V. "ARREST ME!"
Twelve or thirteen miles from Souillac the main line from Brives toCahors, which flanks the slope, describes a rather sharp curve. Thejourney is a particularly picturesque one, and travellers who make itduring the daytime have much that is interesting and agreeable to see;but while they are admiring the country, which marks the transition fromthe severe region of the Limousin to the more laughing landscapes on theconfines of the Midi, the train suddenly plunges into a tunnel whichruns for half a mile and more through the heart of the mountain slope.Leaving the tunnel, the line continues along the slope, then graduallydescends towards Souillac. Two or three miles from that little station,which is a junction, the line runs alongside the highroad to Salignac,skirts for a brief distance the Correze, one of the largest tributarieson the right bank of the Dordogne, and then plunges into the heart ofLot.
Torrential winter rains had seriously affected the railway embankment,particularly near the mouth of the tunnel; a succession of heavy stormsin the early part of December had so greatly weakened the ballast thatthe chief engineers of the Company had been hastily summoned to thescene of the mischief. The experts decided that very important repairswere required close to the Souillac end of the tunnel. It was necessaryto put in a complete system of drainage, with underground pipes throughwhich the water that came down from the mountain could escape betweenthe ballast and the side of the rock and so pass underneath thepermanent way. The sleepers, too, had been loosened by the bad weather,and some of them had perished so much that the chairs were no longerfast, a matter which was all the more serious because the line describeda very sharp curve at that precise spot.
Gangs of first-class navvies had been hurriedly requisitioned, but inspite of the fact that an exceptional rate of wages was paid, a localstrike had broken out and for some days all work was stopped. Gradually,however, moderate counsels prevailed and for over a week now, nearly allthe men had taken up their tools again. Nevertheless, for a month past,these various circumstances had resulted in all the trains runningbetween Brives and Cahors, being regularly half an hour late. Further,in view of the dangerous state of the line, all engine drivers comingfrom Brives had received orders to stop their trains two hundred yardsfrom the end of the tunnel, and all drivers coming from Cahors to stoptheir trains five hundred yards before the entrance to the tunnel, sothat should a train appear while any work was going on which rendered itdangerous to pass, it could wait until the work was completed. The orderwas also issued with the primary object of preventing the workers on theline from being taken by surprise.
* * * * *
Day was just breaking this grey December morning, when the gang ofnavvies set to work under a foreman, fixing on the down line the newsleepers which had been brought up the day before. Suddenly a shrillwhistle was heard, and in the gaping black mouth of the tunnel the lightof two lamps became visible; a train bound for Cahors had stopped inaccordance with orders, and was calling for permission to pass.
The foreman ranged his men on either side of the down line and walked toa small cabin erected at the mouth of the tunnel, where he pulled thehand-signal so as to show the green light, thereby authorising the trainto proceed on its way.
There was a second short, sharp whistle; heavy puffs escaped from theengine, and belching forth a dense volume of black smoke it slowlyemerged from the tunnel, followed by a long train of carriages, thewindows of which were frosted all over by the cold temperature outside.
A man approached the cabin allotted to the plate-layer in charge of thatsection of the line in which the tunnel was included.
"I suppose this is the train due at Verrieres at 6.55?" he saidcarelessly.
"Yes," the plate-layer answered, "but it's late, for the clock downthere in the valley struck seven several minutes ago."
The train had gone by: the three red lamps fastened at the end of itwere already lost in the morning mist.
The man who spoke to the plate-layer was no other than Francois Paul,the tramp who had been discharged by the magistrate installed at thechateau of Beaulieu, at precisely the same time the day before, after abrief examination. In spite of the deep wrinkle furrowed in his brow theman seemed to make an effort to appear friendly and to want to carry onthe conversation.
"There aren't many people in this morning train," he remarked,"specially in the first-class carriages."
The plate-layer appeared in no wise unwilling to postpone for a fewmoments his tiring and chilly underground patrol; he put down his pickbefore answering.
"Well, that's not surprising, is it? People who are rich enough totravel first-class always come by the express which gets to Brives at2.50 A.M."
"I see," said Francois Paul; "that's reasonable: and more practical fortravellers to Brives or Cahors. But what about the people who want toget out at Gourdon, or Souillac, or Verrieres, or any of the smallstations where the express doesn't stop?"
"I don't know," said the plate-layer; "but I suppose they have to getout at Brives or Cahors and drive, or else travel by the day trains,which are fast to Brives and slow afterwards."
Francois Paul did not press the matter. He lit a pipe and breathed uponhis benumbed fingers.
"Hard times, these, and no mistake!"
The plate-layer seemed sorry for him.
"I don't suppose you're an independent gentleman, but why don't you tryto get taken on here?" he suggested. "They want hands here."
"Oh, do they?"
"That's the fact; this is the foreman coming along now: would you likeme to speak to him for you?"
"No hurry," replied Francois Paul. "'Course, I'm not saying no, but Ishould like to see what sort of work it is they're doing here: it mightnot suit me; I shall still have time to get a couple of words with him,"and with his eyes on the ground the tramp slowly walked along theembankment away from the plate-layer.
The foreman met and passed him, and came up to the plate-layer at themouth of the tunnel.
"Well, Michu, how goes it with you? Still got the old complaint?"
"Middling, boss," the worthy fellow answered: "just keeping up, youknow. And how's yourself? And the work? When shall you finish? I don'tknow if you know it, but these trains stopping regularly in my sectiongive me an extra lot of work."
"How's that?" the foreman enquired in surprise.
"The engine drivers take advantage of the stop to empty their ash-pans,and they leave a great heap of mess there in my tunnel, which I'mobliged to clear away. In the ordinary way they dump it somewhere else:where, I don't know, but not in my tunnel, and that's all I care about."
The foreman laughed.
"You're a good 'un, Michu! If I were you I would ask the Company to giveme another man or two."
"And do you suppose the Company would?" Michu retorted. "By the way,that poor devil who is going along there, shivering with cold andhunger, was grumbling to me just now, and I advised him to ask you totake him on. What do you think he said? Why, that he would have a lookat the work first, and off he went."
"It's a fact, Michu, that it's mighty difficult to come across peoplewho mean business nowadays. It's quite true that I want more hands. Butif that chap doesn't ask me to engage him in another minute, I'll kickhim out. The embankment is not public property, and I don't trust theserascals who are for ever coming and going among the workmen to see whatmischief they can make. I'll go and cast an eye over the bolts andthings, for there are all sorts of vagrants about the neighbourhood justnow."
"And criminals, too," said old Michu. "I suppose you have heard of themurder up at the chateau of Beaulieu?"
"Rather! My men are talking of nothing else. But you are right, Michu, Iwill get a closer look at all strangers, and at your friend inparticular."
The foreman stopped abruptly; he had been examining the foot of theembankment, and was standing quite still, watching. The plate-layerfollowed his glance, and also stood fixed. After a few moments' silencethe two men looked at each other and smiled. In th
e half-light of thevalley they had seen the outline of a gendarme; he was on foot andappeared to be looking for somebody, while making no attempt to remainunseen himself.
"Good!" whispered Michu; "that's sergeant Doucet: I know him by hisstripes. They say the murder was not committed by anyone belonging tothis part of the country; everybody was fond of the Marquise deLangrune."
"Look! Look!" the foreman broke in, pointing to the gendarme who wasslowly climbing up the embankment. "It looks as if the sergeant weremaking for the gentleman who was looking for work just now and hoped hewould not find it. The sergeant's got a word for him, eh, what?"
"That might be," said Michu after a moment's further watching. "Thatchap has a villainous, ugly face. One can tell from the way he's dressedthat he don't belong to our parts."
The two men waited with utmost interest to see what was going to happen.
Sergeant Doucet reached the top of the embankment at last and hurriedpast the navvies, who stopped their work to stare inquisitively afterthe representative of authority. Fifty yards beyond them, Francois Paul,wrapped in thought, was walking slowly down towards the station ofVerrieres. Hearing the sound of steps behind him, he turned. When he sawthe sergeant he frowned. He glanced rapidly about him and saw that whilehe was alone with the gendarme, so that no one could overhear what theysaid, however loudly they might speak, they were yet in such a positionthat every sign and movement they made would be perfectly visible towhoever might watch them. And as the gendarme paused a few paces fromhim and--remarkable fact--seemed to be on the point of bringing his handto his cap in salute, the mysterious tramp rapped out:
"I thought I said no one was to disturb me, sergeant?"
The sergeant took a pace forward.
"I beg your pardon, Inspector, but I have important news for you."
For this Francois Paul, whom the sergeant thus respectfully addressed asInspector, was no other than an officer of the secret police who hadbeen sent down to Beaulieu the day before from head-quarters in Paris.
He was no ordinary officer. As if M. Havard had had an idea that theLangrune affair would prove to be puzzling and complicated, he hadsingled out the very best of his detectives, the most expert inspectorof them all--Juve. It was Juve who for the last forty-eight hours hadbeen prowling about the chateau of Beaulieu disguised as a tramp, andhad had himself arrested with Bouzille that he might prosecute his owninvestigations without raising the slightest suspicion as to his realidentity.
Juve made a face expressive of his vexation at the over-deferentialattitude of the sergeant.
"Do pay attention!" he said low. "We are being watched. If I must goback with you, pretend to arrest me. Slip the handcuffs on me!"
"I beg your pardon, Inspector: I don't like to," the gendarme answered.
For all reply, Juve turned his back on him.
"Look here," he said, "I will take a step or two forward as if I meantto run away; then you must put your hand on my shoulder roughly, and Iwill stumble; when I do, slip the bracelets on."
From the mouth of the tunnel the plate-layer, the foreman and thenavvies all followed with their eyes the unintelligible conversationpassing between the gendarme and the tramp a hundred yards away.Suddenly they saw the man try to get off and the sergeant seize himalmost simultaneously. A few minutes later the individual, with hishands linked together in front of him, was obediently descending thesteep slope of the embankment, by the gendarme's side, and then the twomen disappeared behind a clump of trees.
"I understand why that chap was not very keen on getting taken on here,"said the foreman. "His conscience was none too easy!"
As they walked briskly in the direction of Beaulieu Juve asked thesergeant:
"What has happened at the chateau, then?"
"They know who the murderer is, Inspector," the sergeant answered."Little Mlle. Therese----"