XII
M. Segmuller certainly wished that a number had been branded uponthe enigmatical prisoner before him. And yet he did not by any meansdespair, and his confidence, exaggerated though it might be, was not atall feigned. He was of opinion that the weakest point of the prisoner'sdefense so far was his pretended ignorance concerning the two women. Heproposed 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 toproduce its full effect, the magistrate continued: "So, prisoner, youassert that you were acquainted with none of the persons you met at thePoivriere."
"I swear it."
"Have you never had occasion to meet a person called Lacheneur, anindividual whose name is connected with this unfortunate affair?"
"I heard the name for the first time when it was pronounced by the dyingsoldier. Poor fellow! I had just dealt him his death blow; and yet hislast words testified to my innocence."
This sentimental outburst produced no impression whatever upon themagistrate. "In that case," said he, "I suppose you are willing toaccept this soldier's statement."
The man hesitated, as if conscious that he had fallen into a snare, andthat 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 torevenge himself on Lacheneur, who, by promising him a sum of money, hadinveigled him into a conspiracy. A conspiracy against whom? Evidentlyagainst you; and yet you pretend that you had only arrived in Paristhat evening, and that mere chance brought you to the Poivriere. Can youreconcile such conflicting statements?"
The prisoner had the hardihood to shrug his shoulders disdainfully. "Isee the matter in an entirely different light," said he. "These peoplewere plotting mischief against I don't know whom--and it was because Iwas in their way that they sought a quarrel with me, without any causewhatever."
Skilfully as the magistrate had delivered this thrust, it had been asskilfully parried; so skilfully, indeed, that Goguet, the smiling clerk,could not conceal an approving grimace. Besides, on principle, he alwaystook the prisoner's part, in a mild, Platonic way, of course.
"Let us consider the circumstances that followed your arrest," resumedM. Segmuller. "Why did you refuse to answer all the questions put toyou?"
A gleam of real or assumed resentment shone in the prisoner's eyes.
"This examination," he growled, "will alone suffice to make a culpritout of an innocent man!"
"I advise you, in your own interest, to behave properly. Those whoarrested you observed that you were conversant with all the prisonformalities and rules."
"Ah! sir, haven't I told you that I have been arrested and put in prisonseveral times--always on account of my papers? I told you the truth, andyou shouldn't taunt me for having done so."
The prisoner had dropped his mask of careless gaiety, and had assumeda 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 hisdesk, M. Segmuller asked him if he recognized it.
"Perfectly! It is the package that the governor of the Depot placed inhis safe."
The magistrate opened the bag, and poured the dust that it contained onto a sheet of paper. "You are aware, prisoner," said he, "that this dustcomes from the mud that was sticking to your feet. The police agent whocollected it has been to the station-house where you spent the nightof the murder, and has discovered that the composition of this dust isidentical with that of the floor of the cell you occupied."
The prisoner listened with gaping mouth.
"Hence," continued the magistrate, "it was certainly at thestation-house, and designedly, that you soiled your feet with that mud.In doing so you had an object."
"I wished--"
"Let me finish. Being determined to keep your identity secret, and toassume the character of a member of the lower classes--of a mountebank,if you please--you reflected that the care you bestow upon your personmight betray you. You foresaw the impression that would be caused whenthe coarse, ill-fitting boots you wore were removed, and the officialsperceived your trim, clean feet, which are as well kept as your hands.Accordingly, what did you do? You poured some of the water that was inthe pitcher in your cell on to the ground and then dabbled your feet inthe mud that had thus been formed."
During these remarks the prisoner's face wore, by turns, an expressionof anxiety, astonishment, irony, and mirth. When the magistrate hadfinished, he burst into a hearty laugh.
"So that's the result of twelve or fourteen hours' research," he atlength exclaimed, turning toward Lecoq. "Ah! Mr. Agent, it's good to besharp, but not so sharp as that. The truth is, that when I was takento the station-house, forty-eight hours--thirty-six of them spent in arailway carriage--had elapsed since I had taken off my boots. My feetwere red and swollen, and they burned like fire. What did I do? I pouredsome water over them. As for your other suspicions, if I have a softwhite skin, it is only because I take care of myself. Besides, asis usual with most men of my profession, I rarely wear anything butslippers on my feet. This is so true that, on leaving Leipsic, I onlyowned a single pair of boots, and that was an old cast-off pair given meby M. Simpson."
Lecoq struck his chest. "Fool, imbecile, idiot, that I am!" he thought."He was waiting to be questioned about this circumstance. He is sowonderfully shrewd that, when he saw me take the dust, he divined myintentions; and since then he has managed to concoct this story--aplausible story enough--and one that any jury would believe."
M. Segmuller was saying the same thing to himself. But he was not sosurprised nor so overcome by the skill the prisoner had displayed infencing with this point. "Let us continue," said he. "Do you stillpersist in your statements, prisoner?"
"Yes."
"Very well; then I shall be forced to tell you that what you are sayingis untrue."
The prisoner's lips trembled visibly, and it was with difficulty that hefaltered: "May my first mouthful of bread strangle me, if I have uttereda single falsehood!"
"A single falsehood! Wait."
The magistrate drew from the drawer of his desk the molds of thefootprints prepared by Lecoq, and showing them to the murderer, hesaid: "You told me a few minutes ago that the two women were as tallas grenadiers; now, just look at the footprints made by these femalegiants. They were as 'dark as moles,' you said; a witness will tellyou that one of them was a small, delicate-featured blonde, with anexceedingly sweet voice." He sought the prisoner's eyes, gazed steadilyinto them, and added slowly: "And this witness is the driver whose cabwas hired in the Rue de Chevaleret by the two fugitives, both short,fair-haired women."
This sentence fell like a thunderbolt upon the prisoner; he grew pale,tottered, and leaned against the wall for support.
"Ah! you have told me the truth!" scornfully continued the pitilessmagistrate. "Then, who is this man who was waiting for you while youwere at the Poivriere? Who is this accomplice who, after your arrest,dared to enter the Widow Chupin's den to regain possession of somecompromising object--no doubt a letter--which he knew he would find inthe pocket of the Widow Chupin's apron? Who is this devoted, courageousfriend who feigned drunkenness so effectually that even the police weredeceived, and thoughtlessly placed him in confinement with you? Dare youdeny that you have not arranged your system of defense in concert withhim? Can you affirm that he did not give the Widow Chupin counsel as tothe course she should pursue?"
But already, thanks to his power of self-control, the prisoner hadmastered his agitation. "All this," said he, in a harsh voice, "is amere invention of the police!"
However faithfully one may describe an examination of this kind, anarrative can convey no more idea of the real scene than a heap of coldashes can give the effect of a glowing fire. One can note down eachword, each ejaculation, but phraseology is powerless to portray therepressed animation, the impassioned movements, the studied reticence,the
varied tones of voice, the now bold, now faltering glances, fullof hatred and suspicion, which follow each other in rapid succession,mostly on the prisoner's side, but not entirely so, for although themagistrate may be an adept in the art of concealing his feelings, attimes nature can not be controlled.
When the prisoner reeled beneath the magistrate's last words, thelatter could not control his feelings. "He yields," he thought, "hesuccumbs--he is mine!"
But all hope of immediate success vanished when M. Segmuller saw hisredoubtable adversary struggle against his momentary weakness, andarm himself for the fight with renewed, and, if possible, even greaterenergy. The magistrate perceived that it would require more than oneassault to over-come such a stubborn nature. So, in a voice renderedstill more harsh by disappointment, he resumed: "It is plain that youare determined to deny evidence itself."
The prisoner had recovered all his self-possession. He must havebitterly regretted his weakness, for a fiendish spite glittered in hiseyes. "What evidence!" he asked, frowning. "This romance invented by thepolice is very plausible, I don't deny it; but it seems to me that thetruth is quite as probable. You talk to me about a cabman whose vehiclewas hired by two short, fair-haired women: but who can prove that thesewomen were the same that fled from the Poivriere?"
"The police agent you see here followed the tracks they left across thesnow."
"Ah! at night-time--across fields intersected by ditches, and up a longstreet--a fine rain falling all the while, and a thaw already beginning!Oh, your story is very probable!"
As he spoke, the murderer extended his arm toward Lecoq, and then, in atone of crushing scorn, he added: "A man must have great confidencein himself, or a wild longing for advancement, to try and get a manguillotined on such evidence as that!"
At these words, Goguet, the smiling clerk, whose pen was rapidly flyingacross the paper, could not help remarking to himself: "The arrow hasentered the bull's-eye this time!"
The comment was not without foundation: for Lecoq was evidently cut tothe quick. Indeed, he was so incensed that, forgetful of his subordinateposition, he sprang to his feet, exclaiming: "This circumstance would beof slight importance if it were not one of a long chain--"
"Be good enough to keep silent," interrupted the magistrate, who,turning to the prisoner, added: "The court does not utilize the proofsand testimony collected by the police until it has examined and weighedthem."
"No matter," murmured the prisoner. "I should like to see thiscab-driver."
"Have no fear about that; he shall repeat his evidence in yourpresence."
"Very well. I am satisfied then. I will ask him how he can distinguishpeople's faces when it is as dark as--"
He checked himself, apparently enlightened by a sudden inspiration.
"How stupid I am!" he exclaimed. "I'm losing my temper about thesepeople when you know all the while who they are. For of course thecabmen drove them home."
M. Segmuller saw that the prisoner understood him. He perceived,moreover, that the latter was doing all he could to increase the mysterythat enshrouded this essential point of the case--a point upon which theprosecution was particularly anxious to obtain information.
The prisoner was truly an incomparable comedian, for his lastobservation was made in a tone of remarkable candor, just tinged withsufficient irony to show that he felt he had nothing to fear in thisdirection.
"If you are consistent with yourself," remarked the magistrate, "youwill also deny the existence of an accomplice, of a--comrade."
"What would be the use denying it, since you believe nothing that Isay? Only a moment ago you insinuated that my former employer was animaginary personage; so what need I say about my pretended accomplice?According to your agents, he's at all events a most faithful friend.Indeed, this wonderful being--invented by Monsieur" (with these wordsthe prisoner pointed to Lecoq)--"was seemingly not satisfied at havingonce escaped the police, for, according to your account, he voluntarilyplaced himself in their clutches a second time. You gentlemen pretendthat he conferred first of all with me, and next with the Widow Chupin.How did that happen? Perhaps after removing him from my cell, some ofyour agents obligingly shut him up with the old woman."
Goguet, the clerk, wrote all this down admiringly. "Here," thought he,"is a man of brain, who understands his case. He won't need any lawyer'seloquence to put his defense favorably before a jury."
"And after all," continued the prisoner, "what are the proofs againstme? The name of Lacheneur faltered by a dying man; a few footprints onsome melting snow; a sleepy cab-driver's declaration; and a vague doubtabout a drunkard's identity. If that is all you have against me, itcertainly doesn't amount to much--"
"Enough!" interrupted M. Segmuller. "Your assurance is perfect now;though a moment ago your embarrassment was most remarkable. What was thecause of it?"
"The cause!" indignantly exclaimed the prisoner, whom this queryhad seemingly enraged; "the cause! Can't you see, sir, that you aretorturing me frightfully, pitilessly! I am an innocent man, and you aretrying to deprive me of my life. You have been turning me this way andthat way for so many hours that I begin to feel as if I were standing onthe guillotine. Each time I open my mouth to speak I ask myself, is itthis answer that will send me to the scaffold? My anxiety and dismaysurprise you, do they? Why, since this examination began, I've felt thecold knife graze my neck at least twenty times. I wouldn't like my worstenemy to be subjected to such torture as this."
The prisoner's description of his sufferings did not seem at allexaggerated. His hair was saturated with perspiration, and big drops ofsweat rested on his pallid brow, or coursed down his cheeks on to hisbeard.
"I am not your enemy," said the magistrate more gently. "A magistrate isneither a prisoner's friend nor enemy, he is simply the friend of truthand the executor of the law. I am not seeking either for an innocent manor for a culprit; I merely wish to arrive at the truth. I must know whoyou are--and I do know--"
"Ah!--if the assertion costs me my life--I'm May and none other."
"No, you are not."
"Who am I then? Some great man in disguise? Ah! I wish I were! In thatcase, I should have satisfactory papers to show you; and then you wouldset me free, for you know very well, my good sir, that I am as innocentas you are."
The magistrate had left his desk, and taken a seat by the fireplacewithin a yard of the prisoner. "Do not insist," said he. Then, suddenlychanging both manner and tone, he added with the urbanity that a man ofthe world displays when addressing an equal:
"Do me the honor, sir, to believe me gifted with sufficient perspicuityto recognize, under the difficult part you play to such perfection, avery superior gentleman--a man endowed with remarkable talents."
Lecoq perceived that this sudden change of manner had unnerved theprisoner. He tried to laugh, but his merriment partook somewhat of thenature of a sob, and big tears glistened in his eyes.
"I will not torture you any longer," continued the magistrate. "Insubtle reasoning I confess that you have conquered me. However, whenI return to the charge I shall have proofs enough in my possession tocrush you."
He reflected for a moment, then lingering over each word, he added:"Only do not then expect from me the consideration I have shown youto-day. Justice is human; that is, she is indulgent toward certaincrimes. She has fathomed the depth of the abyss into which blind passionmay hurl even an honest man. To-day I freely offer you any assistancethat will not conflict with my duty. Speak, shall I send this officer ofpolice away? Would you like me to send my clerk out of the room, onan errand?" He said no more, but waited to see the effect of this lasteffort.
The prisoner darted upon him one of those searching glances that seemto pierce an adversary through. His lips moved; one might have supposedthat he was about to make a revelation. But no; suddenly he crossedhis arms over his chest, and murmured: "You are very frank, sir.Unfortunately for me, I'm only a poor devil, as I've already told you.My name is May, and I earn my living by speaking to the public
andturning a compliment."
"I am forced to yield to your decision," said the magistrate sadly. "Theclerk will now read the minutes of your examination--listen."
While Goguet read the evidence aloud, the prisoner listened withoutmaking any remark, but when asked to sign the document, he obstinatelyrefused to do so, fearing, he said, "some hidden treachery."
A moment afterward the soldiers who had escorted him to the magistrate'sroom conducted him back to the Depot.