Le crime d'Orcival. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer

  The Mystery of Orcival

  By

  Emile Gaboriau

  I

  On Thursday, the 9th of July, 186-, Jean Bertaud and his son, well knownat Orcival as living by poaching and marauding, rose at three o'clock inthe morning, just at daybreak, to go fishing.

  Taking their tackle, they descended the charming pathway, shaded byacacias, which you see from the station at Evry, and which leads fromthe burg of Orcival to the Seine.

  They made their way to their boat, moored as usual some fifty yardsabove the wire bridge, across a field adjoining Valfeuillu, the imposingestate of the Count de Tremorel.

  Having reached the river-bank, they laid down their tackle, and Jeanjumped into the boat to bail out the water in the bottom.

  While he was skilfully using the scoop, he perceived that one of theoar-pins of the old craft, worn by the oar, was on the point ofbreaking.

  "Philippe," cried he, to his son, who was occupied in unravelling a net,"bring me a bit of wood to make a new oar-pin."

  "All right," answered Philippe.

  There was no tree in the field. The young man bent his steps toward thepark of Valfeuillu, a few rods distant; and, neglectful of Article 391of the Penal Code, jumped across the wide ditch which surrounds M. deTremorel's domain. He thought he would cut off a branch of one of theold willows, which at this place touch the water with their droopingbranches.

  He had scarcely drawn his knife from his pocket, while looking about himwith the poacher's unquiet glance, when he uttered a low cry, "Father!Here! Father!"

  "What's the matter?" responded the old marauder, without pausing fromhis work.

  "Father, come here!" continued Philippe. "In Heaven's name, come here,quick!"

  Jean knew by the tone of his son's voice that something unusual hadhappened. He threw down his scoop, and, anxiety quickening him, in threeleaps was in the park. He also stood still, horror-struck, before thespectacle which had terrified Philippe.

  On the bank of the river, among the stumps and flags, was stretched awoman's body. Her long, dishevelled locks lay among the water-shrubs;her dress--of gray silk--was soiled with mire and blood. All the upperpart of the body lay in shallow water, and her face had sunk in the mud.

  "A murder!" muttered Philippe, whose voice trembled.

  "That's certain," responded Jean, in an indifferent tone. "But who canthis woman be? Really one would say, the countess."

  "We'll see," said the young man. He stepped toward the body; his fathercaught him by the arm.

  "What would you do, fool?" said he. "You ought never to touch the bodyof a murdered person without legal authority."

  "You think so?"

  "Certainly. There are penalties for it."

  "Then, come along and let's inform the Mayor."

  "Why? as if people hereabouts were not against us enough already! Whoknows that they would not accuse us--"

  "But, father--"

  "If we go and inform Monsieur Courtois, he will ask us how and why wecame to be in Monsieur de Tremorel's park to find this out. What is itto you, that the countess has been killed? They'll find her body withoutyou. Come, let's go away."

  But Philippe did not budge. Hanging his head, his chin resting upon hispalm, he reflected.

  "We must make this known," said he, firmly. "We are not savages; we willtell Monsieur Courtois that in passing along by the park in our boat, weperceived the body."

  Old Jean resisted at first; then, seeing that his son would, if need be,go without him, yielded.

  They re-crossed the ditch, and leaving their fishing-tackle in thefield, directed their steps hastily toward the mayor's house.

  Orcival, situated a mile or more from Corbeil, on the right bank of theSeine, is one of the most charming villages in the environs of Paris,despite the infernal etymology of its name. The gay and thoughtlessParisian, who, on Sunday, wanders about the fields, more destructivethan the rook, has not yet discovered this smiling country. Thedistressing odor of the frying from coffee-gardens does not there stiflethe perfume of the honeysuckles. The refrains of bargemen, the brazenvoices of boat-horns, have never awakened echoes there. Lazily situatedon the gentle slopes of a bank washed by the Seine, the houses ofOrcival are white, and there are delicious shades, and a bell-towerwhich is the pride of the place. On all sides vast pleasure domains,kept up at great cost, surround it. From the upper part, theweathercocks of twenty chateaux may be seen. On the right is the forestof Mauprevoir, and the pretty country-house of the Countess de laBreche; opposite, on the other side of the river, is Mousseaux andPetit-Bourg, the ancient domain of Aguado, now the property of a famouscoach-maker; on the left, those beautiful copses belong to the Count deTremorel, that large park is d'Etiolles, and in the distance beyond isCorbeil; that vast building, whose roofs are higher than the oaks, isthe Darblay mill.

  The mayor of Orcival occupies a handsome, pleasant mansion, at the upperend of the village. Formerly a manufacturer of dry goods, M. Courtoisentered business without a penny, and after thirty years of absorbingtoil, he retired with four round millions of francs.

  Then he proposed to live tranquilly with his wife and children, passingthe winter at Paris and the summer at his country-house.

  But all of a sudden he was observed to be disturbed and agitated.Ambition stirred his heart. He took vigorous measures to be forced toaccept the mayoralty of Orcival. And he accepted it, quite inself-defence, as he will himself tell you. This office was at once hishappiness and his despair; apparent despair, interior and realhappiness.

  It quite befits him, with clouded brow, to rail at the cares of power;he appears yet better when, his waist encircled with the gold-lacedscarf, he goes in triumph at the head of the municipal body.

  Everybody was sound asleep at the mayor's when the two Bertauds rappedthe heavy knocker of the door. After a moment, a servant, half asleep,appeared at one of the ground-floor windows.

  "What's the matter, you rascals?" asked he, growling.

  Jean did not think it best to revenge an insult which his reputation inthe village too well justified.

  "We want to speak to Monsieur the Mayor," he answered. "There isterrible need of it. Go call him, Monsieur Baptiste; he won't blameyou."

  "I'd like to see anybody blame me," snapped out Baptiste.

  It took ten minutes of talking and explaining to persuade the servant.Finally, the Bertauds were admitted to a little man, fat and red, verymuch annoyed at being dragged from his bed so early. It was M. Courtois.

  They had decided that Philippe should speak.

  "Monsieur Mayor," he said, "we have come to announce to you a greatmisfortune. A crime has been committed at Monsieur de Tremorel's."

  M. Courtois was a friend of the count's; he became whiter than his shirtat this sudden news.

  "My God!" stammered he, unable to control his emotion, "what do yousay--a crime!"

  "Yes; we have just discovered a body; and as sure as you are here, Ibelieve it to be that of the countess."

  The worthy man raised his arms heavenward, with a wandering air.

  "But where, when?"

  "Just now, at the foot of the park, as we were going to take up ournets."

  "It is horrible!" exclaimed the good M. Courtois; "what a calamity! Soworthy a lady! But it is not possible--you must be mistaken; I shouldhave been informed--"

  "We saw it distinctly, Monsieur Mayor."

  "Such a crime in my village! Well, you have done wisely to come here. Iwill dress at once, and will hasten off--no, wait." He reflected amoment, then called:

  "Baptiste!"

  The val
et was not far off. With ear and eye alternately pressed againstthe key-hole, he heard and looked with all his might. At the sound ofhis master's voice he had only to stretch out his hand and open thedoor.

  "Monsieur called me?"

  "Run to the justice of the peace," said the mayor. "There is not amoment to lose. A crime has been committed--perhaps a murder--you mustgo quickly. And you," addressing the poachers, "await me here while Islip on my coat."

  The justice of the peace at Orcival, M. Plantat--"Papa Plantat," as hewas called--was formerly an attorney at Melun. At fifty, Mr. Plantat,whose career had been one of unbroken prosperity, lost in the samemonth, his wife, whom he adored, and his two sons, charming youths, oneeighteen, the other twenty-two years old. These successive lossescrushed a man whom thirty years of happiness left without defenceagainst misfortune. For a long time his reason was despaired of. Eventhe sight of a client, coming to trouble his grief, to recount stupidtales of self-interest, exasperated him. It was not surprising that hesold out his professional effects and good-will at half price. He wishedto establish himself at his ease in his grief, with the certainty of notbeing disturbed in its indulgence.

  But the intensity of his mourning diminished, and the ills of idlenesscame. The justiceship of the peace at Orcival was vacant, and M. Plantatapplied for and obtained it. Once installed in this office, he sufferedless from ennui. This man, who saw his life drawing to an end, undertookto interest himself in the thousand diverse cases which came before him.He applied to these all the forces of a superior intelligence, theresources of a mind admirably fitted to separate the false from the trueamong the lies he was forced to hear. He persisted, besides, in livingalone, despite the urging of M. Courtois; pretending that societyfatigued him, and that an unhappy man is a bore in company.

  Misfortune, which modifies characters, for good or bad, had made him,apparently, a great egotist. He declared that he was only interested inthe affairs of life as a critic tired of its active scenes. He loved tomake a parade of his profound indifference for everything, swearing thata rain of fire descending upon Paris, would not even make him turn hishead. To move him seemed impossible. "What's that to me?" was hisinvariable exclamation.

  Such was the man who, a quarter of an hour after Baptiste's departure,entered the mayor's house.

  M. Plantat was tall, thin, and nervous. His physiognomy was notstriking. His hair was short, his restless eyes seemed always to beseeking something, his very long nose was narrow and sharp. After hisaffliction, his mouth, formerly well shaped, became deformed; his lowerlip had sunk, and gave him a deceptive look of simplicity.

  "They tell me," said he, at the threshold, "that Madame de Tremorel hasbeen murdered."

  "These men here, at least, pretend so," answered the mayor, who had justreappeared.

  M. Courtois was no longer the same man. He had had time to make histoilet a little. His face attempted to express a haughty coldness. Hehad been reproaching himself for having been wanting in dignity, inshowing his grief before the Bertauds. "Nothing ought to agitate a manin my position," said he to himself. And, being terribly agitated, heforced himself to be calm, cold, and impassible.

  M. Plantat was so naturally.

  "This is a very sad event," said he, in a tone which he forced himselfto make perfectly disinterested; "but after all, how does it concern us?We must, however, hurry and ascertain whether it is true. I have sentfor the brigadier, and he will join us."

  "Let us go," said M. Courtois; "I have my scarf in my pocket."

  They hastened off. Philippe and his father went first, the young maneager and impatient, the old one sombre and thoughtful. The mayor, ateach step, made some exclamation.

  "I can't understand it," muttered he; "a murder in my commune! a communewhere, in the memory of men, no crime has been committed!"

  And he directed a suspicious glance toward the two Bertauds. The roadwhich led toward the chateau of M. de Tremorel was an unpleasant one,shut in by walls a dozen feet high. On one side is the park of theMarchioness de Lanascol; on the other the spacious garden of SaintJouan. The going and coming had taken time; it was nearly eight o'clockwhen the mayor, the justice, and their guides stopped before the gate ofM. de Tremorel.

  The mayor rang. The bell was very large; only a small gravelled court offive or six yards separated the gate from the house; nevertheless no oneappeared.

  The mayor rang more vigorously, then with all his strength; but in vain.

  Before the gate of Mme. de Lanascol's chateau, nearly opposite, a groomwas standing, occupied in cleaning and polishing a bridle-bit. "It's ofno use to ring, gentlemen," said this man; "there's nobody in thechateau."

  "How! nobody?" asked the mayor, surprised.

  "I mean," said the groom, "that there is no one there but the master andmistress. The servants all went away last evening by the 8.40 train toParis, to the wedding of the old cook, Madame Denis. They ought toreturn this morning by the first train. I was invited myself--"

  "Great God!" interrupted M. Courtois, "then the count and countessremained alone last night?"

  "Entirely alone, Monsieur Mayor."

  "It is horrible!"

  M. Plantat seemed to grow impatient during this dialogue. "Come," saidhe, "we cannot stay forever at the gate. The gendarmes do not come; letus send for the locksmith." Philippe was about to hasten off, when, atthe end of the road, singing and laughing were heard. Five persons,three women and two men, soon appeared.

  "Ah, there are the people of the chateau," cried the groom, whom thismorning visit seemed to annoy, "they ought to have a key."

  The domestics, seeing the group about the gate, became silent andhastened their steps. One of them began to run ahead of the others; itwas the count's valet de chambre.

  "These gentlemen perhaps wish to speak to Monsieur the Count?" asked he,having bowed to M. Plantat.

  "We have rung five times, as hard as we could," said the mayor.

  "It is surprising," said the valet de chambre, "the count sleeps verylightly. Perhaps he has gone out."

  "Horror!" cried Philippe. "Both of them have been murdered!" These wordsshocked the servants, whose gayety announced a reasonable number ofhealths drunk to the happiness of the newly wedded pair. M. Courtoisseemed to be studying the attitude of old Bertaud.

  "A murder!" muttered the valet de chambre. "It was for money then; itmust have been known--"

  "What?" asked the mayor.

  "Monsieur the Count received a very large sum yesterday morning."

  "Large! yes," added a chambermaid. "He had a large package ofbank-bills. Madame even said to Monsieur that she should not shut hereyes the whole night, with this immense sum in the house."

  There was a silence; each one looked at the others with a frightenedair. M. Courtois reflected.

  "At what hour did you leave the chateau last evening?" asked he of theservants.

  "At eight o'clock; we had dinner early."

  "You went away all together?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You did not leave each other?"

  "Not a minute."

  "And you returned all together?"

  The servants exchanged a significant look.

  "All," responded a chambermaid--"that is to say, no. One left us onreaching the Lyons station at Paris; it was Guespin."

  "Yes, sir; he went away, saying that he would rejoin us at Wepler's, inthe Batignolles, where the wedding took place." The mayor nudged thejustice with his elbow, as if to attract his attention, and continued toquestion the chambermaid.

  "And this Guespin, as you call him--did you see him again?"

  "No, sir. I asked several times during the evening in vain, what hadbecome of him; his absence seemed to me suspicious." Evidently thechambermaid tried to show superior perspicacity. A little more, and shewould have talked of presentiments.

  "Has this Guespin been long in the house?"

  "Since spring."

  "What were his duties?"

  "He was sent from Paris by th
e house of the 'Skilful Gardener,' to takecare of the rare flowers in Madame's conservatory."

  "And did he know of this money?"

  The domestics again exchanged significant glances.

  "Yes," they answered in chorus, "we had talked a great deal about itamong ourselves."

  The chambermaid added: "He even said to me, 'To think that Monsieur theCount has enough money in his cabinet to make all our fortunes.'"

  "What kind of a man is this?"

  This question absolutely extinguished the talkativeness of the servants.No one dared to speak, perceiving that the least word might serve as thebasis of a terrible accusation. But the groom of the house opposite, whoburned to mix himself up in the affair, had none of these scruples."Guespin," answered he, "is a good fellow. Lord, what jolly things heknows! He knows everything you can imagine. It appears he has been richin times past, and if he wished--But dame! he loves to have his work allfinished, and go off on sprees. He's a crack billiard-player, I can tellyou."

  Papa Plantat, while listening in an apparently absent-minded way tothese depositions, or rather these scandals, carefully examined the walland the gate. He now turned, and interrupting the groom:

  "Enough of this," said he, to the great scandal of M. Courtois. "Beforepursuing this interrogatory, let us ascertain the crime, if crime thereis; for it is not proved. Let whoever has the key, open the gate."

  The valet de chambre had the key; he opened the gate, and all enteredthe little court. The gendarmes had just arrived. The mayor told thebrigadier to follow him, and placed two men at the gate, ordering themnot to permit anyone to enter or go out, unless by his orders. Then thevalet de chambre opened the door of the house.