Monsieur Lecoq, v. 1 by Emile Gaboriau (hardest books to read .TXT) 📕
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- Author: Emile Gaboriau
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This was a victory for the prisoner, but he only shrugged his shoulders and murmured: “That proves that the physicians knew their business.”
Lecoq was delighted. This part of the prisoner’s narrative not merely agreed with the doctor’s statements, but also confirmed his own researches. The young detective felt that, had he been the examiner, he would have conducted the investigation in precisely the same way. Accordingly, he thanked heaven that M. Segmuller had supplied the place of M. d’Escorval.
“This admitted,” resumed the magistrate, “it remains for you to explain a sentence you uttered when the agent you see here arrested you.”
“What sentence?”
“You exclaimed: ‘Ah, it’s the Prussians who are coming; I’m lost!’ What did you mean by that?”
A fleeting crimson tinge suffused the prisoner’s cheek. It was evident that if he had anticipated the other questions, and had been prepared for them, this one, at least, was unexpected. “It’s very strange,” said he, with ill-disguised embarrassment, “that I should have said such a thing!”
“Five persons heard you,” insisted the magistrate.
The prisoner did not immediately reply. He was evidently trying to gain time, ransacking in his mind for a plausible explanation. “After all,” he ultimately said, “the thing’s quite possible. When I was with M. Simpson, we had with us an old soldier who had belonged to Napoleon’s body-guard and had fought at Waterloo. I recollect he was always repeating that phrase. I must have caught the habit from him.”
This explanation, though rather slow in coming, was none the less ingenious. At least, M. Segmuller appeared to be perfectly satisfied. “That’s very plausible,” said he; “but there is one circumstance that passes my comprehension. Were you freed from your assailants before the police entered the place? Answer me, yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Then why, instead of making your escape by the back door, the existence of which you had divined, did you remain on the threshold of the door leading into the back room, with a table before you to serve as a barricade, and your revolver leveled at the police, as if to keep them at bay?”
The prisoner hung his head, and the magistrate had to wait for his answer. “I was a fool,” he stammered at last. “I didn’t know whether these men were police agents or friends of the fellows I had killed.”
“In either case your own interest should have induced you to fly.”
The prisoner remained silent.
“Ah, well!” resumed M. Segmuller, “let me tell you my opinion. I believe you designedly and voluntarily exposed yourself to the danger of being arrested in order to protect the retreat of the two women who had just left.”
“Why should I have risked my own safety for two hussies I did not even know?”
“Excuse me. The prosecution is strongly inclined to believe that you know these two women very well.”
“I should like to see any one prove that!” So saying, the prisoner smiled sneeringly, but at once changed countenance when the magistrate retorted in a tone of assurance: “I will prove it.”
XII
M. Segmuller certainly wished that a number had been branded upon the enigmatical prisoner before him. And yet he did not by any means despair, and his confidence, exaggerated though it might be, was not at all feigned. He was of opinion that the weakest point of the prisoner’s defense so far was his pretended ignorance concerning the two women. He proposed to return to this subject later on. In the mean while, however, there were other matters to be dealt with.
When he felt that his threat as regards the women had had time to produce its full effect, the magistrate continued: “So, prisoner, you assert that you were acquainted with none of the persons you met at the Poivriere.”
“I swear it.”
“Have you never had occasion to meet a person called Lacheneur, an individual whose name is connected with this unfortunate affair?”
“I heard the name for the first time when it was pronounced by the dying soldier. Poor fellow! I had just dealt him his death blow; and yet his last words testified to my innocence.”
This sentimental outburst produced no impression whatever upon the magistrate. “In that case,” said he, “I suppose you are willing to accept this soldier’s statement.”
The man hesitated, as if conscious that he had fallen into a snare, and that he would be obliged to weigh each answer carefully. “I accept it,” said he at last. “Of course I accept it.”
“Very well, then. This soldier, as you must recollect, wished to revenge himself on Lacheneur, who, by promising him a sum of money, had inveigled him into a conspiracy. A conspiracy against whom? Evidently against you; and yet you pretend that you had only arrived in Paris that evening, and that mere chance brought you to the Poivriere. Can you reconcile such conflicting statements?”
The prisoner had the hardihood to shrug his shoulders disdainfully. “I see the matter in an entirely different light,” said he. “These people were plotting mischief against I don’t know whom—and it was because I was in their way that they sought a quarrel with me, without any cause whatever.”
Skilfully as the magistrate had delivered this thrust, it had been as skilfully parried; so skilfully, indeed, that Goguet, the smiling clerk, could not conceal an approving grimace. Besides, on principle, he always took the prisoner’s part, in a mild, Platonic way, of course.
“Let us consider the circumstances that followed your arrest,” resumed M. Segmuller. “Why did you refuse to answer all the questions put to you?”
A gleam of real or assumed resentment shone in the prisoner’s eyes.
“This examination,” he growled, “will alone suffice to make a culprit out of an innocent man!”
“I advise you, in your own interest, to behave properly. Those who arrested you observed that you were conversant with all the prison formalities and rules.”
“Ah! sir, haven’t I told you that I have been arrested and put in prison several times—always on account of my papers? I told you the truth, and you shouldn’t taunt me for having done so.”
The prisoner had dropped his mask of careless gaiety, and had assumed a surly, discontented tone. But his troubles were by no means ended; in fact, the battle had only just begun. Laying a tiny linen bag on his desk, M. Segmuller asked him if he recognized it.
“Perfectly! It is the package that the governor of the Depot placed in his safe.”
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