XVIII
When a heavy stone is thrown into a lake a considerable commotionensues, the water spouts and seethes and bubbles and frequently a talljet leaps into the air. But all this agitation only lasts for a moment;the bubbling subsides as the circles of the passing whirlpool growlarger and larger; the surface regains at last its customary smoothness;and soon no trace remains of the passage of the stone, now buried in thedepths below.
So it is with the events of our daily life, however momentous they mayappear at the hour of their occurrence. It seems as if their impressionswould last for years; but no, they speedily sink into the depths of thepast, and time obliterates their passage--just as the water of thelake closes over and hides the stone, for an instant the cause of suchcommotion. Thus it was that at the end of a fortnight the frightfulcrime committed in the Widow Chupin's drinking-den, the triple murderwhich had made all Paris shudder, which had furnished the material forso many newspaper articles, and the topic for such indignant comments,was completely forgotten. Indeed, had the tragedy at the Poivriereoccurred in the times of Charlemagne, it could not have passed morethoroughly out of people's minds. It was remembered only in threeplaces, at the Depot, at the Prefecture de Police, and at the Palais deJustice.
M. Segmuller's repeated efforts had proved as unsuccessful as Lecoq's.Skilful questioning, ingenious insinuations, forcible threats, andseductive promises had proved powerless to overcome the dogged spiritof absolute denial which persistently animated, not merely the prisonerMay, but also the Widow Chupin, her son Polyte, Toinon the Virtuous, andMadame Milner. The evidence of these various witnesses showed plainlyenough that they were all in league with the mysterious accomplice; butwhat did this knowledge avail? Their attitude never varied! And, evenif at times their looks gave the lie to their denials, one could alwaysread in their eyes an unshaken determination to conceal the truth.
There were moments when the magistrate, overpowered by a sense ofthe insufficiency of the purely moral weapons at his disposal, almostregretted that the Inquisition was suppressed. Yes, in presence of thelies that were told him, lies so impudent that they were almost insults,he no longer wondered at the judicial cruelties of the Middle Ages,or at the use of the muscle-breaking rack, the flesh-burning, red-hotpincers, and other horrible instruments, which, by the physical torturethey inflicted, forced the most obstinate culprit to confess. Theprisoner May's manner was virtually unaltered; and far from showing anysigns of weakness, his assurance had, if anything, increased, as thoughhe were confident of ultimate victory and as though he had in some waylearned that the prosecution had failed to make the slightest progress.
On one occasion, when summoned before M. Segmuller, he ventured toremark in a tone of covert irony: "Why do you keep me confined solong in a secret cell? Am I never to be set at liberty or sent to theassizes. Am I to suffer much longer on account of your fantastic ideathat I am some great personage in disguise?"
"I shall keep you until you have confessed," was M. Segmuller's answer.
"Confessed what?"
"Oh! you know very well."
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders at these last words, and then in atone of mingled despondency and mockery retorted: "In that case there isno hope of my ever leaving this cursed prison!"
It was probably this conviction that induced him to make all seemingpreparations for an indefinite stay. He applied for and obtained aportion of the contents of the trunk found at the Hotel de Mariembourg,and evinced great joy when the various knickknacks and articles ofclothing were handed over to him. Thanks to the money found upon hisperson when arrested, and deposited with the prison registrar, he was,moreover, able to procure many little luxuries, which are never deniedto unconvicted prisoners, no matter what may be the charges againstthem, for they have a right to be considered as innocent until a juryhas decided to the contrary. To while away the time, May next asked fora volume of Beranger's songs, and his request being granted, he spentmost of the day in learning several of the ditties by heart, singingthem in a loud voice and with considerable taste. This fancy havingexcited some comment, he pretended that he was cultivating a talentwhich might be useful to him when he was set at liberty. For he had nodoubt of his acquittal; at least, so he declared; and if he were anxiousabout the date of his trial, he did not show the slightest apprehensionconcerning its result.
He was never despondent save when he spoke of his profession. To allappearance he pined for the stage, and, in fact, he almost wept when herecalled the fantastic, many-colored costumes, clad in which he had onceappeared before crowded audiences--audiences that had been convulsedwith laughter by his sallies of wit, delivered between bursts of noisymusic. He seemed to have become altogether a better fellow; more frank,communicative, and submissive. He eagerly embraced every opportunityto babble about his past, and over and over again did he recount theadventures of the roving life he had led while in the employ of M.Simpson, the showman. He had, of course, traveled a great deal; andhe remembered everything he had seen; possessing, moreover, aninexhaustible fund of amusing stories, with which he entertained hiscustodians. His manner and his words were so natural that head keepersand subordinate turnkeys alike were quite willing to give credit to hisassertions.
The governor of the Depot alone remained unconvinced. He had declaredthat this pretended buffoon must be some dangerous criminal who hadescaped from Cayenne, and who for this reason was determined to concealhis antecedents. Such being this functionary's opinion, he tried everymeans to substantiate it. Accordingly, during an entire fortnight,May was submitted to the scrutiny of innumerable members of the policeforce, to whom were added all the more notable private detectives of thecapital. No one recognized him, however, and although his photograph wassent to all the prisons and police stations of the empire, not one ofthe officials could recognize his features.
Other circumstances occurred, each of which had its influence, and oneand all of them speaking in the prisoner's favor. For instance, thesecond bureau of the Prefecture de Police found positive traces of theexistence of a strolling artist, named Tringlot, who was probably theman referred to in May's story. This Tringlot had been dead severalyears. Then again, inquiries made in Germany revealed the fact that acertain M. Simpson was very well known in that country, where he hadachieved great celebrity as a circus manager.
In presence of this information and the negative result of the scrutinyto which May had been subjected, the governor of the Depot abandonedhis views and openly confessed that he had been mistaken. "The prisoner,May," he wrote to the magistrate, "is really and truly what he pretendsto be. There can be no further doubt on the subject." This message, itmay be added, was sent at Gevrol's instigation.
So thus it was that M. Segmuller and Lecoq alone remained of theiropinion. This opinion was at least worthy of consideration, as theyalone knew all the details of the investigation which had been conductedwith such strict secrecy; and yet this fact was of little import. Itis not merely unpleasant, but often extremely dangerous to struggle onagainst all the world, and unfortunately for truth and logic one man'sopinion, correct though it may be, is nothing in the balance of dailylife against the faulty views of a thousand adversaries.
The "May affair" had soon become notorious among the members of thepolice force; and whenever Lecoq appeared at the Prefecture he had tobrave his colleagues' sarcastic pleasantry. Nor did M. Segmuller escapescot free; for more than one fellow magistrate, meeting him on thestairs or in the corridor, inquired, with a smile, what he was doingwith his Casper Hauser, his man in the Iron Mask, in a word, with hismysterious mountebank. When thus assailed, both M. Segmuller and Lecoqcould scarcely restrain those movements of angry impatience which comenaturally to a person who feels certain he is in the right and yet cannot prove it.
"Ah, me!" sometimes exclaimed the magistrate, "why did D'Escorval breakhis leg? Had it not been for that cursed mishap, he would have beenobliged to endure all these perplexities, and I--I should be enjoyingmyself like other people."
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"And I thought myself so shrewd!" murmured the young detective by hisside.
Little by little anxiety did its work. Magistrate and detective bothlost their appetites and looked haggard; and yet the idea of yieldingnever once occurred to them. Although of very different natures,they were both determined to persevere in the task they had setthemselves--that of solving this tantalizing enigma. Lecoq, indeed,had resolved to renounce all other claims upon his time, and to devotehimself entirely to the study of the case. "Henceforth," he said to M.Segmuller, "I also will constitute myself a prisoner; and although thesuspected murderer will be unable to see me, I shall not lose sight ofhim!"
It so happened that there was a loft between the cell occupied by Mayand the roof of the prison, a loft of such diminutive proportions thata man of average height could not stand upright in it. This loft hadneither window nor skylight, and the gloom would have been intense,had not a few faint sun-rays struggled through the interstices ofsome ill-adjusted tiles. In this unattractive garret Lecoq establishedhimself one fine morning, just at the hour when May was taking his dailywalk in the courtyard of the prison accompanied by a couple of keepers.Under these circumstances there was no fear of Lecoq's movementsattracting the prisoner's notice or suspicion. The garret had a pavedfloor, and first of all the young detective removed one of the stoneswith a pickax he had brought for the purpose. Beneath this stone hefound a timber beam, through which he next proceeded to bore a hole offunnel shape, large at the top and gradually dwindling until on piercingthe ceiling of the cell it was no more than two-thirds of an inch indiameter. Prior to commencing his operations, Lecoq had visited theprisoner's quarters and had skilfully chosen the place of the projectedaperture, so that the stains and graining of the beam would hide it fromthe view of any one below. He was yet at work when the governor of theDepot and his rival Gevrol appeared upon the threshold of the loft.
"So this is to be your observatory, Monsieur Lecoq!" remarked Gevrol,with a sneering laugh.
"Yes, sir."
"You will not be very comfortable here."
"I shall be less uncomfortable than you suppose; I have brought a largeblanket with me, and I shall stretch myself out on the floor and manageto sleep here."
"So that, night and day, you will have your eye on the prisoner?"
"Yes, night and day."
"Without giving yourself time to eat or drink?" inquired Gevrol.
"Excuse me! Father Absinthe will bring me my meals, execute any errand Imay have, and relieve me at times if necessary."
The jealous General laughed; but his laugh, loud as it was, was yet atrifle constrained. "Well, I pity you," he said.
"Very possibly."
"Do you know what you will look like, with your eye glued to that hole?"
"Like what? Tell me, we needn't stand on ceremony."
"Ah, well! You will look just like one of those silly naturalists whoput all sorts of little insects under a magnifying glass, and spendtheir lives in watching them."
Lecoq had finished his work; and rose from his kneeling position. "Youcouldn't have found a better comparison, General," said he. "I owe myidea to those very naturalists you speak about so slightingly. By dintof studying those little creatures--as you say--under a microscope,these patient, gifted men discover the habits and instincts of theinsect world. Very well, then. What they can do with an insect, I willdo with a man!"
"Oh, ho!" said the governor of the prison, considerably astonished.
"Yes; that's my plan," continued Lecoq. "I want to learn this prisoner'ssecret; and I will do so. That I've sworn; and success must be mine,for, however strong his courage may be, he will have his moments ofweakness, and then I shall be present at them. I shall be present ifever his will fails him, if, believing himself alone, he lets his maskfall, or forgets his part for an instant, if an indiscreet word escapeshim in his sleep, if his despair elicits a groan, a gesture, or alook--I shall be there to take note of it." The tone of resolutionwith which the young detective spoke made a deep impression upon thegovernor's mind. For an instant he was a believer in Lecoq's theory; andhe was impressed by the strangeness of this conflict between a prisoner,determined to preserve the secret of his identity, and the agent for theprosecution, equally determined to wrest it from him. "Upon my word, myboy, you are not wanting in courage and energy," said he.
"Misdirected as it may be," growled Gevrol, who, although he spoke veryslowly and deliberately, was in his secret soul by no means convincedof what he said. Faith is contagious, and he was troubled in spite ofhimself by Lecoq's imperturbable assurance. What if this debutant inthe profession should be right, and he, Gevrol, the oracle of thePrefecture, wrong! What shame and ridicule would be his portion, then!But once again he inwardly swore that this inexperienced youngster couldbe no match for an old veteran like himself, and then added aloud: "Theprefect of police must have more money than he knows what to do with, topay two men for such a nonsensical job as this."
Lecoq disdained to reply to this slighting remark. For more than afortnight the General had profited of every opportunity to make himselfas disagreeable as possible, and the young detective feared he would beunable to control his temper if the discussion continued. It would bebetter to remain silent, and to work and wait for success. To succeedwould be revenge enough! Moreover, he was impatient to see theseunwelcome visitors depart; believing, perhaps, that Gevrol was quitecapable of attracting the prisoner's attention by some unusual sound.
As soon as they went away, Lecoq hastily spread his blanket over thestones and stretched himself out upon it in such a position that hecould alternately apply his eye and his ear to the aperture. In thisposition he had an admirable view of the cell below. He could see thedoor, the bed, the table, and the chair; only the small space near thewindow and the window itself were beyond his range of observation. Hehad scarcely completed his survey, when he heard the bolts rattle: theprisoner was returning from his walk. He seemed in excellent spirits,and was just completing what was, undoubtedly, a very interesting story,since the keeper who accompanied him lingered for a moment to hear thefinish. Lecoq was delighted with the success of his experiment. Hecould hear as easily as he could see. Each syllable reached his eardistinctly, and he had not lost a single word of the recital, which wasamusing, though rather coarse.
The turnkey soon left the cell; the bolts rattled once more, and thekey grated in the lock. After walking once or twice across his cell, Maytook up his volume of Beranger and for an hour or more seemed completelyengrossed in its contents. Finally, he threw himself down upon his bed.Here he remained until meal-time in the evening, when he rose and atewith an excellent appetite. He next resumed the study of his book, anddid not go to bed until the lights were extinguished.
Lecoq knew well enough that during the night his eyes would not servehim, but he trusted that his ears might prove of use, hoping that sometelltale word might escape the prisoner's lips during his restlessslumber. In this expectation he was disappointed. May tossed to and froupon his pallet; he sighed, and one might have thought he was sobbing,but not a syllable escaped his lips. He remained in bed until very latethe next morning; but on hearing the bell sound the hour of breakfast,eleven o'clock, he sprang from his couch with a bound, and aftercapering about his cell for a few moments, began to sing, in a loud andcheerful voice, the old ditty:
"Diogene! Sous ton manteau, libre et content, Je ris, je bois, sans gene--"
The prisoner did not stop singing until a keeper entered his cellcarrying his breakfast. The day now beginning differed in no respectfrom the one that had preceded it, neither did the night. The same mightbe said of the next day, and of those which followed. To sing, to eat,to sleep, to attend to his hands and nails--such was the life led bythis so-called buffoon. His manner, which never varied, was that of anaturally cheerful man terribly bored.
Such was the perfection of his acting that, after six days and nightsof constant surveillance, Lecoq had detected nothing decisive, noreven
surprising. And yet he did not despair. He had noticed that everymorning, while the employees of the prison were busy distributing theprisoner's food, May invariably began to sing the same ditty.
"Evidently this song is a signal," thought Lecoq. "What can be going onthere by the window I can't see? I must know to-morrow."
Accordingly on the following morning he arranged that May should betaken on his walk at half-past ten o'clock, and he then insisted thatthe governor should accompany him to the prisoner's cell. That worthyfunctionary was not very well pleased with the change in the usual orderof things. "What do you wish to show me?" he asked. "What is there sovery curious to see?"
"Perhaps nothing," replied Lecoq, "but perhaps something of greatimportance."
Eleven o'clock sounding soon after, he began singing the prisoner'ssong, and he had scarcely finished the second line, when a bit of bread,no larger than a bullet, adroitly thrown through the window, dropped athis feet.
A thunderbolt falling in May's cell would not have terrified thegovernor as much as did this inoffensive projectile. He stood in silentdismay; his mouth wide open, his eyes starting from their sockets, asif he distrusted the evidence of his own senses. What a disgrace! Aninstant before he would have staked his life upon the inviolability ofthe secret cells; and now he beheld his prison dishonored.
"A communication! a communication!" he repeated, with a horrified air.
Quick as lightning, Lecoq picked up the missile. "Ah," murmured he, "Iguessed that this man was in communication with his friends."
The young detective's evident delight changed the governor's stupor intofury. "Ah! my prisoners are writing!" he exclaimed, wild with passion."My warders are acting as postmen! By my faith, this matter shall belooked into."
So saying, he was about to rush to the door when Lecoq stopped him."What are you going to do, sir?" he asked.
"I am going to call all the employees of this prison together, andinform them that there is a traitor among them, and that I must know whohe is, as I wish to make an example of him. And if, in twenty-four hoursfrom now, the culprit has not been discovered, every man connected withthis prison shall be removed."
Again he started to leave the room, and Lecoq, this time, had almost touse force to detain him. "Be calm, sir; be calm," he entreated.
"I will punish--"
"Yes, yes--I understand that--but wait until you have regained yourself-possession. It is quite possible that the guilty party may be oneof the prisoners who assist in the distribution of food every morning."
"What does that matter?"
"Excuse me, but it matters a great deal. If you noise this discoveryabroad, we shall never discover the truth. The traitor will not be foolenough to confess his guilt. We must be silent and wait. We will keep aclose watch and detect the culprit in the very act."
These objections were so sensible that the governor yielded. "So be it,"he sighed, "I will try and be patient. But let me see the missive thatwas enclosed in this bit of bread."
Lecoq could not consent to this proposal. "I warned M. Segmuller," saidhe, "that there would probably be something new this morning; and hewill be waiting for me in his office. We must only examine the letter inhis presence."
This remark was so correct that the governor assented; and they at oncestarted for the Palais de Justice. On their way, Lecoq endeavored toconvince his companion that it was wrong to deplore a circumstancewhich might be of incalculable benefit to the prosecution. "It was anillusion," said he, "to imagine that the governor of a prison could bemore cunning than the prisoners entrusted to him. A prisoner is almostalways a match in ingenuity for his custodians."
The young detective had not finished speaking when they reachedthe magistrate's office. Scarcely had Lecoq opened the door than M.Segmuller and his clerk rose from their seats. They both read importantintelligence in our hero's troubled face. "What is it?" eagerly askedthe magistrate. Lecoq's sole response was to lay the pellet of breadupon M. Segmuller's desk. In an instant the magistrate had opened it,extracting from the centre a tiny slip of the thinnest tissue paper.This he unfolded, and smoothed upon the palm of his hand. As soon ashe glanced at it, his brow contracted. "Ah! this note is written incipher," he exclaimed, with a disappointed air.
"We must not lose patience," said Lecoq quietly. He took the slip ofpaper from the magistrate and read the numbers inscribed upon it. Theyran as follows: "235, 15, 3, 8, 25, 2, 16, 208, 5, 360, 4, 36, 19, 7,14, 118, 84, 23, 9, 40, 11, 99."
"And so we shall learn nothing from this note," murmured the governor.
"Why not?" the smiling clerk ventured to remark. "There is no system ofcipher which can not be read with a little skill and patience; there aresome people who make it their business."
"You are right," said Lecoq, approvingly. "And I, myself, once had theknack of it."
"What!" exclaimed the magistrate; "do you hope to find the key to thiscipher?"
"With time, yes."
Lecoq was about to place the paper in his breast-pocket, when themagistrate begged him to examine it a little further. He did so; andafter a while his face suddenly brightened. Striking his forehead withhis open palm, he cried: "I've found it!"
An exclamation of incredulous surprise simultaneously escaped themagistrate, the governor, and the clerk.
"At least I think so," added Lecoq, more cautiously. "If I am notmistaken, the prisoner and his accomplice have adopted a very simplesystem called the double book-cipher. The correspondents first agreeupon some particular book; and both obtain a copy of the same edition.When one desires to communicate with the other, he opens the bookhaphazard, and begins by writing the number of the page. Then he mustfind on the same page the words that will express his thoughts. If thefirst word he wishes to write is the twentieth on the page, he placesnumber 20 after the number of the page; then he begins to count one,two, three, and so on, until he finds the next word he wishes to use.If this word happens to be the sixth, he writes the figure 6, and hecontinues so on till he has finished his letter. You see, now, howthe correspondent who receives the note must begin. He finds the pageindicated, and then each figure represents a word."
"Nothing could be clearer," said the magistrate, approvingly.
"If this note," pursued Lecoq, "had been exchanged between two personsat liberty, it would be folly to attempt its translation. This simplesystem is the only one which has completely baffled inquisitive efforts,simply because there is no way of ascertaining the book agreed upon.But in this instance such is not the case; May is a prisoner, and he hasonly one book in his possession, 'The Songs of Beranger.' Let this bookbe sent for--"
The governor of the Depot was actually enthusiastic. "I will run andfetch it myself," he interrupted.
But Lecoq, with a gesture, detained him. "Above all, sir," said he,"take care that May doesn't discover his book has been tampered with.If he has returned from his promenade, make some excuse to have him sentout of his cell again; and don't allow him to return there while we areusing his book."
"Oh, trust me!" replied the governor, hastily leaving the room.
Less than a quarter of an hour afterward he returned, carrying intriumph a little volume in 32mo. With a trembling hand Lecoq turned topage 235, and began to count. The fifteenth word on the page was'I'; the third afterward, 'have'; the eighth following, 'told'; thetwenty-fifth, 'her'; the second, 'your'; the sixteenth, 'wishes.' Hence,the meaning of those six numbers was: "I have told her your wishes."
The three persons who had witnessed this display of shrewdness could notrestrain their admiration. "Bravo! Lecoq," exclaimed the magistrate. "Iwill no longer bet a hundred to one on May," thought the smiling clerk.
But Lecoq was still busily engaged in deciphering the missive, and soon,in a voice trembling with gratified vanity, he read the entire notealoud. It ran as follows: "I have told her your wishes; she submits. Oursafety is assured; we are waiting your orders to act. Hope! Courage!"
Monsieur Lecoq, v. 1 Page 18
