CHAPTER LV
The Duc de Sairmeuse was one of those men who remain superior to allfortuitous circumstances, good or bad. He was a man of vast experience,and great natural shrewdness. His mind was quick to act, and fertile inresources. But when he found himself immured in the damp and loathsomestation-house, after the terrible scenes at the Poivriere, herelinquished all hope.
Martial knew that Justice does not trust to appearances, and that whenshe finds herself confronted by a mystery, she does not rest until shehas fathomed it.
Martial knew, only too well, that if his identity was established, theauthorities would endeavor to discover the reason of his presence atthe Poivriere. That this reason would soon be discovered, he could notdoubt, and, in that case, the crime at the Borderie, and the guilt ofthe duchess, would undoubtedly be made public.
This meant the Court of Assizes, prison, a frightful scandal, dishonor,eternal disgrace!
And the power he had wielded in former days was a positive disadvantageto him now. His place was now filled by his political adversaries. Amongthem were two personal enemies upon whom he had inflicted those terriblewounds of vanity which are never healed. What an opportunity for revengethis would afford them!
At the thought of this ineffaceable stain upon the great name ofSairmeuse, which was his pride and his glory, reason almost forsook him.
"My God, inspire me," he murmured. "How shall I save the honor of thename?"
He saw but one chance of salvation--death. They now believed him one ofthe miserable wretches that haunt the suburbs of Paris; if he were deadthey would not trouble themselves about his identity.
"It is the only way!" he thought.
He was endeavoring to find some means of accomplishing his plan ofself-destruction, when he heard a bustle and confusion outside. In a fewmoments the door was opened and a man was thrust into the same cell--aman who staggered a few steps, fell heavily to the floor, and began tosnore loudly. It was only a drunken man.
But a gleam of hope illumined Martial's heart, for in the drunken man herecognized Otto--disguised, almost unrecognizable.
It was a bold ruse and no time must be lost in profiting by it. Martialstretched himself upon a bench, as if to sleep, in such a way that hishead was scarcely a yard from that of Otto.
"The duchess is out of danger," murmured the faithful servant.
"For to-day, perhaps. But to-morrow, through me, all will be known."
"Have you told them who you are?"
"No; all the policemen but one took me for a vagabond."
"You must continue to personate this character."
"What good will it do? Lacheneur will betray me."
But Martial, though he little knew it, had no need to fear Lacheneur forthe present, at least. A few hours before, on his way from the Rainbowto the Poivriere, Jean had been precipitated to the bottom of a stonequarry, and had fractured his skull. The laborers, on returning to theirwork early in the morning, found him lying there senseless; and at thatvery moment they were carrying him to the hospital.
Although Otto was ignorant of this circumstance, he did not seemdiscouraged.
"There will be some way of getting rid of Lacheneur," said he, "if youwill only sustain your present character. An escape is an easy matterwhen a man has millions at his command."
"They will ask me who I am, whence I came, how I have lived."
"You speak English and German; tell them that you have just returnedfrom foreign lands; that you were a foundling and that you have alwayslived a roving life."
"How can I prove this?"
Otto drew a little nearer his master, and said, impressively:
"We must agree upon our plans, for our success depends upon a perfectunderstanding between us. I have a sweetheart in Paris--and no one knowsour relations. She is as sharp as steel. Her name is Milner, and shekeeps the Hotel de Mariembourg, on the Saint-Quentin. You can say thatyou arrived here from Leipsic on Sunday; that you went to this hotel;that you left your trunk there, and that this trunk is marked with thename of May, foreign artist."
"Capital!" said Martial, approvingly.
And then, with extraordinary quickness and precision, they agreed, pointby point, upon their plan of defence.
When all had been arranged, Otto pretended to awake from the heavy sleepof intoxication; he clamored to be released, and the keeper finallyopened the door and set him at liberty.
Before leaving the station-house, however, he succeeded in throwing anote to the Widow Chupin, who was imprisoned in the other compartment.
So, when Lecoq, after his skilful investigations at the Poivriere,rushed to the Place d'Italie, panting with hope and ambition, he foundhimself outwitted by these men, who were inferior to him in penetration,but whose _finesse_ was superior to his own.
Martial's plans being fully formed, he intended to carry them out withabsolute perfection of detail, and, after his removal to prison, theDuc de Sairmeuse was preparing himself for the visit of the judge ofinstruction, when Maurice d'Escorval entered.
They recognized each other. They were both terribly agitated, and theexamination was an examination only in name. After the departure ofMaurice, Martial attempted to destroy himself. He had no faith in thegenerosity of his former enemy.
But when he found M. Segmuller occupying Maurice's place the nextmorning, Martial believed that he was saved.
Then began that struggle between the judge and Lecoq on one side, andthe accused on the other--a struggle from which neither party came outconqueror.
Martial knew that Lecoq was the only person he had to fear, still hebore him no ill-will. Faithful to his nature, which compelled him tobe just even to his enemies, he could not help admiring the astonishingpenetration and perseverance of this young policeman who, undismayedby the obstacles and discouragements that surrounded him, struggled on,unassisted, to reach the truth.
But Lecoq was always outwitted by Otto, the mysterious accomplice, whoseemed to know his every movement in advance.
At the morgue, at the Hotel de Mariembourg, with Toinon, the wife ofPolyte Chupin, as well as with Polyte Chupin himself, Lecoq was just alittle too late.
Lecoq detected the secret correspondence between the prisoner and hisaccomplice. He was even ingenious enough to discover the key to it, butthis served no purpose. A man, who had seen a rival, or rather, a futuremaster, in Lecoq had betrayed him.
If his efforts to arrive at the truth through the jeweller and theMarquis d'Arlange had failed, it was only because Mme. Blanche had notpurchased the diamond ear-rings she wore at the Poivriere at any shop,but from one of her friends, the Baroness de Watchau.
And lastly, if no one at Paris had missed the Duc de Sairmeuse, itwas because--thanks to an understanding between the duchess, Otto,and Camille--no other inmate of the Hotel de Sairmeuse suspected hisabsence. All the servants supposed their master confined to his room byillness. They prepared all sorts of gruels and broths for him, and hisbreakfast and dinner were taken to his apartments every day.
So the weeks went by, and Martial was expecting to be summoned beforethe Court of Assizes and condemned under the name of May, when he wasafforded an opportunity to escape.
Too shrewd not to discern the trap that had been set for him, he enduredsome moments of horrible hesitation in the prison-van.
He decided to accept the risk, however, commending himself to his luckystar.
And he decided wisely, for that same night he leaped his owngarden-wall, leaving, as a hostage, in the hands of Lecoq, an escapedconvict, Joseph Conturier by name, whom he had picked up in a lowdrinking-saloon.
Warned by Mme. Milner, thanks to a blunder on the part of Lecoq, Ottowas awaiting his master.
In the twinkling of an eye Martial's beard fell under the razor; heplunged into the bath that was awaiting him, and his clothing wasburned.
And it was he who, during the search a few minutes later, had thehardihood to call out:
"Otto, by all means allow these men to do thei
r duty."
But he did not breathe freely until the agents of police had departed.
"At last," he exclaimed, "honor is saved! We have outwitted Lecoq!"
He had just left the bath, and enveloped himself in a _robe de chambre_,when Otto handed him a letter from the duchess.
He hastily broke the seal and read:
"You are safe. You know all. I am dying. Farewell. I loved you."
With two bounds he reached his wife's apartments. The door was locked;he burst it open. Too late!
Mme. Blanche was dead--poisoned, like Marie-Anne; but she had procureda drug whose effect was instantaneous; and extended upon her couch, cladin her wonted apparel, her hands folded upon her breast, she seemed onlyasleep.
A tear glittered in Martial's eye.
"Poor, unhappy woman!" he murmured; "may God forgive you as I forgiveyou--you whose crime has been so frightfully expiated here below!"
EPILOGUE
THE FIRST SUCCESS
Safe, in his own princely mansion, and surrounded by an army ofretainers, the Duc de Sairmeuse triumphantly exclaimed:
"We have outwitted Lecoq."
In this he was right.
But he thought himself forever beyond the reach of the wily, keen-witteddetective; and in this he was wrong.
Lecoq was not the man to sit down with folded hands and brood over thehumiliation of his defeat.
Before he went to Father Tabaret, he was beginning to recover from hisstupor and despondency; and when he left that experienced detective'spresence, he had regained his courage, his command over his faculties,and sufficient energy to move the world, if necessary.
"Well, my good man," he remarked to Father Absinthe, who was trottingalong by his side, "you have heard what the great Monsieur Tabaret said,did you not? So you see I was right."
But his companion evinced no enthusiasm.
"Yes, you were right," he responded, in woebegone tones.
"Do you think we are ruined by two or three mistakes? Nonsense! I willsoon turn our defeat of today into a glorious victory."
"Ah! you might do so perhaps, if--they do not dismiss us from theforce."
This doleful remark recalled Lecoq to a realizing sense of the presentsituation.
They had allowed a prisoner to slip through their fingers. That wasvexatious, it is true; but they had captured one of the most notoriousof criminals--Joseph Conturier. Surely there was some comfort in that.
But while Lecoq could have borne dismissal, he could not endure thethought that he would not be allowed to follow up this affair of thePoivriere.
What would his superior officers say when he told them that May and theDuc de Sairmeuse were one and the same person?
They would, undoubtedly, shrug their shoulders and turn up their noses.
"Still, Monsieur Segmuller will believe me," he thought. "But willhe dare to take any action in the matter without incontrovertibleevidence?"
This was very unlikely. Lecoq realized it all too well.
"Could we not make a descent upon the Hotel de Sairmeuse, and, on somepretext or other, compel the duke to show himself, and identify him asthe prisoner May?"
He entertained this idea only for an instant, then abruptly dismissedit.
"A stupid expedient!" he exclaimed. "Are two such men as the duke andhis accomplice likely to be caught napping? They are prepared for such avisit, and we should only have our labor for our pains."
He made these reflections _sotto voce_; and Father Absinthe's curiositywas aroused.
"Excuse me," said he, "I did not quite understand you."
"I say that we must find some tangible proof before asking permission toproceed further."
He paused with knitted brows.
In seeking a circumstance which would establish the complicity betweensome member of the duke's household and the witnesses who had beencalled upon to give their testimony, Lecoq thought of Mme. Milner, theowner of the Hotel de Mariembourg, and his first meeting with her.
He saw her again, standing upon a chair, her face on a level with acage, covered with a large piece of black silk, persistently repeatingthree or four German words to a starling, who as persistently retorted:"Camille! Where is Camille?"
"One thing is certain," resumed Lecoq; "if Madame Milner--who is aGerman and who speaks with the strongest possible German accent--hadraised this bird, it would either have spoken German or with the sameaccent as its mistress. Therefore it cannot have been in her possessionlong, and who gave it to her?"
Father Absinthe began to grow impatient.
"In sober earnest, what are you talking about?" he asked, petulantly.
"I say that if there is someone at the Hotel de Sairmeuse named Camille,I have the proof I desire. Come, Papa Absinthe, let us hurry on."
And without another word of explanation, he dragged his companionrapidly along.
When they reached the Rue de Grenelle, Lecoq saw a messenger leaningagainst the door of a wine-shop. Lecoq called him.
"Come, my boy," said he; "I wish you to go to the Hotel de Sairmeuse andask for Camille. Tell her that her uncle is waiting her here."
"But, sir----"
"What, you have not gone yet?"
The messenger departed; the two policemen entered the wine-shop, andFather Absinthe had scarcely had time to swallow a glass of brandy whenthe lad returned.
"Monsieur, I was unable to see Mademoiselle Camille. The house is closedfrom top to bottom. The duchess died very suddenly this morning."
"Ah! the wretch!" exclaimed the young policeman.
Then, controlling himself, he mentally added:
"He must have killed his wife on returning home, but his fate is sealed.Now, I shall be allowed to continue my investigations."
In less than twenty minutes they arrived at the Palais de Justice.
M. Segmuller did not seem to be immoderately surprised at Lecoq'srevelations. Still he listened with evident doubt to the youngpoliceman's ingenious deductions; it was the circumstance of thestarling that seemed to decide him.
"Perhaps you are right, my dear Lecoq," he said, at last; "and to tellthe truth, I quite agree with you. But I can take no further action inthe matter until you can furnish proof so convincing in its nature thatthe Duc de Sairmeuse will be unable to think of denying it."
"Ah! sir, my superior officers will not allow me----"
"On the contrary," interrupted the judge, "they will allow you thefullest liberty after I have spoken to them."
Such action on the part of M. Segmuller required not a little courage.There had been so much laughter about M. Segmuller's _grand seigneur_,disguised as a clown, that many men would have sacrificed theirconvictions to the fear of ridicule.
"And when will you speak to them?" inquired Lecoq, timidly.
"At once."
The judge had already turned toward the door when the young policemanstopped him.
"I have one more favor to ask, Monsieur," he said, entreatingly. "Youare so good; you are the first person who gave me any encouragement--whohad faith in me."
"Speak, my brave fellow."
"Ah! Monsieur, will you not give me a message for Monsieur d'Escorval?Any insignificant message--inform him of the prisoner's escape. I willbe the bearer of the message, and then--Oh! fear nothing, Monsieur; Iwill be prudent."
"Very well!" replied the judge.
When he left the office of his chief, Lecoq was fully authorized toproceed with his investigations, and in his pocket was a note for M.d'Escorval from M. Segmuller. His joy was so intense that he did notdeign to notice the sneers which were bestowed upon him as he passedthrough the corridors. On the threshold his enemy Gevrol, the so-calledgeneral, was watching for him.
"Ah, ha!" he laughed, as Lecoq passed out, "here is one of thosesimpletons who fish for whales and do not catch even a gudgeon."
For an instant Lecoq was angry. He turned abruptly and looked Gevrolfull in the face.
"That is better than assisting prisoners to carry on a s
urreptitiouscorrespondence with people outside," he retorted, in the tone of a manwho knows what he is saying.
In his surprise, Gevrol almost lost countenance, and his blush wasequivalent to a confession.
But Lecoq said no more. What did it matter to him now if Gevrol hadbetrayed him! Was he not about to win a glorious revenge?
He spent the remainder of the day in preparing his plan of action,and in thinking what he should say when he took M. Segmuller's note toMaurice d'Escorval.
The next morning about eleven o'clock he presented himself at the houseof M. d'Escorval.
"Monsieur is in his study with a young man," replied the servant; "but,as he gave me no orders to the contrary, you may go in."
Lecoq entered.
The study was unoccupied. But from the adjoining room, separatedfrom the study only by a velvet _portiere_, came a sound of stifledexclamations, and of sobs mingled with kisses.
Not knowing whether to remain or retire, the young policeman stood for amoment undecided; then he observed an open letter lying upon the carpet.
Impelled to do it by an impulse stronger than his own will, Lecoq pickedup the letter. It read as follows:
"The bearer of this letter is Marie-Anne's son, Maurice--your son. Ihave given him all the proofs necessary to establish his identity.It was to his education that I consecrated the heritage of my poorMarie-Anne.
"Those to whose care I confided him have made a noble man of him. If Irestore him to you, it is only because the life I lead is not a fittinglife for him. Yesterday, the miserable woman who murdered my sister diedfrom poison administered by her own hand. Poor Marie-Anne! she wouldhave been far more terribly avenged had not an accident which happenedto me, saved the Duc and the Duchesse de Sairmeuse from the snare intowhich I had drawn them.
"Jean Lacheneur."
Lecoq stood as if petrified.
Now he understood the terrible drama which had been enacted in the WidowChupin's cabin.
"I must go to Sairmeuse at once," he said to himself; "there I candiscover all."
He departed without seeing M. d'Escorval. He resisted the temptation totake the letter with him.
It was exactly one month to a day after the death of Mme. Blanche.
Reclining upon a divan in his library the Duc de Sairmeuse was engagedin reading, when Otto, his _valet de chambre_, came to inform him that amessenger was below, charged with delivering into the duke's own hands aletter from M. Maurice d'Escorval.
With a bound, Martial was on his feet.
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.
Then he added, quickly:
"Let the messenger enter."
A large man, with a very florid complexion, and red hair and beard,timidly handed the duke a letter, he broke the seal, and read:
"I saved you, Monsieur, by not recognizing the prisoner, May. In yourturn, aid me! By noon, day after to-morrow, I must have two hundred andsixty thousand francs.
"I have sufficient confidence in your honor to apply to you.
"Maurice d'Escorval."
For a moment Martial stood bewildered, then, springing to a table, hebegan writing, without noticing that the messenger was looking over hisshoulder:
"Monsieur--Not day after to-morrow, but this evening. My fortune and mylife are at your disposal. It is but a slight return for the generosityyou showed in retiring, when, beneath the rags of May, you recognizedyour former enemy, now your devoted friend,
"Martial de Sairmeuse."
He folded this letter with a feverish hand, and giving it to themessenger with a louis, he said:
"Here is the answer, make haste!"
But the messenger did not go.
He slipped the letter into his pocket, then with a hasty movement hecast his red beard and wig upon the floor.
"Lecoq!" exclaimed Martial, paler than death.
"Lecoq, yes, Monsieur," replied the young detective. "I was obliged totake my revenge; my future depended upon it, and I ventured to imitateMonsieur d'Escorval's writing."
And as Martial made no response:
"I must also say to Monsieur le Duc," he continued, "that ontransmitting to the judge the confession written by the Duke's own hand,of his presence at the Poivriere, I can and shall, at the same time,furnish proofs of his entire innocence."
And to show that he was ignorant of nothing, he added:
"As madame is dead, there will be nothing said in regard to what tookplace at the Borderie."
A week later a verdict of not guilty was rendered by M. Segmuller in thecase of the Duc de Sairmeuse.
Appointed to the position he coveted, Lecoq had the good taste, orperhaps the shrewdness, to wear his honors modestly.
But on the day of his promotion, he ordered a seal, upon which wasengraved the exultant rooster, which he had chosen as his armorialdesign, and a motto to which he ever remained faithful: _SemperVigilan_.
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