The Mystery of Orcival, Émile Gaboriau [fiction novels to read TXT] 📗

to struggle. The poor wretch is convinced that the more he resists the more surely he will tighten the web that is woven around him.”

“I think so, too,” said M. Plantat.

“The true criminal, Count Hector,” resumed the detective, “lost his presence of mind at the last moment, and thus lost all the advantages which his previous caution had gained. Don’t let us forget that he is an able man, perfidious enough to mature the most infamous stratagems, and unscrupulous enough to execute them. He knows that justice must have its victims, one for every crime; he does not forget that the police, as long as it has not the criminal, is always on the search with eye and ear open; and he has thrown us Guespin as a huntsman, closely pressed, throws his glove to the bear that is close upon him. Perhaps he thought that the innocent man would not be in danger of his life; at all events he hoped to gain time by this ruse; while the bear is smelling and turning over the glove, the huntsman gains ground, escapes and reaches his place of refuge; that was what Trémorel proposed to do.”

The Corbeil policeman was now undoubtedly Lecoq’s most enthusiastic listener. Goulard literally drank in his chief’s words. He had never heard any of his colleagues express themselves with such fervor and authority; he had had no idea of such eloquence, and he stood erect, as if some of the admiration which he saw in all the faces were reflected back on him. He grew in his own esteem as he thought that he was a soldier in an army commanded by such generals. He had no longer any opinion excepting that of his superior. It was not so easy to persuade, subjugate, and convince the judge.

“But,” objected the latter, “you saw Guespin’s countenance?”

“Ah, what matters the countenance⁠—what does that prove? Don’t we know if you and I were arrested tomorrow on a terrible charge, what our bearing would be?”

M. Domini gave a significant start; this hypothesis scarcely pleased him.

“And yet you and I are familiar with the machinery of justice. When I arrested Lanscot, the poor servant in the Rue Marignan, his first words were: ‘Come on, my account is good.’ The morning that Papa Tabaret and I took the Viscount de Commarin as he was getting out of bed, on the accusation of having murdered the widow Lerouge, he cried: ‘I am lost.’ Yet neither of them were guilty; but both of them, the viscount and the valet, equal before the terror of a possible mistake of justice, and running over in their thoughts the charges which would be brought against them, had a moment of overwhelming discouragement.”

“But such discouragement does not last two days,” said M. Domini.

M. Lecoq did not answer this; he went on, growing more animated as he proceeded.

“You and I have seen enough prisoners to know how deceitful appearances are, and how little they are to be trusted. It would be foolish to base a theory upon a prisoner’s bearing. He who talked about ‘the cry of innocence’ was an idiot, just as the man was who prated about the ‘pale stupor’ of guilt. Neither crime nor virtue have, unhappily, any especial countenance. The Simon girl, who was accused of having killed her father, absolutely refused to answer any questions for twenty-two days; on the twenty-third, the murderer was caught. As to the Sylvain affair⁠—”

M. Domini rapped lightly on his desk to check the detective. As a man, the judge held too obstinately to his opinions; as a magistrate he was equally obstinate, but was at the same time ready to make any sacrifice of his self-esteem if the voice of duty prompted it. M. Lecoq’s arguments had not shaken his convictions, but they imposed on him the duty of informing himself at once, and to either conquer the detective or avow himself conquered.

“You seem to be pleading,” said he to M. Lecoq. “There is no need of that here. We are not counsel and judge; the same honorable intentions animate us both. Each, in his sphere, is searching after the truth. You think you see it shining where I only discern clouds; and you may be mistaken as well as I.”

Then by an act of heroism, he condescended to add:

“What do you think I ought to do?”

The judge was at least rewarded for the effort he made by approving glances from M. Plantat and the doctor. But M. Lecoq did not hasten to respond; he had many weighty reasons to advance; that, he saw, was not what was necessary. He ought to present the facts, there and at once, and produce one of those proofs which can be touched with the finger. How should he do it? His active mind searched eagerly for such a proof.

“Well?” insisted M. Domini.

“Ah,” cried the detective. “Why can’t I ask Guespin two or three questions?”

The judge frowned; the suggestion seemed to him rather presumptuous. It is formally laid down that the questioning of the accused should be done in secret, and by the judge alone, aided by his clerk. On the other hand it is decided, that after he has once been interrogated he may be confronted with witnesses. There are, besides, exceptions in favor of the members of the police force. M. Domini reflected whether there were any precedents to apply to the case.

“I don’t know,” he answered at last, “to what point the law permits me to consent to what you ask. However, as I am convinced the interests of truth outweigh all rules, I shall take it on myself to let you question Guespin.”

He rang; a bailiff appeared.

“Has Guespin been carried back to prison?”

“Not yet, Monsieur.”

“So much the better; have him brought in here.”

M. Lecoq was beside himself with joy; he had not hoped to achieve such a victory over one so determined as M. Domini.

“He will speak now,” said he, so full of confidence that his eyes shone, and he forgot the portrait of the dear defunct, “for I have three means