CLASSIC MYSTERIES - The Émile Gaboriau Edition (Detective Novels & Murder Cases). Emile Gaboriau

made the same attempt, and also failed; to all questions he only answered, “I don’t know.”

      At last the detective waxed impatient.

      “See here,” said he to Guespin, “I took you for a young man of sense, and you are only an ass. Do you imagine that we don’t know anything? Listen: On the night of Madame Denis’s wedding, you were getting ready to go off with your comrades, and had just borrowed twenty francs from the valet, when the count called you. He made you promise absolute secrecy (a promise which, to do you justice, you kept); he told you to leave the other servants at the station and go to Vulcan’s Forges, where you were to buy for him a hammer, a file, a chisel, and a dirk; these you were to carry to a certain woman. Then he gave you this famous five-hundred-franc note, telling you to bring him back the change when you returned next day. Isn’t that so?”

      An affirmative response glistened in the prisoner’s eyes; still, he answered, “I don’t recollect it.”

      “Now,” pursued M. Lecoq, “I’m going to tell you what happened afterwards. You drank something and got tipsy, and in short spent a part of the change of the note. That explains your fright when you were seized yesterday morning, before anybody said a word to you. You thought you were being arrested for spending that money. Then, when you learned that the count had been murdered during the night, recollecting that on the evening before you had bought all kinds of instruments of theft and murder, and that you didn’t know either the address or the name of the woman to whom you gave up the package, convinced that if you explained the source of the money found in your pocket, you would not be believed—then, instead of thinking of the means to prove your innocence, you became afraid, and thought you would save yourself by holding your tongue.”

      The prisoner’s countenance visibly changed; his nerves relaxed; his tight lips fell apart; his mind opened itself to hope. But he still resisted.

      “Do with me as you like,” said he.

      “Eh! What should we do with such a fool as you?” cried M. Lecoq angrily. “I begin to think you are a rascal too. A decent fellow would see that we wanted to get him out of a scrape, and he’d tell us the truth. You are prolonging your imprisonment by your own will. You’d better learn that the greatest shrewdness consists in telling the truth. A last time, will you answer?”

      Guespin shook his head; no.

      “Go back to prison, then; since it pleases you,” concluded the detective. He looked at the judge for his approval, and added:

      “Gendarmes, remove the prisoner.”

      The judge’s last doubt was dissipated like the mist before the sun. He was, to tell the truth, a little uneasy at having treated the detective so rudely; and he tried to repair it as much as he could.

      “You are an able man, Monsieur Lecoq,” said he. “Without speaking of your clearsightedness, which is so prompt as to seem almost like second sight, your examination just now was a master-piece of its kind. Receive my congratulations, to say nothing of the reward which I propose to recommend in your favor to your chiefs.”

      The detective at these compliments cast down his eyes with the abashed air of a virgin. He looked tenderly at the dear defunct’s portrait, and doubtless said to it:

      “At last, darling, we have defeated him—this austere judge who so heartily detests the force of which we are the brightest ornament, makes his apologies; he recognizes and applauds our services.”

      He answered aloud:

      “I can only accept half of your eulogies, Monsieur; permit me to offer the other half to my friend Monsieur Plantat.”

      M. Plantat tried to protest.

      “Oh,” said he, “only for some bits of information! You would have ferreted out the truth without me all the same.”

      The judge arose and graciously, but not without effort, extended his hand to M. Lecoq, who respectfully pressed it.

      “You have spared me,” said the judge, “a great remorse. Guespin’s innocence would surely sooner or later have been recognized; but the idea of having imprisoned an innocent man and harassed him with my interrogatories, would have disturbed my sleep and tormented my conscience for a long time.”

      “God knows this poor Guespin is not an interesting youth,” returned the detective. “I should be disposed to press him hard were I not certain that he’s half a fool.”

      M. Domini gave a start.

      “I shall discharge him this very day,” said he, “this very hour.”

      “It will be an act of charity,” said M. Lecoq; “but confound his obstinacy; it was so easy for him to simplify my task. I might be able, by the aid of chance, to collect the principal facts—the errand, and a woman being mixed up in the affair; but as I’m no magician, I couldn’t guess all the details. How is Jenny mixed up in this affair? Is she an accomplice, or has she only been made to play an ignorant part in it? Where did she meet Guespin and whither did she lead him? It is clear that she made the poor fellow tipsy so as to prevent his going to the Batignolles. Tremorel must have told her some false story—but what?”

      “I don’t think Tremorel troubled his head about so small a matter,” said M. Plantat. “He gave Guespin and Jenny some task, without explaining it at all.”

      M. Lecoq reflected a moment.

      “Perhaps you are right. But Jenny must have had special orders to prevent Guespin from putting in an alibi.”

      “But,” said M. Domini, “Jenny will explain it all to us.”

      “That is what I rely on; and I hope that within forty-eight hours I shall have found her and brought her safely to Corbeil.”

      He rose at these words, took his cane and hat, and turning to the judge, said:

      “Before retiring—”

      “Yes, I know,” interrupted M. Domini, “you want a warrant to arrest Hector de Tremorel.”

      “I do, as you are now of my opinion that he is still alive.”

      “I am sure of it.”

      M. Domini opened his portfolio and wrote off a warrant as follows:

      “By the law: “We, judge of instruction of the first tribunal, etc., considering articles 91 and 94 of the code of criminal instruction, command and ordain to all the agents of the police to arrest, in conformity with the law, one Hector de Tremorel, etc.”

      When he had finished, he said:

      “Here it is, and may you succeed in speedily finding this great criminal.”

      “Oh, he’ll find him,” cried the Corbeil policeman.

      “I hope so, at least. As to how I shall go to work, I don’t know yet. I will arrange my plan of battle to-night.”

      The detective then took leave of M. Domini and retired, followed by M. Plantat. The doctor remained with the judge to make arrangements for Sauvresy’s exhumation.

      M. Lecoq was just leaving the court-house when he felt himself pulled by the arm. He turned and found that it was Goulard who came to beg his favor and to ask him to take him along, persuaded that after having served under so great a captain he must inevitably become a famous man himself. M. Lecoq had some difficulty in getting rid of him; but he at length found himself alone in the street with the old justice of the peace.

      “It is late,” said the latter. “Would it be agreeable to you to partake of another modest dinner with me, and accept my cordial hospitality?”

      “I am chagrined to be obliged to refuse you,” replied M. Lecoq. “But I ought to be in Paris this evening.”

      “But I—in fact, I—was very anxious to talk to you—about—”

      “About Mademoiselle Laurence?”

      “Yes;