Le crime d'Orcival. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  VII

  The judge of instruction, the doctor, and M. Plantat exchanged asignificant look. What misfortune had befallen M. Courtois, this worthy,and despite his faults, excellent person? Decidedly, this was anill-omened day!

  "If we are to speak of Bertaud's allusions," said M. Lecoq, "I haveheard two very curious stories, though I have been here but a few hours.It seems that this Mademoiselle Laurence--"

  M. Plantat abruptly interrupted the detective.

  "Calumnies! odious calumnies! The lower classes, to annoy the rich, donot hesitate to say all sorts of things against them. Don't you know it?Is it not always so? The gentry, above all, those of a provincial town,live in glass houses. The lynx eyes of envy watch them steadily nightand day, spy on them, surprise what they regard as their most secretactions to arm themselves against them. The bourgeois goes on, proud andcontent; his business prospers; he possesses the esteem and friendshipof his own class; all this while, he is vilified by the lower classes,his name dragged in the dust, soiled by suppositions the mostmischievous. Envy, Monsieur, respects nothing, no one."

  "If Laurence has been slandered," observed Dr. Gendron, smiling, "shehas a good advocate to defend her."

  The old justice of the peace (the man of bronze, as M. Courtois calledhim) blushed slightly, a little embarrassed.

  "There are causes," said he, quietly, "which defend themselves.Mademoiselle Courtois is one of those young girls who has a right to allrespect. But there are evils which no laws can cure, and which revoltme. Think of it, monsieurs, our reputations, the honor of our wives anddaughters, are at the mercy of the first petty rascal who hasimagination enough to invent a slander. It is not believed, perhaps; butit is repeated, and spreads. What can be done? How can we know what issecretly said against us; will we ever know it?"

  "Eh!" replied the doctor, "what matters it? There is only one voice, tomy mind, worth listening to--that of conscience. As to what is called'public opinion,' as it is the aggregate opinion of thousands of foolsand rogues, I only despise it."

  This discussion might have been prolonged, if the judge of instructionhad not pulled out his watch, and made an impatient gesture.

  "While we are talking, time is flying," said he. "We must hasten to thework that still remains."

  It was then agreed that while the doctor proceeded to his autopsy, thejudge should draw up his report of the case. M. Plantat was charged withwatching Lecoq's investigations.

  As soon as the detective found himself alone with M. Plantat:

  "Well," he said, drawing a long breath, as if relieved of a heavyburden, "now we can get on."

  Plantat smiled; the detective munched a lozenge, and added:

  "It was very annoying to find the investigation already going on when Ireached here. Those who were here before me have had time to get up atheory, and if I don't adopt it at once, there is the deuce to pay!"

  M. Domini's voice was heard in the entry, calling out to his clerk.

  "Now there's the judge of instruction," continued Lecoq, "who thinksthis a very simple affair; while I, Lecoq, the equal at least of Gevrol,the favorite pupil of Papa Tabaret--I do not see it at all clearly yet."

  He stopped; and after apparently going over in his mind the result ofhis discoveries, went on: "No; I'm off the track, and have almost lostmy way. I see something underneath all this--but what? what?"

  M. Plantat's face remained placid, but his eyes shone.

  "Perhaps you are right," said he, carelessly; "perhaps there issomething underneath." The detective looked at him; he didn't stir. Hisface seemed the most undisturbed in the world. There was a long silence,by which M. Lecoq profited to confide to the portrait of the defunct thereflections which burdened his brain.

  "See here, my dear darling," said he, "this worthy person seems a shrewdold customer, and I must watch his actions and gestures carefully. Hedoes not argue with the judge; he's got an idea that he doesn't dare totell, and we must find it out. At the very first he guessed me out,despite these pretty blond locks. As long as he thought he could, bymisleading me, make me follow M. Domini's tack, he followed and aided meshowing me the way. Now that he sees me on the scent, he crosses hisarms and retires. He wants to leave me the honor of the discovery. Why?He lives here--perhaps he is afraid of making enemies. No. He isn't aman to fear much of anything. What then? He shrinks from his ownthoughts. He has found something so amazing, that he dares not explainhimself."

  A sudden reflection changed the course of M. Lecoq's confidences.

  "A thousand imps!" thought he. "Suppose I'm wrong! Suppose this oldfellow is not shrewd at all! Suppose he hasn't discovered anything, andonly obeys the inspirations of chance! I've seen stranger things. I'veknown so many of these folks whose eyes seem so very mysterious, andannounce such wonders; after all, I found nothing, and was cheated. ButI intend to sound this old fellow well."

  And, assuming his most idiotic manner, he said aloud:

  "On reflection, Monsieur, little remains to be done. Two of theprincipals are in custody, and when they make up their minds totalk--they'll do it, sooner or later, if the judge is determined theyshall--we shall know all."

  A bucket of ice-water falling on M. Plantat's head could not havesurprised him more, or more disagreeably, than this speech.

  "What!" stammered he, with an air of frank amazement, "do you, a man ofexperience, who--"

  Delighted with the success of his ruse, Lecoq could not keep hiscountenance, and Plantat, who perceived that he had been caught in thesnare, laughed heartily. Not a word, however, was exchanged betweenthese two men, both subtle in the science of life, and equally cunningin its mysteries. They quite understood each other.

  "My worthy old buck," said the detective to himself, "you've gotsomething in your sack; only it's so big, so monstrous, that you won'texhibit it, not for a cannon-ball. You wish your hand forced, do you?Ve-ry well!"

  "He's sly," thought M. Plantat. "He knows that I've got an idea; he'strying to get at it--and I believe he will."

  M. Lecoq had restored his lozenge-box to his pocket, as he always didwhen he went seriously to work. His amour-propre was enlisted; he playeda part--and he was a rare comedian.

  "Now," cried he, "let's to horse. According to the mayor's account, theinstrument with which all these things were broken has been found."

  "In the room in the second story," answered M. Plantat, "overlooking thegarden, we found a hatchet on the floor, near a piece of furniture whichhad been assailed, but not broken open; I forbade anyone to touch it."

  "And you did well. Is it a heavy hatchet?"

  "It weighs about two pounds."

  "Good. Let's see it."

  They ascended to the room in question, and M. Lecoq, forgetting his partof a haberdasher, and regardless of his clothes, went down flat on hisstomach, alternately scrutinizing the hatchet--which was a heavy,terrible weapon--and the slippery and well-waxed oaken floor.

  "I suppose," observed M. Plantat, "that the assassins brought thishatchet up here and assailed this cupboard, for the sole purpose ofputting us off our scent, and to complicate the mystery. This weapon,you see, was by no means necessary for breaking open the cupboard, whichI could smash with my fist. They gave one blow--only one--and quietlyput the hatchet down."

  The detective got up and brushed himself.

  "I think you are mistaken," said he. "This hatchet wasn't put on thefloor gently; it was thrown with a violence betraying either greatterror or great anger. Look here; do you see these three marks, neareach other, on the floor? When the assassin threw the hatchet, it firstfell on the edge--hence this sharp cut; then it fell over on one side;and the flat, or hammer end left this mark here, under my finger.Therefore, it was thrown with such violence that it turned over itselfand that its edge a second time cut in the floor, where you see it now."

  "True," answered M. Plantat. The detective's conjectures doubtlessrefuted his own theory, for he added, with a perplexed air:

  "I don't understand anything about
it."

  M. Lecoq went on:

  "Were the windows open this morning as they are now?"

  "Yes."

  "Ah! The wretches heard some noise or other in the garden, and they wentand looked out. What did they see? I can't tell. But I do know that whatthey saw terrified them, that they threw down the hatchet furiously, andmade off. Look at the position of these cuts--they are slanting ofcourse--and you will see that the hatchet was thrown by a man who wasstanding, not by the cupboard, but close by the open window."

  Plantat in his turn knelt down, and looked long and carefully. Thedetective was right. He got up confused, and after meditating a moment,said:

  "This perplexes me a little; however--"

  He stopped, motionless, in a revery, with one of his hands on hisforehead.

  "All might yet be explained," he muttered, mentally searching for asolution of the mystery, "and in that case the time indicated by theclock would be true."

  M. Lecoq did not think of questioning his companion. He knew that hewould not answer, for pride's sake.

  "This matter of the hatchet puzzles me, too," said he. "I thought thatthese assassins had worked leisurely; but that can't be so. I see theywere surprised and interrupted."

  Plantat was all ears.

  "True," pursued M. Lecoq, slowly, "we ought to divide these indicationsinto two classes. There are the traces left on purpose to misleadus--the jumbled-up bed, for instance; then there are the real traces,undesigned, as are these hatchet cuts. But here I hesitate. Is the traceof the hatchet true or false, good or bad? I thought myself sure of thecharacter of these assassins: but now--" He paused; the wrinkles on hisface, the contraction of his mouth, betrayed his mental effort.

  "But now?" asked M. Plantat.

  M. Lecoq, at this question, seemed like a man just roused from sleep.

  "I beg your pardon," said he. "I forgot myself. I've a bad habit ofreflecting aloud. That's why I almost always insist on working alone. Myuncertainty, hesitation, the vacillation of my suspicions, lose me thecredit of being an astute detective--of being an agent for whom there'sno such thing as a mystery."

  Worthy M. Plantat gave the detective an indulgent smile.

  "I don't usually open my mouth," pursued M. Lecoq, "until my mind issatisfied; then I speak in a peremptory tone, and say--this is thus, orthis is so. But to-day I am acting without too much restraint, in thecompany of a man who knows that a problem such as this seems to me tobe, is not solved at the first attempt. So I permit my gropings to beseen without shame. You cannot always reach the truth at a bound, but bya series of diverse calculations, by deductions and inductions. Well,just now my logic is at fault."

  "How so?"

  "Oh, it's very simple. I thought I understood the rascals, and knew themby heart; and yet I have only recognized imaginary adversaries. Are theyfools, or are they mighty sly? That's what I ask myself. The tricksplayed with the bed and clock had, I supposed, given me the measure andextent of their intelligence and invention. Making deductions from theknown to the unknown, I arrived, by a series of very simpleconsequences, at the point of foreseeing all that they could haveimagined, to throw us off the scent. My point of departure admitted, Ihad only, in order to reach the truth, to take the contrary of thatwhich appearances indicated. I said to myself:

  "A hatchet has been found in the second story; therefore the assassinscarried it there, and designedly forgot it.

  "They left five glasses on the dining-room table; therefore they weremore or less than five, but they were not five.

  "There were the remains of a supper on the table; therefore they neitherdrank nor ate.

  "The countess's body was on the river-bank; therefore it was placedthere deliberately. A piece of cloth was found in the victim's hand;therefore it was put there by the murderers themselves.

  "Madame de Tremorel's body is disfigured by many dagger-strokes, andhorribly mutilated; therefore she was killed by a single blow--"

  "Bravo, yes, bravo," cried M. Plantat, visibly charmed.

  "Eh! no, not bravo yet," returned M. Lecoq. "For here my thread isbroken; I have reached a gap. If my deductions were sound, this hatchetwould have been very carefully placed on the floor."

  "Once more, bravo," added the other, "for this does not at all affectour general theory. It is clear, nay certain, that the assassinsintended to act as you say. An unlooked-for event interrupted them."

  "Perhaps; perhaps that's true. But I see something else--"

  "What?"

  "Nothing--at least, for the moment. Before all, I must see thedining-room and the garden."

  They descended at once, and Plantat pointed out the glasses and bottles,which he had put one side. The detective took the glasses, one afteranother, held them level with his eye, toward the light, and scrutinizedthe moist places left on them.

  "No one has drank from these glasses," said he, firmly.

  "What, from neither one of them?"

  The detective fixed a penetrating look upon his companion, and in ameasured tone, said:

  "From neither one."

  M. Plantat only answered by a movement of the lips, as if to say, "Youare going too far."

  The other smiled, opened the door, and called:

  "Francois!"

  The valet hastened to obey the call. His face was suffused with tears;he actually bewailed the loss of his master.

  "Hear what I've got to say, my lad," said M. Lecoq, with truedetective-like familiarity. "And be sure and answer me exactly, frankly,and briefly."

  "I will, sir."

  "Was it customary here at the chateau, to bring up the wine before itwas wanted?"

  "No, sir; before each meal, I myself went down to the cellar for it."

  "Then no full bottles were ever kept in the dining-room?"

  "Never."

  "But some of the wine might sometimes remain in draught?"

  "No; the count permitted me to carry the dessert wine to the servants'table."

  "And where were the empty bottles put?"

  "I put them in this corner cupboard, and when they amounted to a certainnumber, I carried them down cellar."

  "When did you last do so?"

  "Oh"--Francois reflected--"at least five or six days ago."

  "Good. Now, what liqueurs did the count drink?"

  "The count scarcely ever drank liqueurs. If, by chance, he took a notionto have a small glass of eau-de-vie, he got it from the liqueur closet,there, over the stove."

  "There were no decanters of rum or cognac in any of the cupboards?"

  "No."

  "Thanks; you may retire."

  As Francois was going out, M. Lecoq called him back.

  "While we are about it, look in the bottom of the closet, and see if youfind the right number of empty bottles."

  The valet obeyed, and looked into the closet.

  "There isn't one there."

  "Just so," returned M. Lecoq. "This time, show us your heels for good."

  As soon as Francois had shut the door, M. Lecoq turned to Plantat andasked:

  "What do you think now?"

  "You were perfectly right."

  The detective then smelt successively each glass and bottle.

  "Good again! Another proof in aid of my guess."

  "What more?"

  "It was not wine that was at the bottom of these glasses. Among all theempty bottles put away in the bottom of that closet, there was one--hereit is--which contained vinegar; and it was from this bottle that theyturned what they thought to be wine into the glasses."

  Seizing a glass, he put it to M. Plantat's nose, adding:

  "See for yourself."

  There was no disputing it; the vinegar was good, its odor of thestrongest; the villains, in their haste, had left behind them anincontestable proof of their intention to mislead the officers ofjustice. While they were capable of shrewd inventions, they did not havethe art to perform them well. All their oversights could, however, beaccounted for by their sudden haste, caused
by the occurrence of anunlooked-for incident. "The floors of a house where a crime has justbeen committed," said a famous detective, "burn the feet." M. Lecoqseemed exasperated, like a true artist, before the gross, pretentious,and ridiculous work of some green and bungling scholar.

  "These are a parcel of vulgar ruffians, truly! able ones, certainly; butthey don't know their trade yet, the wretches."

  M. Lecoq, indignant, ate three or four lozenges at a mouthful.

  "Come, now," said Plantat, in a paternally severe tone. "Don't let's getangry. The people have failed in address, no doubt; but reflect thatthey could not, in their calculations, take account of the craft of aman like you."

  M. Lecoq, who had the vanity which all actors possess, was flattered bythe compliment, and but poorly dissimulated an expression of pleasure.

  "We must be indulgent; come now," pursued Plantat. "Besides," he pauseda moment to give more weight to what he was going to say, "besides, youhaven't seen everything yet."

  No one could tell when M. Lecoq was playing a comedy. He did not alwaysknow, himself. This great artist, devoted to his art, practised thefeigning of all the emotions of the human soul, just as he accustomedhimself to wearing all sorts of costumes. He was very indignant againstthe assassins, and gesticulated about in great excitement; but he neverceased to watch Plantat slyly, and the last words of the latter made himprick up his ears.

  "Let's see the rest, then," said he.

  As he followed his worthy comrade to the garden, he renewed hisconfidences to the dear defunct.

  "Confound this old bundle of mystery! We can't take this obstinatefellow by surprise, that's clear. He'll give us the word of the riddlewhen we have guessed it; not before. He is as strong as we, my darling;he only needs a little practice. But look you--if he has found somethingwhich has escaped us, he must have previous information, that we don'tknow of."

  Nothing had been disturbed in the garden.

  "See here, Monsieur Lecoq," said the old justice of the peace, as hefollowed a winding pathway which led to the river. "It was here that oneof the count's slippers was found; below there, a little to the right ofthese geraniums, his silk handkerchief was picked up."

  They reached the river-bank, and lifted, with great care, the plankswhich had been placed there to preserve the foot-prints.

  "We suppose," said M. Plantat, "that the countess, in her flight,succeeded in getting to this spot; and that here they caught up with herand gave her a finishing blow."

  Was this really Plantat's opinion, or did he only report the morning'stheory? M. Lecoq could not tell.

  "According to my calculations," he said, "the countess could not havefled, but was brought here already dead, or logic is not logic. However,let us examine this spot carefully."

  He knelt down and studied the sand on the path, the stagnant water, andthe reeds and water-plants. Then going along a little distance, he threwa stone, approaching again to see the effect produced on the mud. Henext returned to the house, and came back again under the willows,crossing the lawn, where were still clearly visible traces of a heavyburden having been dragged over it. Without the least respect for hispantaloons, he crossed the lawn on all-fours, scrutinizing the smallestblades of grass, pulling away the thick tufts to see the earth better,and minutely observing the direction of the broken stems. This done, hesaid:

  "My conclusions are confirmed. The countess was carried across here."

  "Are you sure of it?" asked Plantat.

  There was no mistaking the old man's hesitation this time; he wasclearly undecided, and leaned on the other's judgment for guidance.

  "There can be no error, possibly."

  The detective smiled, as he added:

  "Only, as two heads are better than one, I will ask you to listen to me,and then, you will tell me what you think."

  M. Lecoq had, in searching about, picked up a little flexible stick, andwhile he talked, he used it to point out this and that object, like thelecturer at the panorama.

  "No," said he, "Madame de Tremorel did not fly from her murderers. Hadshe been struck down here, she would have fallen violently; her weight,therefore, would have made the water spirt to some distance, as well asthe mud; and we should certainly have found some splashes."

  "But don't you think that, since morning, the sun--"

  "The sun would have absorbed the water; but the stain of dry mud wouldhave remained. I have found nothing of the sort anywhere. You mightobject, that the water and mud would have spirted right and left; butjust look at the tufts of these flags, lilies, and stems of cane--youfind a light dust on every one. Do you find the least trace of a drop ofwater? No. There was then no splash, therefore no violent fall;therefore the countess was not killed here; therefore her body wasbrought here, and carefully deposited where you found it."

  M. Plantat did not seem to be quite convinced yet.

  "But there are the traces of a struggle in the sand," said he.

  His companion made a gesture of protest.

  "Monsieur deigns to have his joke; those marks would not deceive aschool-boy."

  "It appears to me, however--"

  "There can be no mistake, Monsieur Plantat. Certain it is that the sandhas been disturbed and thrown about. But all these trails that lay barethe earth which was covered by the sand, were made by the same foot.Perhaps you don't believe it. They were made, too, with the end of thefoot; that you may see for yourself."

  "Yes, I perceive it."

  "Very well, then; when there has been a struggle on ground like this,there are always two distinct kinds of traces--those of the assailantand those of the victim. The assailant, throwing himself forward,necessarily supports himself on his toes, and imprints the fore part ofhis feet on the earth. The victim, on the contrary, falling back, andtrying to avoid the assault, props himself on his heels, and thereforeburies the heels in the soil. If the adversaries are equally strong, thenumber of imprints of the toes and the heels will be nearly equal,according to the chances of the struggle. But what do we find here?"

  M. Plantat interrupted:

  "Enough; the most incredulous would now be convinced." After thinking amoment, he added:

  "No, there is no longer any possible doubt of it."

  M. Lecoq thought that his argument deserved a reward, and treatedhimself to two lozenges at a mouthful.

  "I haven't done yet," he resumed. "Granted, that the countess could nothave been murdered here; let's add that she was not carried hither, butdragged along. There are only two ways of dragging a body; by theshoulders, and in this case the feet, scraping along the earth, leavetwo parallel trails; or by the legs--in which case the head, lying onthe earth, leaves a single furrow, and that a wide one."

  Plantat nodded assent.

  "When I examined the lawn," pursued M. Lecoq, "I found the paralleltrails of the feet, but yet the grass was crushed over a rather widespace. How was that? Because it was the body, not of a man, but of awoman, which was dragged across the lawn--of a woman full-dressed, withheavy petticoats; that, in short, of the countess, and not of thecount."

  M. Lecoq paused, in expectation of a question, or a remark.

  But the old justice of the peace did not seem to be listening, andappeared to be plunged in the deepest meditation. Night was falling; alight fog hung like smoke over the Seine.

  "We must go in," said M. Plantat, abruptly, "and see how the doctor hasgot on with his autopsy."

  They slowly approached the house. The judge of instruction awaited themon the steps. He appeared to have a satisfied air.

  "I am going to leave you in charge," said he to M. Plantat, "for if I amto see the procureur, I must go at once. When you sent for him thismorning, he was absent."

  M. Plantat bowed.

  "I shall be much obliged if you will watch this affair to the end. Thedoctor will have finished in a few minutes, he says, and will reportto-morrow morning. I count on your co-operation to put seals whereverthey are necessary, and to select the guard over the chateau. I shall
send an architect to draw up an exact plan of the house and garden.Well, sir," asked M. Domini, turning to the detective, "have you madeany fresh discoveries?"

  "I have found some important facts; but I cannot speak decisively till Ihave seen everything by daylight. If you will permit me, I will postponemaking my report till to-morrow afternoon. I think I may say, however,that complicated as this affair is--"

  M. Domini did not let him finish.

  "I see nothing complicated in the affair at all; everything strikes meas very simple."

  "But," objected M. Lecoq, "I thought--"

  "I sincerely regret," continued the judge, "that you were so hastilycalled, when there was really no serious reason for it. The evidencesagainst the arrested men are very conclusive."

  Plantat and Lecoq exchanged a long look, betraying their great surprise.

  "What!" exclaimed the former, "have, you discovered any newindications?"

  "More than indications, I believe," responded M. Domini. "Old Bertaud,whom I have again questioned, begins to be uneasy. He has quite lost hisarrogant manner. I succeeded in making him contradict himself severaltimes, and he finished by confessing that he saw the assassins."

  "The assassins!" exclaimed M. Plantat. "Did he say assassins?"

  "He saw at least one of them. He persists in declaring that he did notrecognize him. That's where we are. But prison walls have salutaryterrors. To-morrow after a sleepless night, the fellow will be moreexplicit, if I mistake not."

  "But Guespin," anxiously asked the old man, "have you questioned him?"

  "Oh, as for him, everything is clear."

  "Has he confessed?" asked M. Lecoq, stupefied.

  The judge half turned toward the detective, as if he were displeasedthat M. Lecoq should dare to question him.

  "Guespin has not confessed," he answered, "but his case is none thebetter for that. Our searchers have returned. They haven't yet found thecount's body, and I think it has been carried down by the current. Butthey found at the end of the park, the count's other slipper, among theroses; and under the bridge, in the middle of the river, they discovereda thick vest which still bears the marks of blood."

  "And that vest is Guespin's?"

  "Exactly so. It was recognized by all the domestics, and Guespin himselfdid not hesitate to admit that it belonged to him. But that is notall--"

  M. Domini stopped as if to take breath, but really to keep Plantat insuspense. As they differed in their theories, he thought Plantatbetrayed a stupid opposition to him; and he was not sorry to have achance for a little triumph.

  "That is not all," he went on; "this vest had, in the right pocket, alarge rent, and a piece of it had been torn off. Do you know what becameof that piece of Guespin's vest?"

  "Ah," muttered M. Plantat, "it was that which we found in the countess'shand."

  "You are right, Monsieur. And what think you of this proof, pray, of theprisoner's guilt?"

  M. Plantat seemed amazed; his arms fell at his side. As for M. Lecoq,who, in presence of the judge, had resumed his haberdasher manner, hewas so much surprised that he nearly strangled himself with a lozenge.

  "A thousand devils!" exclaimed he. "That's tough, that is!" He smiledsillily, and added in a low tone, meant only for Plantat's ear.

  "Mighty tough! Though quite foreseen in our calculations. The countessheld a piece of cloth tightly in her hand; therefore it was put there,intentionally, by the murderers."

  M. Domini did not hear this remark. He shook hands with M. Plantat andmade an appointment to meet him on the morrow, at the court-house. Thenhe went away with his clerk.

  Guespin and old Bertaud, handcuffed, had a few minutes before being ledoff to the prison of Corbeil, under the guard of the Orcival gendarmes.