CHAPTER XVIII.
Old Tabaret talked, but he acted also.
Abandoned by the investigating magistrate to his own resources, he setto work without losing a minute and without taking a moment's rest.
The story of the cabriolet, drawn by a swift horse, was exact in everyparticular.
Lavish with his money, the old fellow had gathered together a dozendetectives on leave or rogues out of work; and at the head of theseworthy assistants, seconded by his friend Lecoq, he had gone toBougival.
He had actually searched the country, house by house, with the obstinacyand the patience of a maniac hunting for a needle in a hay-stack.
His efforts were not absolutely wasted.
After three days' investigation, he felt comparatively certain that theassassin had not left the train at Rueil, as all the people of Bougival,La Jonchere, and Marly do, but had gone on as far as Chatou.
Tabaret thought he recognized him in a man described to him by theporters at that station as rather young, dark, and with black whiskers,carrying an overcoat and an umbrella.
This person, who arrived by the train which left Paris for St. Germainat thirty-five minutes past eight in the evening, had appeared to be ina very great hurry.
On quitting the station, he had started off at a rapid pace on the roadwhich led to Bougival. Upon the way, two men from Marly and a woman fromLa Malmaison had noticed him on account of his rapid pace. He smoked ashe hurried along.
On crossing the bridge which joins the two banks of the Seine atBougival, he had been still more noticed.
It is usual to pay a toll on crossing this bridge; and the supposedassassin had apparently forgotten this circumstance. He passed withoutpaying, keeping up his rapid pace, pressing his elbows to his side,husbanding his breath, and the gate-keeper was obliged to run after himfor his toll.
He seemed greatly annoyed at the circumstance, threw the man a ten soupiece, and hurried on, without waiting for the nine sous change.
Nor was that all.
The station master at Rueil remembered, that, two minutes before thequarter past ten train came up, a passenger arrived very agitated, andso out of breath that he could scarcely ask for a second class ticketfor Paris.
The appearance of this man corresponded exactly with the descriptiongiven of him by the porters at Chatou, and by the gatekeeper at thebridge.
Finally, the old man thought he was on the track of some one who enteredthe same carriage as the breathless passenger. He had been told of abaker living at Asnieres, and he had written to him, asking him to callat his house.
Such was old Tabaret's information, when on the Monday morning he calledat the Palais de Justice, in order to find out if the record of WidowLerouge's past life had been received. He found that nothing hadarrived, but in the passage he met Gevrol and his man.
The chief of detectives was triumphant, and showed it too. As soon ashe saw Tabaret, he called out, "Well, my illustrious mare's-nest hunter,what news? Have you had any more scoundrels guillotined since the otherday? Ah, you old rogue, you want to oust me from my place I can see!"
The old man was sadly changed.
The consciousness of his mistake made him humble and meek. Thesepleasantries, which a few days before would have made him angry, nowdid not touch him. Instead of retaliating, he bowed his head in such apenitent manner that Gevrol was astonished.
"Jeer at me, my good M. Gevrol," he replied, "mock me without pity; youare right, I deserve it all."
"Ah, come now," said the chief, "have you then performed some newmasterpiece, you impetuous old fellow?"
Old Tabaret shook his head sadly.
"I have delivered up an innocent man," he said, "and justice will notrestore him his freedom."
Gevrol was delighted, and rubbed his hands until he almost wore away theskin.
"This is fine," he sang out, "this is capital. To bring criminals tojustice is of no account at all. But to free the innocent, by Jove! thatis the last touch of art. Tirauclair, you are an immense wonder; and Ibow before you."
And at the same time, he raised his hat ironically.
"Don't crush me," replied the old fellow. "As you know, in spite of mygrey hairs, I am young in the profession. Because chance served me threeor four times, I became foolishly proud. I have learned too late thatI am not all that I had thought myself; I am but an apprentice, andsuccess has turned my head; while you, M. Gevrol, you are the master ofall of us. Instead of laughing, pray help me, aid me with youradvice and your experience. Alone, I can do nothing, while with yourassistance----!"
Gevrol is vain in the highest degree.
Tabaret's submission tickled his pretensions as a detective immensely;for in reality he thought the old man very clever. He was softened.
"I suppose," he said patronisingly, "you refer to the La Jonchereaffair?"
"Alas! yes, my dear M. Gevrol, I wished to work without you, and I havegot myself into a pretty mess."
Cunning old Tabaret kept his countenance as penitent as that of asacristan caught eating meat on a Friday; but he was inwardly laughingand rejoicing all the while.
"Conceited fool!" he thought, "I will flatter you so much that you willend by doing everything I want."
M. Gevrol rubbed his nose, put out his lower lip, and said, "Ah,--hem!"
He pretended to hesitate; but it was only because he enjoyed prolongingthe old amateur's discomfiture.
"Come," said he at last, "cheer up, old Tirauclair. I'm a good fellow atheart, and I'll give you a lift. That's kind, isn't it? But, to-day, I'mtoo busy, I've an appointment to keep. Come to me to-morrow morning,and we'll talk it over. But before we part I'll give you a light to findyour way with. Do you know who that witness is that I've brought?"
"No; but tell me, my good M. Gevrol."
"Well, that fellow on the bench there, who is waiting for M. Daburon, isthe husband of the victim of the La Jonchere tragedy!"
"Is it possible?" exclaimed old Tabaret, perfectly astounded. Then,after reflecting a moment, he added, "You are joking with me."
"No, upon my word. Go and ask him his name; he will tell you that it isPierre Lerouge."
"She wasn't a widow then?"
"It appears not," replied Gevrol sarcastically, "since there is herhappy spouse."
"Whew!" muttered the old fellow. "And does he know anything?"
In a few sentences, the chief of detectives related to his amateurcolleague the story that Lerouge was about to tell the investigatingmagistrate.
"What do you say to that?" he asked when he came to the end.
"What do I say to that?" stammered old Tabaret, whose countenanceindicated intense astonishment; "what do I say to that? I don't sayanything. But I think,--no, I don't think anything either!"
"A slight surprise, eh?" said Gevrol, beaming.
"Say rather an immense one," replied Tabaret.
But suddenly he started, and gave his forehead a hard blow with hisfist.
"And my baker!" he cried, "I will see you to-morrow, then, M. Gevrol."
"He is crazed," thought the head detective.
The old fellow was sane enough, but he had suddenly recollected theAsnieres baker, whom he had asked to call at his house. Would he stillfind him there?
Going down the stairs he met M. Daburon; but, as one has already seen,he hardly deigned to reply to him.
He was soon outside, and trotted off along the quays.
"Now," said he to himself, "let us consider. Noel is once more plainNoel Gerdy. He won't feel very pleased, for he thought so much of havinga great name. Pshaw! if he likes, I'll adopt him. Tabaret doesn't soundso well as Commarin, but it's at least a name. Anyhow, Gevrol's storyin no way affects Albert's situation nor my convictions. He is thelegitimate son; so much the better for him! That however, would notprove his innocence to me, if I doubted it. He evidently knew nothing ofthese surprising circumstances, any more than his father. He must havebelieved as well as the count in the substitution having taken place.Madame G
erdy, too, must have been ignorant of these facts; they probablyinvented some story to explain the scar. Yes, but Madame Gerdy certainlyknew that Noel was really her son, for when he was returned to her,she no doubt looked for the mark she had made on him. Then, when Noeldiscovered the count's letters, she must have hastened to explain tohim--"
Old Tabaret stopped as suddenly as if further progress were obstructedby some dangerous reptile. He was terrified at the conclusion he hadreached.
"Noel, then, must have assassinated Widow Lerouge, to prevent herconfessing that the substitution had never taken place, and have burntthe letters and papers which proved it!"
But he repelled this supposition with horror, as every honest man drivesaway a detestable thought which by accident enters his mind.
"What an old idiot I am!" he exclaimed, resuming his walk; "this is theresult of the horrible profession I once gloried in following! SuspectNoel, my boy, my sole heir, the personification of virtue and honour!Noel, whom ten years of constant intercourse have taught me to esteemand admire to such a degree that I would speak for him as I would formyself! Men of his class must indeed be moved by terrible passions tocause them to shed blood; and I have always known Noel to have but twopassions, his mother and his profession. And I dare even to breath asuspicion against this noble soul? I ought to be whipped! Old fool!isn't the lesson you have already received sufficiently terrible? Willyou never be more cautious?"
Thus he reasoned, trying to dismiss his disquieting thoughts, andrestraining his habits of investigation; but in his heart a tormentingvoice constantly whispered, "Suppose it is Noel."
He at length reached the Rue St. Lazare. Before the door of his housestood a magnificent horse harnessed to an elegant blue brougham. At thesight of these he stopped.
"A handsome animal!" he said to himself; "my tenants receive some swellpeople."
They apparently received visitors of an opposite class also, for, atthat moment, he saw M. Clergeot came out, worthy M. Clergeot, whosepresence in a house betrayed ruin just as surely as the presence of theundertakers announce a death. The old detective, who knew everybody, waswell acquainted with the worthy banker. He had even done business withhim once, when collecting books. He stopped him and said: "Halloa! youold crocodile, you have clients, then, in my house?"
"So it seems," replied Clergeot dryly, for he does not like beingtreated with such familiarity.
"Ah! ah!" said old Tabaret. And, prompted by the very natural curiosityof a landlord who is bound to be very careful about the financialcondition of his tenants, he added, "Who the deuce are you ruining now?"
"I am ruining no one," replied M. Clergeot, with an air of offendeddignity. "Have you ever had reason to complain of me whenever we havedone business together? I think not. Mention me to the young advocateup there, if you like; he will tell you whether he has reason to regretknowing me."
These words produced a painful impression on Tabaret. What, Noel, theprudent Noel, one of Clergeot's customers! What did it mean? Perhapsthere was no harm in it; but then he remembered the fifteen thousandfrancs he had lent Noel on the Thursday.
"Yes," said he, wishing to obtain some more information, "I know that M.Gerdy spends a pretty round sum."
Clergeot has the delicacy never to leave his clients undefended whenattacked.
"It isn't he personally," he objected, "who makes the money dance; itsthat charming little woman of his. Ah, she's no bigger than your thumb,but she'd eat the devil, hoofs, horns, and all!"
What! Noel had a mistress, a woman whom Clergeot himself, the friend ofsuch creatures, considered expensive! The revelation, at such a moment,pierced the old man's heart. But he dissembled. A gesture, a look, mightawaken the usurer's mistrust, and close his mouth.
"That's well known," replied Tabaret in a careless tone. "Youth musthave it's day. But what do you suppose the wench costs him a year?"
"Oh, I don't know! He made the mistake of not fixing a price with her.According to my calculation, she must have, during the four years thatshe has been under his protection, cost him close upon five hundredthousand francs."
Four years? Five hundred thousand francs! These words, these figures,burst like bombshells on old Tabaret's brain. Half a million! In thatcase, Noel was utterly ruined. But then--
"It is a great deal," said he, succeeding by desperate efforts in hidinghis emotion; "it is enormous. M. Gerdy, however, has resources."
"He!" interrupted the usurer, shrugging his shoulders. "Not even that!"he added, snapping his fingers; "He is utterly cleaned out. But, if heowes you money, do not be anxious. He is a sly dog. He is going to bemarried; and I have just renewed bills of his for twenty-six thousandfrancs. Good-bye, M. Tabaret."
The usurer hurried away, leaving the poor old fellow standing like amilestone in the middle of the pavement. He experienced something ofthat terrible grief which breaks a father's heart when he begins torealize that his dearly loved son is perhaps the worst of scoundrels.
And, yet, such was his confidence in Noel that he again struggled withhis reason to resist the suspicions which tormented him. Perhaps theusurer had been slandering his friend. People who lend their moneyat more than ten per cent are capable of anything. Evidently he hadexaggerated the extent of Noel's follies.
And, supposing it were true? Have not many men done just such insanethings for women, without ceasing to be honest?
As he was about to enter his house, a whirlwind of silk, lace, andvelvet, stopped the way. A pretty young brunette came out and jumped aslightly as a bird into the blue brougham.
Old Tabaret was a gallant man, and the young woman was most charming,but he never even looked at her. He passed in, and found his conciergestanding, cap in hand, and tenderly examining a twenty franc piece.
"Ah, sir," said the man, "such a pretty young person, and so lady-like!If you had only been here five minutes sooner."
"What lady? why?"
"That elegant lady, who just went out, sir; she came to make someinquiries about M. Gerdy. She gave me twenty francs for answering herquestions. It seems that the gentleman is going to be married; and shewas evidently much annoyed about it. Superb creature! I have an ideathat she is his mistress. I know now why he goes out every night."
"M. Gerdy?"
"Yes, sir, but I never mentioned it to you, because he seemed to wish tohide it. He never asks me to open the door for him, no, not he. He slipsout by the little stable door. I have often said to myself, 'Perhaps hedoesn't want to disturb me; it is very thoughtful on his part, and heseems to enjoy it so.'"
The concierge spoke with his eyes fixed on the gold piece. When heraised his head to examine the countenance of his lord and master, oldTabaret had disappeared.
"There's another!" said the concierge to himself. "I'll bet a hundredsous, that he's running after the superb creature! Run ahead, go it,old dotard, you shall have a little bit, but not much, for it's veryexpensive!"
The concierge was right. Old Tabaret was running after the lady in theblue brougham.
"She will tell me all," he thought, and with a bound he was in thestreet. He reached it just in time to see the blue brougham turn thecorner of the Rue St. Lazare.
"Heavens!" he murmured. "I shall lose sight of her, and yet she can tellme the truth."
He was in one of those states of nervous excitement which engenderprodigies. He ran to the end of the Rue St. Lazare as rapidly as if hehad been a young man of twenty.
Joy! He saw the blue brougham a short distance from him in the Rue duHavre, stopped in the midst of a block of carriages.
"I have her," said he to himself. He looked all about him, but there wasnot an empty cab to be seen. Gladly would he have cried, like Richardthe III., "My kingdom for a cab!"
The brougham got out of the entanglement, and started off rapidlytowards the Rue Tronchet. The old fellow followed.
He kept his ground. The brougham gained but little upon him.
While running in the middle of the street, at the same time looking
outfor a cab, he kept saying to himself: "Hurry on, old fellow, hurry on.When one has no brains, one must use one's legs. Why didn't you think toget this woman's address from Clergeot? You must hurry yourself, my oldfriend, you must hurry yourself! When one goes in for being a detective,one should be fit for the profession, and have the shanks of a deer."
But he was losing ground, plainly losing ground. He was only halfwaydown the Rue Tronchet, and quite tired out; he felt that his legs couldnot carry him a hundred steps farther, and the brougham had almostreached the Madeleine.
At last an open cab, going in the same direction as himself, passed by.He made a sign, more despairing than any drowning man ever made. Thesign was seen. He made a supreme effort, and with a bound jumped intothe vehicle without touching the step.
"There," he gasped, "that blue brougham, twenty francs!"
"All right!" replied the coachman, nodding.
And he covered his ill-conditioned horse with vigorous blows, muttering,"A jealous husband following his wife; that's evident. Gee up!"
As for old Tabaret, he was a long time recovering himself, his strengthwas almost exhausted.
For more than a minute, he could not catch his breath. They were soonon the Boulevards. He stood up in the cab leaning against the driver'sseat.
"I don't see the brougham anywhere," he said.
"Oh, I see it all right, sir. But it is drawn by a splendid horse!"
"Yours ought to be a better one. I said twenty francs; I'll make itforty."
The driver whipped up his horse most mercilessly, and growled, "It's nouse, I must catch her. For twenty francs, I would have let her escape;for I love the girls, and am on their side. But, fancy! Forty francs! Iwonder how such an ugly man can be so jealous."
Old Tabaret tried in every way to occupy his mind with other matters. Hedid not wish to reflect before seeing the woman, speaking with her, andcarefully questioning her.
He was sure that by one word she would either condemn or save her lover.
"What! condemn Noel? Ah, well! yes."
The idea that Noel was the assassin harassed and tormented him, andbuzzed in his brain, like the moth which flies again and again againstthe window where it sees a light.
As they passed the Chaussee d'Antin, the brougham was scarcely thirtypaces in advance. The cab driver turned, and said: "But the Brougham isstopping."
"Then stop also. Don't lose sight of it; but be ready to follow it againas soon as it goes off."
Old Tabaret leaned as far as he could out of the cab.
The young woman alighted, crossed the pavement, and entered a shop wherecashmeres and laces were sold.
"There," thought the old fellow, "is where the thousand franc notes go!Half a million in four years! What can these creatures do with the moneyso lavishly bestowed upon them? Do they eat it? On the altar of whatcaprices do they squander these fortunes? They must have the devil's ownpotions which they give to drink to the idiots who ruin themselvesfor them. They must possess some peculiar art of preparing and spicingpleasure; since, once they get hold of a man, he sacrifices everythingbefore forsaking them."
The cab moved on once more, but soon stopped again.
The brougham had made a fresh pause, this time in front of a curiosityshop.
"The woman wants then to buy out half of Paris!" said old Tabaret tohimself in a passion. "Yes, if Noel committed the crime, it was shewho forced him to it. These are my fifteen thousand francs that she isfrittering away now. How long will they last her? It must have been formoney, then, that Noel murdered Widow Lerouge. If so, he is the lowest,the most infamous of men! What a monster of dissimulation and hypocrisy!And to think that he would be my heir, if I should die here of rage! Forit is written in my will in so many words, 'I bequeath to my son, NoelGerdy!' If he is guilty, there isn't a punishment sufficiently severefor him. But is this woman never going home?"
The woman was in no hurry. The weather was charming, her dressirresistible, and she intended showing herself off. She visited threeor four more shops, and at last stopped at a confectioner's, where sheremained for more than a quarter of an hour.
The old fellow, devoured by anxiety, moved about and stamped in his cab.It was torture thus to be kept from the key to a terrible enigma by thecaprice of a worthless hussy! He was dying to rush after her, to seizeher by the arm, and cry out to her: "Home, wretched, creature, home atonce! What are you doing here? Don't you know that at this moment yourlover, he whom you have ruined, is suspected of an assassination? Home,then, that I may question you, that I may learn from you whether he isinnocent or guilty. For you will tell me, without knowing it. Ah! I haveprepared a fine trap for you! Go home, then, this anxiety is killingme!"
She returned to her carriage. It started off once more, passed up theRue de Faubourg Montmarte, turned into the Rue de Provence, depositedits fair freight at her own door, and drove away.
"She lives here," said old Tabaret, with a sigh of relief.
He got out of the cab, gave the driver his forty francs, bade him wait,and followed in the young woman's footsteps.
"The old fellow is patient," thought the driver; "and the littlebrunette is caught."
The detective opened the door of the concierge's lodge.
"What is the name of the lady who just came in?" he demanded.
The concierge did not seem disposed to reply.
"Her name!" insisted the old man.
The tone was so sharp, so imperative, that the concierge was upset.
"Madame Juliette Chaffour," he answered.
"On what floor does she reside?"
"On the second, the door opposite the stairs."
A minute later, the old man was waiting in Madame Juliette'sdrawing-room. Madame was dressing, the maid informed him, and would bedown directly.
Tabaret was astonished at the luxury of the room. There was nothingflaring or coarse, or in bad taste. It was not at all like the apartmentof a kept woman. The old fellow, who knew a good deal about such things,saw that everything was of great value. The ornaments on the mantelpiecealone must have cost, at the lowest estimate, twenty thousand francs.
"Clergeot," thought he, "didn't exaggerate a bit."
Juliette's entrance disturbed his reflections.
She had taken off her dress, and had hastily thrown about her a looseblack dressing-gown, trimmed with cherry-coloured satin. Her beautifulhair, slightly disordered after her drive, fell in cascades about herneck, and curled behind her delicate ears. She dazzled old Tabaret. Hebegan to understand.
"You wished, sir, to speak with me?" she inquired, bowing gracefully.
"Madame," replied M. Tabaret, "I am a friend of Noel Gerdy's, I may sayhis best friend, and--"
"Pray sit down, sir," interrupted the young woman.
She placed herself on a sofa, just showing the tips of her little feetencased in slippers matching her dressing-gown, while the old man satdown in a chair.
"I come, madame," he resumed, "on very serious business. Your presenceat M. Gerdy's--"
"Ah," cried Juliette, "he already knows of my visit? Then he must employa detective."
"My dear child--" began Tabaret, paternally.
"Oh! I know, sir, what your errand is. Noel has sent you here to scoldme. He forbade my going to his house, but I couldn't help it. It'sannoying to have a puzzle for a lover, a man whom one knows nothingwhatever about, a riddle in a black coat and a white cravat, a sad andmysterious being--"
"You have been imprudent."
"Why? Because he is going to get married? Why does he not admit itthen?"
"Suppose that it is not true."
"Oh, but it is! He told that old shark Clergeot so, who repeated it tome. Any way, he must be plotting something in that head of his; for thelast month he has been so peculiar, he has changed so, that I hardlyrecognize him."
Old Tabaret was especially anxious to know whether Noel had preparedan _alibi_ for the evening of the crime. For him that was the grandquestion. If he had, he was certainl
y guilty; if not, he might still beinnocent. Madame Juliette, he had no doubt, could enlighten him on thatpoint.
Consequently he had presented himself with his lesson all prepared, hislittle trap all set.
The young woman's outburst disconcerted him a little; but trusting tothe chances of conversation, he resumed.
"Will you oppose Noel's marriage, then?"
"His marriage!" cried Juliette, bursting out into a laugh; "ah, the poorboy! If he meets no worse obstacle than myself, his path will be smooth.Let him marry by all means, the sooner the better, and let me hear nomore of him."
"You don't love him, then?" asked the old fellow, surprised at thisamiable frankness.
"Listen, sir. I have loved him a great deal, but everything has anend. For four years, I, who am so fond of pleasure, have passed anintolerable existence. If Noel doesn't leave me, I shall be obliged toleave him. I am tired of having a lover who is ashamed of me and whodespises me."
"If he despises you, my pretty lady, he scarcely shows it here," repliedold Tabaret, casting a significant glance about the room.
"You mean," said she rising, "that he spends a great deal of money onme. It's true. He pretends that he has ruined himself on my account;it's very possible. But what's that to me! I am not a grabbingwoman; and I would much have preferred less money and more regard. Myextravagance has been inspired by anger and want of occupation. M. Gerdytreats me like a mercenary woman; and so I act like one. We are quits."
"You know very well that he worships you."
"He? I tell you he is ashamed of me. He hides me as though I were somehorrible disease. You are the first of his friends to whom I have everspoken. Ask him how often he takes me out. One would think that mypresence dishonoured him. Why, no longer ago than last Tuesday, we wentto the theatre! He hired an entire box. But do you think that he satin it with me? Not at all. He slipped away and I saw no more of him thewhole evening."
"How so? Were you obliged to return home alone?"
"No. At the end of the play, towards midnight, he deigned to reappear.We had arranged to go to the masked ball at the Opera and then to havesome supper. Ah, it was amusing! At the ball, he didn't dare to let downhis hood, or take off his mask. At supper, I had to treat him like aperfect stranger, because some of his friends were present."
This, then, was the _alibi_ prepared in case of trouble. Juliette, hadshe been less carried away by her own feelings, would have noticed oldTabaret's emotion, and would certainly have held her tongue. He wasperfectly livid, and trembled like a leaf.
"Well," he said, making a great effort to utter the words, "the supper,I suppose, was none the less gay for that."
"Gay!" echoed the young woman, shrugging her shoulders; "you do not seemto know much of your friend. If you ever ask him to dinner, take goodcare not to give him anything to drink. Wine makes him as merry as afuneral procession. At the second bottle, he was more tipsy than acork; so much so, that he lost nearly everything he had with him: hisovercoat, purse, umbrella, cigar-case--"
Old Tabaret couldn't sit and listen any longer; he jumped to his feetlike a raving madman.
"Miserable wretch!" he cried, "infamous scoundrel! It is he; but I havehim!"
And he rushed out, leaving Juliette so terrified that she called hermaid.
"Child," said she, "I have just made some awful blunder, have let somesecret out. I am sure that something dreadful is going to happen; I feelit. That old rogue was no friend of Noel's, he came to circumvent me,to lead me by the nose; and he succeeded. Without knowing it I must havespoken against Noel. What can I have said? I have thought carefully, andcan remember nothing; but he must be warned though. I will write him aline, while you find a messenger to take it."
Old Tabaret was soon in his cab and hurrying towards the Prefecture ofPolice. Noel an assassin! His hate was without bounds, as formerly hadbeen his confiding affection. He had been cruelly deceived, unworthilyduped, by the vilest and the most criminal of men. He thirsted forvengeance; he asked himself what punishment would be great enough forthe crime.
"For he not only assassinated Claudine," thought he, "but he so arrangedthe whole thing as to have an innocent man accused and condemned. Andwho can say that he did not kill his poor mother?"
He regretted the abolition of torture, the refined cruelty of the middleages: quartering, the stake, the wheel. The guillotine acts so quicklythat the condemned man has scarcely time to feel the cold steel cuttingthrough his muscles; it is nothing more than a fillip on the neck.Through trying so much to mitigate the pain of death, it has now becomelittle more than a joke, and might be abolished altogether.
The certainty of confounding Noel, of delivering him up to justice, oftaking vengeance upon him, alone kept old Tabaret up.
"It is clear," he murmured, "that the wretch forgot his things at therailway station, in his haste to rejoin his mistress. Will they still befound there? If he has had the prudence to go boldly, and ask for themunder a false name, I can see no further proofs against him. MadameChaffour's evidence won't help me. The hussy, seeing her lover indanger, will deny what she has just told me; she will assert that Noelleft her long after ten o'clock. But I cannot think he has dared to goto the railway station again."
About half way down the Rue Richelieu, M. Tabaret was seized with asudden giddiness.
"I am going to have an attack, I fear," thought he. "If I die, Noelwill escape, and will be my heir. A man should always keep his willconstantly with him, to be able to destroy it, if necessary."
A few steps further on, he saw a doctor's plate on a door; he stoppedthe cab, and rushed into the house. He was so excited, so besidehimself, his eyes had such a wild expression, that the doctor was almostafraid of his peculiar patient, who said to him hoarsely: "Bleed me!"
The doctor ventured an objection; but already the old fellow had takenoff his coat, and drawn up one of his shirtsleeves.
"Bleed me!" he repeated. "Do you want me to die?"
The doctor finally obeyed, and old Tabaret came out quieted andrelieved.
An hour later, armed with the necessary power, and accompanied by apoliceman, he proceeded to the lost property office at the St. Lazarerailway station, to make the necessary search. It resulted as he hadexpected. He learnt that, on the evening of Shrove Tuesday, there hadbeen found in one of the second class carriages, of train No. 45, anovercoat and an umbrella. He was shown the articles; and he at oncerecognised them as belonging to Noel. In one of the pockets of theovercoat, he found a pair of lavender kid gloves, frayed and soiled, aswell as a return ticket from Chatou, which had not been used.
In hurrying on, in pursuit of the truth, old Tabaret knew only too well,what it was. His conviction, unwillingly formed when Clergeot had toldhim of Noel's follies, had since been strengthened in a number of otherways. When with Juliette, he had felt positively sure, and yet, at thislast moment, when doubt had become impossible, he was, on beholding theevidence arrayed against Noel, absolutely thunderstruck.
"Onwards!" he cried at last. "Now to arrest him."
And, without losing an instant, he hastened to the Palais de Justice,where he hoped to find the investigating magistrate. Notwithstandingthe lateness of the hour, M. Daburon was still in his office. He wasconversing with the Count de Commarin, having related to him the factsrevealed by Pierre Lerouge whom the count had believed dead many yearsbefore.
Old Tabaret entered like a whirlwind, too distracted to notice thepresence of a stranger.
"Sir," he cried, stuttering with suppressed rage, "we have discoveredthe real assassin! It is he, my adopted son, my heir, Noel!"
"Noel!" repeated M. Daburon, rising. And then in a lower tone, he added,"I suspected it."
"A warrant is necessary at once," continued the old fellow. "If we losea minute, he will slip through our fingers. He will know that he isdiscovered, if his mistress has time to warn him of my visit. Hasten,sir, hasten!"
M. Daburon opened his lips to ask an explanation; but the old detectivecontinued: "Tha
t is not all. An innocent man, Albert, is still inprison."
"He will not be so an hour longer," replied the magistrate; "a momentbefore your arrival, I had made arrangements to have him released. Wemust now occupy ourselves with the other one."
Neither old Tabaret nor M. Daburon had noticed the disappearance of theCount de Commarin. On hearing Noel's name mentioned, he gained the doorquietly, and rushed out into the passage.
L'affaire Lerouge. English Page 18
