Monsieur Lecoq by Émile Gaboriau (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📕

in serene unconsciousness of his want of tact, responded: “I think that Gevrol will chuckle with delight.”

At this mention of his most cruel enemy, Lecoq bounded from the ground like a wounded bull. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Gevrol has not won the battle yet. We have lost May; it is a great misfortune; but his accomplice remains in our hands. We hold the crafty man who has hitherto defeated all our plans, no matter how carefully arranged. He is certainly shrewd and devoted to his friend; but we will see if his devotion will withstand the prospect of hard labor in the penitentiary. And that is what awaits him, if he is silent, and if he thus accepts the responsibility of aiding and abetting the fugitive’s escape. Oh! I’ve no fears⁠—M. Segmuller will know how to draw the truth out of him.”

So speaking, Lecoq brandished his clinched fist with a threatening air and then, in calmer tones, he added: “But we must go to the station-house where the accomplice was removed. I wish to question him a little.”

XXII

It was six o’clock, and the dawn was just breaking when Father Absinthe and his companion reached the station-house, where they found the superintendent seated at a small table, making out his report. He did not move when they entered, failing to recognize them under their disguises. But when they mentioned their names, he rose with evident cordiality, and held out his hand.

“Upon my word!” said he, “I congratulate you on your capture last night.”

Father Absinthe and Lecoq exchanged an anxious look. “What capture?” they both asked in a breath.

“Why, that individual you sent me last night so carefully bound.”

“Well, what about him?”

The superintendent burst into a hearty laugh. “So you are ignorant of your good fortune,” said he. “Ah! luck has favored you, and you will receive a handsome reward.”

“Pray tell us what we’ve captured?” asked Father Absinthe, impatiently.

“A scoundrel of the deepest dye, an escaped convict, who has been missing for three months. You must have a description of him in your pocket⁠—Joseph Couturier, in short.”

On hearing these words, Lecoq became so frightfully pale that Father Absinthe, fearing he was going to faint, raised his arms to prevent his falling. A chair stood close by, however, and on this Lecoq allowed himself to drop. “Joseph Couturier,” he faltered, evidently unconscious of what he was saying. “Joseph Couturier! an escaped convict!”

The superintendent certainly did not understand Lecoq’s agitation any better than Father Absinthe’s discomfited air.

“You have reason to be proud of your work; your success will make a sensation this morning,” he repeated. “You have captured a famous prize. I can see Gevrol’s nose now when he hears the news. Only yesterday he was boasting that he alone was capable of securing this dangerous rascal.”

After such an irreparable failure as that which had overtaken Lecoq, the unintended irony of these compliments was bitter in the extreme. The superintendent’s words of praise fell on his ears like so many blows from a sledge hammer.

“You must be mistaken,” he eventually remarked, rising from his seat and summoning all his energy to his assistance. “That man is not Couturier.”

“Oh, I’m not mistaken; you may be quite sure of that. He fully answers the description appended to the circular ordering his capture, and even the little finger of his left hand is lacking, as is mentioned.”

“Ah! that’s a proof indeed!” groaned Father Absinthe.

“It is indeed. And I know another one more conclusive still. Couturier is an old acquaintance of mine. I have had him in custody before; and he recognized me last night just as I recognized him.”

After this further argument was impossible; hence it was in an entirely different tone that Lecoq remarked: “At least, my friend, you will allow me to address a few questions to your prisoner.”

“Oh! as many as you like. But first of all, let us bar the door and place two of my men before it. This Couturier has a fondness for the open air, and he wouldn’t hesitate to dash out our brains if he only saw a chance of escape.”

After taking these precautions, the man was removed from the cage in which he had been confined. He stepped forward with a smile on his face, having already recovered that nonchalant manner common to old offenders who, when in custody, seem to lose all feeling of anger against the police. They are not unlike those gamblers who, after losing their last halfpenny, nevertheless willingly shake hands with their adversary.

Couturier at once recognized Lecoq. “Ah!” said he, “It was you who did that business last night. You can boast of having a solid fist! You fell upon me very unexpectedly; and the back of my neck is still the worse for your clutch.”

“Then, if I were to ask a favor of you, you wouldn’t be disposed to grant it?”

“Oh, yes! all the same. I have no more malice in my composition than a chicken; and I rather like your face. What do you want of me?”

“I should like to have some information about the man who accompanied you last night.”

Couturier’s face darkened. “I am really unable to give you any,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know him. I never saw him before last night.”

“It’s hard to believe that. A fellow doesn’t enlist the first-comer for an expedition like yours last evening. Before undertaking such a job with a man, one finds out something about him.”

“I don’t say I haven’t been guilty of a stupid blunder,” replied Couturier. “Indeed I could murder myself for it, but there was nothing about the man to make me suspect that he belonged to the secret-service. He spread a net for me, and I jumped into it. It was made for me, of course; but it wasn’t necessary for me to put my foot into it.”

“You are mistaken, my man,” said Lecoq. “The individual in question didn’t belong to the police force. I pledge you my word of honor, he didn’t.”

For a moment