XXIII
On a large canopied bed, sweating and panting beneath the weightof numerous blankets, lay the two-faced oracle--Tirauclair, of thePrefecture--Tabaret, of the Rue Saint Lazare. It was impossible tobelieve that the owner of such a face, in which a look of stupiditywas mingled with one of perpetual astonishment, could possess superiortalent, or even an average amount of intelligence. With his retreatingforehead, and his immense ears, his odious turned-up nose, tiny eyes,and coarse, thick lips, M. Tabaret seemed an excellent type of theignorant, pennywise, petty rentier class. Whenever he took his walksabroad, the juvenile street Arabs would impudently shout after him ortry to mimic his favorite grimace. And yet his ungainliness did not seemto worry him in the least, while he appeared to take real pleasurein increasing his appearance of stupidity, solacing himself with thereflection that "he is not really a genius who seems to be one."
At the sight of the two detectives, whom he knew very well, his eyessparkled with pleasure. "Good morning, Lecoq, my boy," said he. "Goodmorning, my old Absinthe. So you think enough down there of poor PapaTirauclair to come and see him?"
"We need your advice, Monsieur Tabaret."
"Ah, ah!"
"We have just been as completely outwitted as if we were babies in longclothes."
"What! was your man such a very cunning fellow?"
Lecoq heaved a sigh. "So cunning," he replied, "that, if I weresuperstitious, I should say he was the devil himself."
The sick man's face wore a comical expression of envy. "What! you havefound a treasure like that," said he, "and you complain! Why, it isa magnificent opportunity--a chance to be proud of! You see, my boys,everything has degenerated in these days. The race of great criminalsis dying out--those who've succeeded the old stock are like counterfeitcoins. There's scarcely anything left outside a crowd of low offenderswho are not worth the shoe leather expended in pursuing them. It isenough to disgust a detective, upon my word. No more trouble, emotion,anxiety, or excitement. When a crime is committed nowadays, the criminalis in jail the next morning, you've only to take the omnibus, and goto the culprit's house and arrest him. He's always found, the more thepity. But what has your fellow been up to?"
"He has killed three men."
"Oh! oh! oh!" said old Tabaret, in three different tones, plainlyimplying that this criminal was evidently superior to others of hisspecies. "And where did this happen?"
"In a wine-shop near the barriere."
"Oh, yes, I recollect: a man named May. The murders were committed inthe Widow Chupin's cabin. I saw the case mentioned in the 'Gazette desTribunaux,' and your comrade, Fanferlot l'Ecureuil, who comes to see me,told me you were strangely puzzled about the prisoner's identity. So youare charged with investigating the affair? So much the better. Tell meall about it, and I will assist you as well as I can."
Suddenly checking himself, and lowering his voice, Tirauclair added:"But first of all, just do me the favor to get up. Now, wait a moment,and when I motion you, open that door there, on the left, very suddenly.Mariette, my housekeeper, who is curiosity incarnate, is standing therelistening. I hear her hair rubbing against the lock. Now!"
The young detective immediately obeyed, and Mariette, caught in the act,hastened away, pursued by her master's sarcasms. "You might have knownthat you couldn't succeed at that!" he shouted after her.
Although Lecoq and Father Absinthe were much nearer the door than oldTirauclair, neither of them had heard the slightest sound; and theylooked at each other in astonishment, wondering whether their host hadbeen playing a little farce for their benefit, or whether his sense ofhearing was really so acute as this incident would seem to indicate.
"Now," said Tabaret, settling himself more comfortably upon hispillows--"now I will listen to you, my boy. Mariette will not come backagain."
On his way to Tabaret's, Lecoq had busied himself in preparing hisstory; and it was in the clearest possible manner that he related allthe particulars, from the moment when Gevrol opened the door of thePoivriere to the instant when May leaped over the garden wall in therear of the Hotel de Sairmeuse.
While the young detective was telling his story, old Tabaret seemedcompletely transformed. His gout was entirely forgotten. According tothe different phases of the recital, he either turned and twisted onhis bed, uttering little cries of delight or disappointment, or elselay motionless, plunged in the same kind of ecstatic reverie whichenthusiastic admirers of classical music yield themselves up to whilelistening to one of the great Beethoven's divine sonatas.
"If I had been there! If only I had been there!" he murmured regretfullyevery now and then through his set teeth, though when Lecoq's story wasfinished, enthusiasm seemed decidedly to have gained the upper hand."It is beautiful! it is grand!" he exclaimed. "And with just that onephrase: 'It is the Prussians who are coming,' for a starting point!Lecoq, my boy, I must say that you have conducted this affair like anangel!"
"Don't you mean to say like a fool?" asked the discouraged detective.
"No, my friend, certainly not. You have rejoiced my old heart. I candie; I shall have a successor. Ah! that Gevrol who betrayed you--forhe did betray you, there's no doubt about it--that obtuse, obstinate'General' is not worthy to blacken your shoes!"
"You overpower me, Monsieur Tabaret!" interrupted Lecoq, as yetuncertain whether his host was poking fun at him or not. "But it is nonethe less true that May has disappeared, and I have lost my reputationbefore I had begun to make it."
"Don't be in such a hurry to reject my compliments," replied oldTabaret, with a horrible grimace. "I say that you have conducted thisinvestigation very well; but it could have been done much better, verymuch better. You have a talent for your work, that's evident; butyou lack experience; you become elated by a trifling advantage, ordiscouraged by a mere nothing; you fail, and yet persist in holding fastto a fixed idea, as a moth flutters about a candle. Then, you are young.But never mind that, it's a fault you will outgrow only too soon. Andnow, to speak frankly, I must tell you that you have made a great manyblunders."
Lecoq hung his head like a schoolboy receiving a reprimand from histeacher. After all was he not a scholar, and was not this old man hismaster?
"I will now enumerate your mistakes," continued old Tabaret, "and I willshow you how, on at least three occasions, you allowed an opportunityfor solving this mystery to escape you."
"But--"
"Pooh! pooh! my boy, let me talk a little while now. What axiom did youstart with? You said: 'Always distrust appearances; believe preciselythe contrary of what appears true, or even probable.'"
"Yes, that is exactly what I said to myself."
"And it was a very wise conclusion. With that idea in your lantern tolight your path, you ought to have gone straight to the truth. But youare young, as I said before; and the very first circumstance you findthat seems at all probable you quite forget the rule which, as youyourself admit, should have governed your conduct. As soon as you meet afact that seems even more than probable, you swallow it as eagerly as agudgeon swallows an angler's bait."
This comparison could but pique the young detective. "I don't think I'vebeen so simple as that," protested he.
"Bah! What did you think, then, when you heard that M. d'Escorval hadbroken his leg in getting out of his carriage?"
"Believe! I believed what they told me, because--" He paused, andTirauclair burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
"You believed it," he said, "because it was a very plausible story."
"What would you have believed had you been in my place?"
"Exactly the opposite of what they told me. I might have been mistaken;but it would be the logical conclusion as my first course of reasoning."
This conclusion was so bold that Lecoq was disconcerted. "What!" heexclaimed; "do you suppose that M. d'Escorval's fall was only a fiction?that he didn't break his leg?"
Old Tabaret's face suddenly assumed a serious expression. "I don'tsuppose it," he replied; "I'm sure of it."
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