impossible for him to marry
Marthe! An extraordinary dilemma!... This absurd condition revolted my
daughter so much that her love for Pierre received a decisive blow, and,
burying her head against my breast she cried: "Is that real love?" and
burst into sobs.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, the inspectors were at war with each other, as most
inspectors are, or so I have since been told. Each had _his_ clue, and
derided the clues of his colleagues. But what was worse than that, some
were for, and some against me!
One morning, an able investigator who knew exactly what was going on at
the _Sûreté_, and in whom I had the greatest confidence, entered the
room at Vert-Logis, where I was sitting with Marthe by my side. He was
as white as a sheet.... "Madame," he stammered, "I don't know what
underlies this affair, but it seems quite hopeless, things are at an
absolute standstill.... The Burlingham clue is given up. It has been
established that Mr. Burlingham was far away from Paris at the time of
the murder. The 'stolen gowns' remains, of course, as undeniable proof
of your innocence, and I still believe that some day the murderers may
be arrested, but the case is all over so far as the _Sûreté_ is
concerned.... Ah! If only the 'stolen gowns' clue had been fully
investigated _at once_!... It is so obvious that it provided the only
way to the solution of the mystery.... The Impasse Ronsin murder case is
_classé_!"
I had more than once complained of the apparent lack of activity and
zeal on the part of the authorities, but I could not believe that it had
been decided to abandon the whole affair.... I was amazed and pained....
Naturally, I asked the reason for this sudden breaking off of the
investigations. No doubt my imagination erred, but in these pages I
describe all my thoughts, and it seemed to me that in some way it had
been discovered that the main object of the criminals was to get
possession of the documents. Perhaps only one of the three men in the
black gowns knew about them, and he had let the others steal the money
and the jewels.... That one of the men had known of the documents could
not be doubted, for he had demanded them, and I believe that the
authorities having at last somehow discovered that there was what one
may call a political side to the Impasse Ronsin mystery, were not
anxious to go on with the investigations, which, if the whole affair was
unravelled, might eventually prove a source of much unpleasantness and
embarrassment to certain officials.... Or perhaps--for I went as far as
that in my eagerness to solve the problem--the authorities knew all the
time the secret of the strange affair, and had made some inquiries,
reluctantly, and only for the sake of appearances.... But now, they had
had enough and they wished to drop the matter altogether.... A rather
wild surmise.... Perhaps they seriously thought that I was guilty, but
being unable to establish a strong enough case against me, wanted to
give up the whole affair, rather than waste time on investigations which
would necessarily be fruitless, since, in their minds I had committed
the murder! (That is, had strangled my mother and my husband, concealed
the jewels and the money, ransacked the drawers, put everything into
confusion, splashed ink on the floor, and then gagged and bound myself,
hands, feet and body!)...
The truth is I did not know what to think.... But one thing I knew, and
it was this: Three men in black gowns and a red-haired woman had been in
my house on the night of May 30th-31st, 1908; they had stolen my money
and jewels, and they had murdered my husband and my mother.
Those four persons were somewhere in the world, and, for my daughter's
sake and my own, as well as in vindication of the law, I would find
them.