Le crime d'Orcival. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  VI

  M. Lecoq was the first to reach the staircase, and the spots of blood atonce caught his eye.

  "Oh," cried he, at each spot he saw, "oh, oh, the wretches!"

  M. Courtois was much moved to find so much sensibility in a detective.The latter, as he continued to ascend, went on:

  "The wretches! They don't often leave traces like this everywhere--or atleast they wipe them out."

  On gaining the first landing, and the door of the boudoir which led intothe chamber, he stopped, eagerly scanning, before he entered, theposition of the rooms.

  Then he entered the boudoir, saying:

  "Come; I don't see my way clear yet."

  "But it seems to me," remarked the judge, "that we have alreadyimportant materials to aid your task. It is clear that Guespin, if he isnot an accomplice, at least knew something about the crime."

  M. Lecoq had recourse to the portrait in the lozenge-box. It was morethan a glance, it was a confidence. He evidently said something to thedear defunct, which he dared not say aloud.

  "I see that Guespin is seriously compromised," resumed he. "Why didn'the want to tell where he passed the night? But, then, public opinion isagainst him, and I naturally distrust that."

  The detective stood alone in the middle of the room, the rest, at hisrequest, remained at the threshold, and looking keenly about him,searched for some explanation of the frightful disorder of theapartment.

  "Fools!" cried he, in an irritated tone, "double brutes! Because theymurder people so as to rob them, is no reason why they should breakeverything in the house. Sharp folks don't smash up furniture; theycarry pretty picklocks, which work well and make no noise. Idiots! onewould say--"

  He stopped with his mouth wide open.

  "Eh! Not so bungling, after all, perhaps."

  The witnesses of this scene remained motionless at the door, following,with an interest mingled with surprise, the detective's movements.

  Kneeling down, he passed his flat palm over the thick carpet, among thebroken porcelain.

  "It's damp; very damp. The tea was not all drunk, it seems, when thecups were broken."

  "Some tea might have remained in the teapot," suggested Plantat.

  "I know it," answered M. Lecoq, "just what I was going to say. So thatthis dampness cannot tell us the exact moment when the crime wascommitted."

  "But the clock does, and very exactly," interrupted the mayor.

  "The mayor," said M. Domini, "in his notes, well explains that themovements of the clock stopped when it fell."

  "But see here," said M. Plantat, "it was the odd hour marked by thatclock that struck me. The hands point to twenty minutes past three; yetwe know that the countess was fully dressed, when she was struck. Wasshe up taking tea at three in the morning? It's hardly probable."

  "I, too, was struck with that circumstance," returned M. Lecoq, "andthat's why I said, 'not so stupid!' Well, let's see."

  He lifted the clock with great care, and replaced it on the mantel,being cautious to set it exactly upright. The hands continued to pointto twenty minutes past three.

  "Twenty past three!" muttered he, while slipping a little wedge underthe stand. "People don't take tea at that hour. Still less common is itthat people are murdered at daylight."

  He opened the clock-case with some difficulty, and pushed the longerhand to the figure of half-past three.

  The clock struck eleven!

  "Good," cried M. Lecoq, triumphantly. "That is the truth!" and drawingthe lozenge-box from his pocket, he excitedly crushed a lozenge betweenhis teeth.

  The simplicity of this discovery surprised the spectators; the idea oftrying the clock in this way had occurred to no one. M. Courtois,especially, was bewildered.

  "There's a fellow," whispered he to the doctor, "who knows what he'sabout."

  "Ergo," resumed M. Lecoq (who knew Latin), "we have here, not brutes, asI thought at first, but rascals who looked beyond the end of theirknife. They intended to put us off the scent, by deceiving us as to thehour."

  "I don't see their object very clearly," said M. Courtois, timidly.

  "Yet it is easy to see it," answered M. Domini. "Was it not for theirinterest to make it appear that the crime was committed after the lasttrain for Paris had left? Guespin, leaving his companions at the Lyonsstation at nine, might have reached here at ten, murdered the count andcountess, seized the money which he knew to be in the count'spossession, and returned to Paris by the last train."

  "These conjectures are very shrewd," interposed M. Plantat; "but how isit that Guespin did not rejoin his comrades in the Batignolles? For inthat way, to a certain degree, he might have provided a kind of alibi."

  Dr. Gendron had been sitting on the only unbroken chair in the chamber,reflecting on Plantat's sudden embarrassment, when he had spoken ofRobelot the bone-setter. The remarks of the judge drew him from hisrevery; he got up, and said:

  "There is another point; putting forward the time was perhaps useful toGuespin, but it would greatly damage Bertaud, his accomplice."

  "But," answered M. Domini, "it might be that Bertaud was not consulted.As to Guespin, he had no doubt good reasons for not returning to thewedding. His restlessness, after such a deed, would possibly havebetrayed him."

  M. Lecoq had not thought fit to speak as yet. Like a doctor at a sickbedside, he wanted to be sure of his diagnosis. He had returned to themantel, and again pushed forward the hands of the clock. It sounded,successively, half-past eleven, then twelve, then half-past twelve, thenone.

  As he moved the hands, he kept muttering:

  "Apprentices--chance brigands! You are malicious, parbleu, but you don'tthink of everything. You give a push to the hands, but don't remember toput the striking in harmony with them. Then comes along a detective, anold rat who knows things, and the dodge is discovered."

  M. Domini and Plantat held their tongues. M. Lecoq walked up to them.

  "Monsieur the Judge," said he, "is perhaps now convinced that the deedwas done at half-past ten."

  "Unless," interrupted M. Plantat, "the machinery of the clock has beenout of order."

  "That often happens," added M. Courtois. "The clock in my drawing-roomis in such a state that I never know the time of day."

  M. Lecoq reflected.

  "It is possible," said he, "that Monsieur Plantat is right. Theprobability is in favor of my theory; but probability, in such anaffair, is not sufficient; we must have certainty. There happily remainsa mode of testing the matter--the bed; I'll wager it is rumpled up."Then addressing the mayor, "I shall need a servant to lend me a hand."

  "I'll help you," said Plantat, "that will be a quicker way."

  They lifted the top of the bed and set it on the floor, at the same timeraising the curtains.

  "Hum!" cried M. Lecoq, "was I right?"

  "True," said M. Domini, surprised, "the bed is rumpled."

  "Yes; and yet no one has lain in it."

  "But--" objected M. Courtois.

  "I am sure of what I say," interrupted the detective. "The sheets, it istrue, have been thrown back, perhaps someone has rolled about in thebed; the pillows have been tumbled, the quilts and curtains ruffled, butthis bed has not the appearance of having been slept in. It is, perhaps,more difficult to rumple up a bed than to put it in order again. To makeit up, the coverings must be taken off, and the mattresses turned. Todisarrange it, one must actually lie down in it, and warm it with thebody. A bed is one of those terrible witnesses which never misguide, andagainst which no counter testimony can be given. Nobody has gone to bedin this--"

  "The countess," remarked Plantat, "was dressed; but the count might havegone to bed first."

  "No," answered M. Lecoq, "I'll prove to the contrary. The proof is easy,indeed, and a child of ten, having heard it, wouldn't think of beingdeceived by this intentional disorder of the bedclothes."

  M. Lecoq's auditors drew up to him. He put the coverings back upon themiddle of the bed, and went on:

  "Both of the p
illows are much rumpled, are they not? But look under thebolster--it is all smooth, and you find none of those wrinkles which aremade by the weight of the head and the moving about of the arms. That'snot all; look at the bed from the middle to the foot. The sheets beinglaid carefully, the upper and under lie close together everywhere. Slipyour hand underneath--there--you see there is a resistance to your handwhich would not occur if the legs had been stretched in that place. NowMonsieur de Tremorel was tall enough to extend the full length of thebed."

  This demonstration was so clear, its proof so palpable, that it couldnot be gainsaid.

  "This is nothing," continued M. Lecoq. "Let us examine the secondmattress. When a person purposely disarranges a bed, he does not thinkof the second mattress."

  He lifted up the upper mattress, and observed that the covering of theunder one was perfectly even.

  "H'm, the second mattress," muttered M. Lecoq, as if some memory crossedhis mind.

  "It appears to be proved," observed the judge, "that Monsieur deTremorel had not gone to bed."

  "Besides," added the doctor, "if he had been murdered in his bed, hisclothes would be lying here somewhere."

  "Without considering," suggested M. Lecoq, "that some blood must havebeen found on the sheets. Decidedly, these criminals were not shrewd."

  "What seems to me surprising," M. Plantat observed to the judge, "isthat anybody would succeed in killing, except in his sleep, a young manso vigorous as Count Hector."

  "And in a house full of weapons," added Dr. Gendron; "for the count'scabinet is full of guns, swords and hunting knives; it's a perfectarsenal."

  "Alas!" sighed M. Courtois, "we know of worse catastrophes. There is nota week that the papers don't--"

  He stopped, chagrined, for nobody was listening to him. Plantat claimedthe general attention, and continued:

  "The confusion in the house seems to you surprising; well now, I'msurprised that it is not worse than it is. I am, so to speak, an oldman; I haven't the energy of a young man of thirty-five; yet it seems tome that if assassins should get into my house, when I was there, and up,it would go hard with them. I don't know what I would do; probably Ishould be killed; but surely I would give the alarm. I would defendmyself, and cry out, and open the windows, and set the house afire."

  "Let us add," insisted the doctor, "that it is not easy to surprise aman who is awake. There is always an unexpected noise which puts one onhis guard. Perhaps it is a creaking door, or a cracking stair. Howevercautious the murderer, he does not surprise his victim."

  "They may have used fire-arms;" struck in the worthy mayor, "that hasbeen done. You are quietly sitting in your chamber; it is summer, andyour windows are open; you are chatting with your wife, and sipping acup of tea; outside, the assassins are supplied with a short ladder; oneascends to a level with the window, sights you at his ease, presses thetrigger, the bullet speeds--"

  "And," continued the doctor, "the whole neighborhood, aroused by it,hastens to the spot."

  "Permit me, pardon, permit me," said M. Courtois, testily, "that wouldbe so in a populous town. Here, in the midst of a vast park, no. Think,doctor, of the isolation of this house. The nearest neighbor is a longway off, and between there are many large trees, intercepting the sound.Let us test it by experience. I will fire a pistol in this room, andI'll wager that you will not hear the echo in the road."

  "In the daytime, perhaps, but not in the night."

  "Well," said M. Domini, who had been reflecting while M. Courtois wastalking, "if against all hope, Guespin does not decide to speakto-night, or to-morrow, the count's body will afford us a key to themystery."

  During this discussion, M. Lecoq had continued his investigations,lifting the furniture, studying the fractures, examining the smallestpieces, as if they might betray the truth. Now and then, he took out aninstrument-case, from which he produced a shank, which he introduced andturned in the locks. He found several keys on the carpet, and on a rack,a towel, which he carefully put one side, as if he deemed it important.He came and went from the bedroom to the count's cabinet, without losinga word that was said; noting in his memory, not so much the phrasesuttered, as the diverse accents and intonations with which they werespoken. In an inquest such as that of the crime of Orcival, when severalofficials find themselves face to face, they hold a certain reservetoward each other. They know each other to have nearly equal experience,to be shrewd, clear-headed, equally interested in discovering the truth,not disposed to confide in appearances, difficult to surprise. Each one,likely enough, gives a different interpretation to the facts revealed;each may have a different theory of the deed; but a superficial observerwould not note these differences. Each, while dissimulating his realthoughts, tries to penetrate those of his neighbor, and if they areopposed to his own, to convert him to his opinion. The great importanceof a single word justifies this caution. Men who hold the liberty andlives of others in their hands, a scratch of whose pen condemns todeath, are apt to feel heavily the burden of their responsibility. It isan ineffable solace, to feel that this burden is shared by others. Thisis, why no one dares take the initiative, or express himself openly; buteach awaits other opinions, to adopt or oppose them. They exchange feweraffirmations than suggestions. They proceed by insinuation; then theyutter commonplaces, ridiculous suppositions, asides, provocative, as itwere, of other explanations.

  In this instance, the judge of instruction and Plantat were far frombeing of the same opinion; they knew it before speaking a word. But M.Domini, whose opinion rested on material and palpable facts, whichappeared to him indisputable, was not disposed to provoke contradiction.Plantat, on the contrary, whose system seemed to rest on impressions, ona series of logical deductions, would not clearly express himself,without a positive and pressing invitation. His last speech,impressively uttered, had not been replied to; he judged that he hadadvanced far enough to sound the detective.

  "Well, Monsieur Lecoq," asked he, "have you found any new traces?"

  M. Lecoq was at that moment curiously examining a large portrait of theCount Hector, which hung opposite the bed. Hearing M. Plantat'squestion, he turned.

  "I have found nothing decisive," answered he, "and I have found nothingto refute my conjectures. But--"

  He did not finish; perhaps he too, recoiled before his share of theresponsibility.

  "What?" insisted M. Domini, sternly.

  "I was going to say," resumed M. Lecoq, "that I am not yet satisfied. Ihave my lantern and a candle in it; I only need a match--"

  "Please preserve your decorum," interrupted the judge severely.

  "Very well, then," continued M. Lecoq, in a tone too humble to beserious, "I still hesitate. If the doctor, now, would kindly proceed toexamine the countess's body, he would do me a great service."

  "I was just going to ask the same favor, Doctor," said M. Domini.

  The doctor answering, "Willingly," directed his steps toward the door.

  M. Lecoq caught him by the arm.

  "If you please," said he, in a tone totally unlike that he had used upto this time, "I would like to call your attention to the wounds on thehead, made by a blunt instrument, which I suppose to be a hammer. I havestudied these wounds, and though I am no doctor, they seem to mesuspicious."

  "And to me," M. Plantat quickly added. "It seemed to me, that in theplaces struck, there was no emission of blood in the cutaneous vessels."

  "The nature of these wounds," continued M. Lecoq, "will be a valuableindication, which will fix my opinion." And, as he felt keenly thebrusque manner of the judge, he added:

  "It is you, Doctor, who hold the match."

  M. Gendron was about to leave the room, when Baptiste, the mayor'sservant--the man who wouldn't be scolded--appeared. He bowed and said:

  "I have come for Monsieur the Mayor."

  "For me? why?" asked M. Courtois. "What's the matter? They don't give mea minute's rest! Answer that I am busy."

  "It's on account of madame," resumed the placid Baptiste; "she isn'
t atall well." The excellent mayor grew slightly pale.

  "My wife!" cried he, alarmed. "What do you mean? Explain yourself."

  "The postman arrived just now," returned Baptiste with a most tranquilair, "and I carried the letters to madame, who was in the drawing-room.Hardly had I turned on my heels when I heard a shriek, and the noise ofsomeone falling to the floor." Baptiste spoke slowly, taking artfulpains to prolong his master's anguish.

  "Speak! go on!" cried the mayor, exasperated. "Speak, won't you?"

  "I naturally opened the drawing-room door again. What did I see? madame,at full length on the floor. I called for help; the chambermaid, cook,and others came hastening up, and we carried madame to her bed. Justinesaid that it was a letter from Mademoiselle Laurence which overcame mymistress--"

  At each word Baptiste hesitated, reflected; his eyes, giving the lie tohis solemn face, betrayed the great satisfaction he felt in relating hismaster's misfortunes.

  His master was full of consternation. As it is with all of us, when weknow not exactly what ill is about to befall us, he dared not ask anyquestions. He stood still, crushed; lamenting, instead of hasteninghome. M. Plantat profited by the pause to question the servant, with alook which Baptiste dared not disobey.

  "What, a letter from Mademoiselle Laurence? Isn't she here, then?"

  "No, sir: she went away a week ago, to pass a month with one of heraunts."

  "And how is madame?"

  "Better, sir; only she cries piteously."

  The unfortunate mayor had now somewhat recovered his presence of mind.He seized Baptiste by the arm.

  "Come along," cried he, "come along!"

  They hastened off.

  "Poor man!" said the judge of instruction. "Perhaps his daughter isdead."

  M. Plantat shook his head.

  "If it were only that!" muttered he. He added, turning to M. Domini:

  "Do you recall the allusions of Bertaud, monsieur?"