VI
No consultation held at the bedside of a dying man ever took place inthe presence of two physicians so utterly unlike each other as those whoaccompanied the commissary of police to the Poivriere.
One of them, a tall old man with a bald head, wearing a broad-brimmedhat, and an overcoat of antique cut, was evidently one of those modestsavants encountered occasionally in the byways of Paris--one of thosehealers devoted to their art, who too often die in obscurity, afterrendering immense services to mankind. He had the gracious calmness of aman who, having seen so much of human misery, has nothing left to learn,and no troubled conscience could have possibly sustained his searchingglance, which was as keen as his lancet.
His colleague--young, fresh-looking, light-haired, and jovial--wassomewhat foppishly attired; and his white hands were encased in handsomefur gloves. There was a soft self-satisfied smile on his face, andhe had the manners of those practitioners who, for profit's sake,invariably recommend the infallible panaceas invented each month inchemical laboratories and advertised ad nauseam in the back pages ofnewspapers. He had probably written more than one article upon "Medicinefor the use of the people"; puffing various mixtures, pills, ointments,and plasters for the benefit of their respective inventors.
"I will request you, gentlemen," said the commissary of police, "tobegin your duties by examining the victim who wears a military costume.Here is a sergeant-major summoned to answer a question of identity, whomI must send back to his quarters as soon as possible."
The two physicians responded with a gesture of assent, and aided byFather Absinthe and another agent of police, they lifted the body andlaid it upon two tables, which had previously been placed end to end.They were not obliged to make any note of the attitude in which theyfound the body, since the unfortunate man, who was still alive when thepolice entered the cabin, had been moved before he expired.
"Approach, sergeant," ordered the commissary, "and look carefully atthis man."
It was with very evident repugnance that the old soldier obeyed.
"What is the uniform that he wears?"
"It is the uniform of the 2d battalion of the 53d regiment of the line."
"Do you recognize him?"
"Not at all."
"Are you sure that he does not belong to your regiment?"
"I can not say for certain: there are some conscripts at the Depot whomI have never seen. But I am ready to swear that he had never formedpart of the 2d battalion--which, by the way, is mine, and in which I amsergeant-major."
Lecoq, who had hitherto remained in the background, now stepped forward."It might be as well," he suggested, "to note the numbers marked on theother articles of clothing."
"That is a very good idea," said the commissary, approvingly.
"Here is his shako," added the young police agent. "It bears the number3,129."
The officials followed Lecoq's advice, and soon discovered that eacharticle of clothing worn by the unfortunate man bore a different number.
"The deuce!" murmured the sergeant; "there is every indication--But itis very singular."
Invited to consider what he was going to say, the brave trooperevidently made an effort to collect his intellectual faculties. "I wouldstake my epaulets that this fellow never was a soldier," he said atlast. "He must have disguised himself to take part in the Shrove Sundaycarnival."
"Why do you think that?"
"Oh, I know it better than I can explain it. I know it by his hair, byhis nails, by his whole appearance, by a certain _je ne sais quoi_; inshort, I know it by everything and by nothing. Why look, the poor devildid not even know how to put on his shoes; he has laced his gaiterswrong side outwards." Evidently further doubt was impossible after thisevidence, which confirmed the truth of Lecoq's first remark to InspectorGevrol.
"Still, if this person was a civilian, how could he have procured thisclothing?" insisted the commissary. "Could he have borrowed it from themen in your company?"
"Yes, that is possible; but it is difficult to believe."
"Is there no way by which you could ascertain?"
"Oh! very easily. I have only to run over to the fort and order aninspection of clothing."
"Do so," approved the commissary; "it would be an excellent way ofgetting at the truth."
But Lecoq had just thought of a method quite as convincing, and muchmore prompt. "One word, sergeant," said he, "isn't cast off militaryclothing sold by public auction?"
"Yes; at least once a year, after the inspection."
"And are not the articles thus sold marked in some way?"
"Assuredly."
"Then see if there isn't some mark of the kind on this poor wretch'suniform."
The sergeant turned up the collar of the coat and examined thewaist-band of the pantaloons. "You are right," he said, "these arecondemned garments."
The eyes of the young police agent sparkled. "We must then believe thatthe poor devil purchased this costume," he observed. "Where? Necessarilyat the Temple, from one of the dealers in military clothing. There areonly five or six of these establishments. I will go from one to anotherof them, and the person who sold these clothes will certainly recognizethem by some trade mark."
"And that will assist us very much," growled Gevrol. The sergeant-major,to his great relief, now received permission to retire, but not withouthaving been warned that very probably the commissary would require hisdeposition. The moment had come to search the garments of the pretendedsoldier, and the commissary, who performed this duty himself, hoped thatsome clue as to the man's identity would be forthcoming. He proceededwith his task, at the same time dictating to one of the men a_proces-verbal_ of the search; that is to say, a minute description ofall the articles he found upon the dead man's person. In the right handtrousers pocket some tobacco, a pipe, and a few matches were found; inthe left hand one, a linen handkerchief of good quality, but unmarked,and a soiled leather pocket-book, containing seven francs and sixtycentimes.
There appeared to be nothing more, and the commissary was expressinghis regret, when, on carefully examining the pocket-book he found acompartment which had at first escaped his notice, being hidden by aleather flap. This compartment contained a carefully folded paper. Thecommissary unfolded it and read the contents aloud:
"My dear Gustave,--To-morrow, Sunday evening, do not fail to come to theball at the Rainbow, according to our agreement. If you have no moneypass by my house, and I will leave some with the concierge, who willgive it to you.
"Be at the ball by eight o'clock. If I am not already there, it willnot be long before I make my appearance. Everything is going onsatisfactorily.
"Lacheneur."
Alas! what did this letter reveal? Only that the dead man's name wasGustave; that he had some connection with a man named Lacheneur, who hadadvanced him money for a certain object; and that they had met at theRainbow some hours before the murder.
It was little--very little--but still it was something. It was a clue;and in this absolute darkness even the faintest gleam of light waseagerly welcomed.
"Lacheneur!" growled Gevrol; "the poor devil uttered that name in hislast agony."
"Precisely," insisted Father Absinthe, "and he declared that he wishedto revenge himself upon him. He accused him of having drawn him into atrap. Unfortunately, death cut his story short."
Lecoq was silent. The commissary of police had handed him the letter,and he was studying it with the closest attention. The paper on whichit was written was of the ordinary kind; the ink was blue. In one of thecorners was a half-effaced stamp, of which one could just distinguishthe word--Beaumarchais.
This was enough for Lecoq. "This letter," he thought, "was certainlywritten in a cafe on the Boulevard Beaumarchais. In which one? I mustascertain that point, for this Lacheneur must be found."
While the agents of the prefecture were gathered around the commissary,holding council and deliberating, the physicians began their delicateand disagreeable task. With the assistance of Father A
bsinthe, theyremoved the clothing of the pretended soldier, and then, with sleevesrolled up, they bent over their "subject" like surgeons in the schoolsof anatomy, and examined, inspected, and appraised him physically.Very willingly would the younger doctor have dispensed with theseformalities, which he considered very ridiculous, and entirelyunnecessary; but the old physician had too high a regard for hisprofession, and for the duty he had been called upon to fulfil, toneglect the slightest detail. Minutely, and with the most scrupulousexactitude, he noted the height of the dead man, his supposed age, thenature of his temperament, the color and length of his hair, and thedegree of development of his muscular system.
Then the doctors passed to an examination of the wound. Lecoq had judgedcorrectly. The medical men declared it to be a fracture of the baseof the skull. It could, they stated, only have been caused by someinstrument with a very broad surface, or by a violent knock of the headagainst some hard substance of considerable magnitude.
But no weapon, other than the revolver, had been found; and it wasevidently not heavy enough to produce such a wound. There must, then,necessarily, have been a hand-to-hand struggle between the pretendedsoldier and the murderer; and the latter, seizing his adversary by thethroat, had dashed him violently against the wall. The presence of somevery tiny but very numerous spots of extravasated blood about the neckmade this theory extremely plausible.
No other wound, not even a bruise or a scratch, was to be found. Hence,it became evident that this terrible struggle must have been exceedinglyshort. The murder of the pretended soldier must have been consummatedbetween the moment when the squad of police heard the shrieks of despairand the moment when Lecoq peered through the shutter and saw the victimfall.
The examination of the other murdered man required different buteven greater precautions than those adopted by the doctors in theirinspection of the pseudo soldier. The position of these two victimshad been respected; they were still lying across the hearth as they hadfallen, and their attitude was a matter of great importance, since itmight have decisive bearing on the case. Now, this attitude was suchthat one could not fail to be impressed with the idea that with boththese men death had been instantaneous. They were both stretched outupon their backs, their limbs extended, and their hands wide open.
No contraction or extension of the muscles, no trace of conflict couldbe perceived; it seemed evident that they had been taken unawares, themore so as their faces expressed the most intense terror.
"Thus," said the old doctor, "we may reasonably suppose that they werestupefied by some entirely unexpected, strange, and frightful spectacle.I have come across this terrified expression depicted upon the faces ofdead people more than once. I recollect noticing it upon the features ofa woman who died suddenly from the shock she experienced when one ofher neighbors, with the view of playing her a trick, entered her housedisguised as a ghost."
Lecoq followed the physician's explanations, and tried to make themagree with the vague hypotheses that were revolving in his own brain.But who could these individuals be? Would they, in death, guard thesecret of their identity, as the other victim had done?
The first subject examined by the physicians was over fifty years ofage. His hair was very thin and quite gray and his face was closelyshaven, excepting a thick tuft of hair on his rather prominent chin.He was very poorly clad, wearing a soiled woolen blouse and a pair ofdilapidated trousers hanging in rags over his boots, which were verymuch trodden down at the heels. The old doctor declared that this manmust have been instantly killed by a bullet. The size of the circularwound, the absence of blood around its edge, and the blackened andburnt state of the flesh demonstrated this fact with almost mathematicalprecision.
The great difference that exists in wounds made by firearms, accordingto the distance from which the death-dealing missile comes, was seenwhen the physicians began to examine the last of the murdered men. Theball that had caused the latter's death had scarcely crossed a yard ofspace before reaching him, and his wound was not nearly so hideous inaspect as the other's. This individual, who was at least fifteen yearsyounger than his companion, was short and remarkably ugly; his face,which was quite beardless, being pitted all over by the smallpox. Hisgarb was such as is worn by the worst frequenters of the barriere. Histrousers were of a gray checked material, and his blouse, turned back atthe throat, was blue. It was noticed that his boots had been blackenedquite recently. The smart glazed cap that lay on the floor beside himwas in harmony with his carefully curled hair and gaudy necktie.
These were the only facts that the physicians' report set forth intechnical terms, this was the only information obtained by the mostcareful investigation. The two men's pockets were explored and turnedinside out; but they contained nothing that gave the slightest clue totheir identity, either as regards name, social position, or profession.There was not even the slightest indication on any of these points, nota letter, nor an address, not a fragment of paper, nothing--not evensuch common articles of personal use, as a tobacco pouch, a knife, or apipe which might be recognized, and thus establish the owner's identity.A little tobacco in a paper bag, a couple of pocket handkerchiefs thatwere unmarked, a packet of cigarettes--these were the only articlesdiscovered beyond the money which the victims carried loose in theirpockets. On this point, it should be mentioned that the elder man hadsixty-seven francs about him, and the younger one, two louis.
Rarely had the police found themselves in the presence of so strange anaffair, without the slightest clue to guide them. Of course, there wasthe fact itself, as evidenced by the bodies of the three victims;but the authorities were quite ignorant of the circumstances that hadattended and of the motive that had inspired the crime. Certainly, theymight hope with the powerful means of investigation at their disposalto finally arrive at the truth in the course of time, and after repeatedefforts. But, in the mean while, all was mystery, and so strangely didthe case present itself that it could not safely be said who was reallyresponsible for the horrible tragedy at the Poivriere.
The murderer had certainly been arrested; but if he persisted in hisobstinacy, how were they to ascertain his name? He protested that he hadmerely killed in self-defense. How could it be shown that such was notthe case? Nothing was known concerning the victims; one of whom had withhis dying breath accused himself. Then again, an inexplicable influencetied the Widow Chupin's tongue. Two women, one of whom had lost anearring valued at 5,000 francs, had witnessed the struggle--thendisappeared. An accomplice, after two acts of unheard-of audacity, hadalso made his escape. And all these people--the women, the murderer,the keeper of the saloon, the accomplice, and the victims--were equallystrange and mysterious, equally liable not to be what they seemed.
Perhaps the commissary of police thought he would spend a veryunpleasant quarter of an hour at the prefecture when he reported thecase. Certainly, he spoke of the crime in a very despondent tone.
"It will now be best," he said at last, "to transport these three bodiesto the Morgue. There they will doubtless be identified." He reflectedfor a moment, and then added: "And to think that one of these dead menis perhaps Lacheneur himself!"
"That is scarcely possible," said Lecoq. "The spurious soldier, beingthe last to die, had seen his companions fall. If he had supposedLacheneur to be dead, he would not have spoken of vengeance."
Gevrol, who for the past two hours had pretended to pay no attention tothe proceedings, now approached. He was not the man to yield even to thestrongest evidence. "If Monsieur, the Commissary, will listen to me, heshall hear my opinion, which is a trifle more definite than M. Lecoq'sfancies."
Before he could say any more, the sound of a vehicle stopping beforethe door of the cabin interrupted him, and an instant afterward theinvestigating magistrate entered the room.
All the officials assembled at the Poivriere knew at least by sight themagistrate who now made his appearance, and Gevrol, an old habitueof the Palais de Justice, mechanically murmured his name: "M. Mauriced'Escorval."
H
e was the son of that famous Baron d'Escorval, who, in 1815, sealed hisdevotion to the empire with his blood, and upon whom Napoleon, in theMemorial of St. Helena, pronounced this magnificent eulogium: "Menas honest as he may, I believe, exist; but more honest, no, it is notpossible."
Having entered upon his duties as magistrate early in life, and beingendowed with remarkable talents, it was at first supposed thatthe younger D'Escorval would rise to the most exalted rank in hisprofession. But he had disappointed all such prognostications byresolutely refusing the more elevated positions that were offered tohim, in order to retain his modest but useful functions in the publicprosecutor's offices at Paris. To explain his repeated refusals, he saidthat life in the capital had more charms for him than the most enviableadvancement in provincial centres. But it was hard to understandthis declaration, for in spite of his brilliant connections and largefortune, he had, ever since the death of his eldest brother, led a mostretired life, his existence merely being revealed by his untiring laborsand the good he did to those around him.
He was now about forty-two years of age, but appeared much younger,although a few furrows already crossed his brow. One would have admiredhis face, had it not been for the puzzling immobility that marred itsbeauty, the sarcastic curl of his thin lips, and the gloomy expressionof his pale-blue eyes. To say that he was cold and grave, did notexpress the truth, it was saying too little. He was gravity and coldnesspersonified, with a shade of hauteur added.
Impressed by the horror of the scene the instant he placed his foot uponthe threshold, M. d'Escorval acknowledged the presence of the physiciansand the commissary by a slight nod of the head. The others in the roomhad no existence so far as he was concerned. At once his faculties wentto work. He studied the ground, and carefully noted all the surroundingswith the attentive sagacity of a magistrate who realizes the immenseweight of even the slightest detail, and who fully appreciates theeloquence of circumstantial evidence.
"This is a serious affair," he said gravely; "very serious."
The commissary's only response was to lift his eyes to heaven. A gesturethat plainly implied, "I quite agree with you!" The fact is, that forthe past two hours the worthy commissary's responsibility had weighedheavily upon him, and he secretly blessed the investigating magistratefor relieving him of it.
"The public prosecutor was unable to accompany me," resumed M.d'Escorval, "he has not the gift of omnipresence, and I doubt if it willbe possible for him to join me here. Let us, therefore, begin operationsat once."
The curiosity of those present had become intense; and the commissaryonly expressed the general feeling when he said: "You have undoubtedlyquestioned the murderer, sir, and have learnt--"
"I have learnt nothing," interrupted M. d'Escorval, apparently muchastonished at the interruption.
He took a chair and sat himself down, and while his clerk was busy inauthenticating the commissary's _proces-verbal_, he began to read thereport prepared by Lecoq.
Pale, agitated, and nervous, the young police agent tried to read uponthe magistrate's impassive face the impression produced by the document.His future depended upon the magistrate's approval or disapproval; andit was not with a fuddled mind like that of Father Absinthe that he hadnow to deal, but with a superior intelligence.
"If I could only plead my own cause," he thought. "What are cold writtenphrases in comparison with spoken, living words, palpitating withemotion and imbued with the convictions of the speaker."
However, he was soon reassured. The magistrate's face retained itsimmobility, but again and again did M. d'Escorval nod his head in tokenof approval, and occasionally some point more ingenious than the othersextorted from his lips the exclamations: "Not bad--very good!"
When he had finished the perusal he turned to the commissary andremarked: "All this is very unlike your report of this morning, whichrepresented the affair as a low broil between a party of miserablevagabonds."
The observation was only too just and fair; and the commissary deeplyregretted that he had trusted to Gevrol's representations, and remainedin bed. "This morning," he responded evasively, "I only gave you myfirst impressions. These have been modified by subsequent researches, sothat--"
"Oh!" interrupted the magistrate, "I did not intend to reproach you; onthe contrary, I must congratulate you. One could not have done betternor acted more promptly. The investigation that has been carried outshows great penetration and research, and the results are given withunusual clearness, and wonderful precision."
Lecoq's head whirled.
The commissary hesitated for an instant. At first he was sorely temptedto confiscate this praise to his own profit. If he drove away theunworthy thought, it was because he was an honest man, and more thanthat, because he was not displeased to have the opportunity to do Gevrola bad turn and punish him for his presumptuous folly.
"I must confess," he said with some embarrassment, "that the merit ofthis investigation does not belong to me."
"To whom, then, shall I attribute it--to the inspector?" thought M.d'Escorval, not without surprise, for having occasionally employedGevrol, he did not expect from him such ingenuity and sagacity as wasdisplayed in this report. "Is it you, then, who have conducted thisinvestigation so ably?" he asked.
"Upon my word, no!" responded Inspector Gevrol. "I, myself, am notso clever as all that. I content myself with telling what I actuallydiscover; and I only give proofs when I have them in hand. May I be hungif the grounds of this report have any existence save in the brains ofthe man who imagined them." Perhaps the inspector really believed whathe said, being one of those persons who are blinded by vanity to such adegree that, with the most convincing evidence before their eyes, theyobstinately deny it.
"And yet," insisted the magistrate, "these women whose footprints havebeen detected must have existed. The accomplice who left the flakes ofwool adhering to the plank is a real being. This earring is a positive,palpable proof."
Gevrol had hard work to refrain from shrugging his shoulders. "All thiscan be satisfactorily explained," he said, "without a search of twelveor fourteen hours. That the murderer had an accomplice is possible. Thepresence of the women is very natural. Wherever there are male thieves,you will find female thieves as well. As for the diamond--what does thatprove? That the scoundrels had just met with a stroke of good luck, thatthey had come here to divide their booty, and that the quarrel arosefrom the division."
This was an explanation, and such a plausable one, that M. d'Escorvalwas silent, reflecting before he announced his decision. "Decidedly,"he declared at last, "decidedly, I adopt the hypothesis set forth in thereport. Who prepared it?"
Gevrol's face turned red with anger. "One of my men," he replied, "aclever, adroit fellow, Monsieur Lecoq. Come forward, Lecoq, that themagistrate may see you."
The young man advanced, his lips tightly compressed so as to conceal asmile of satisfaction which almost betrayed itself.
"My report, sir, is only a summary," he began, "but I have certainideas--"
"Which you will acquaint me with, when I ask for them," interrupted themagistrate. And oblivious of Lecoq's chagrin, he drew from his clerk'sportfolio two forms, which he filled up and handed to Gevrol, saying:"Here are two orders; take them to the station, where the murderer andthe landlady of this cabin are confined, and have them conducted to theprefecture, where they will be privately examined."
Having given these directions, M. d'Escorval was turning toward thephysicians, when Lecoq, at the risk of a second rebuff, interposed. "MayI venture, sir, to beg of you to confide this message to me?" he askedof the investigating magistrate.
"Impossible, I may have need of you here."
"I desired, sir, to collect certain evidence and an opportunity to do somay not present itself again."
The magistrate perhaps fathomed the young man's motive. "Then, let it beso," he replied, "but after your task is completed you must wait forme at the prefecture, where I shall proceed as soon as I have finishedhere. You may go."
Lecoq did not wait for the order to be repeated. He snatched up thepapers, and hastened away.
He literally flew over the ground, and strange to say he no longerexperienced any fatigue from the labors of the preceding night. Neverhad he felt so strong and alert, either in body or mind. He wasvery hopeful of success. He had every confidence in himself, and hishappiness would indeed have been complete if he had had another judgeto deal with. But M. d'Escorval overawed him to such a degree that hebecame almost paralyzed in his presence. With what a disdainful glancethe magistrate had surveyed him! With what an imperious tone he hadimposed silence upon him--and that, too, when he had found his workdeserving of commendation.
"Still, never mind," the young detective mentally exclaimed, "no oneever tastes perfect happiness here below."
And concentrating all his thoughts on the task before him, he hurried onhis way.
Monsieur Lecoq, v. 1 Page 6
