Part 7 (1/2)
”Did you see her face?”
”I just caught a glimpse of it.”
”Could you tell if she were pretty, or whether she was a blonde or brunette?”
So many questions at a time confused the driver. ”Stop a minute!” he replied. ”In my opinion she wasn't pretty, and I don't believe she was young, but she certainly was a blonde, and with plenty of hair too.”
”Was she tall or short, stout or slender?”
”Between the two.”
This was very vague. ”And the other,” asked Lecoq, ”the neatly dressed one?”
”The deuce! As for her, I did not notice her at all; all I know about her is that she was very small.”
”Would you recognize her if you met her again?”
”Good heavens! no.”
The vehicle was now rolling along the Rue de Bourgogne. Half-way down the street the driver pulled up, and, turning to Lecoq, exclaimed: ”Here we are. That's the house the hussies went into.”
To draw off the silk handkerchief that served him as a m.u.f.fler, to fold it and slip it into his pocket, to spring to the ground and enter the house indicated, was only the work of an instant for the young detective.
In the concierge's little room he found an old woman knitting. Lecoq bowed to her politely, and, displaying the silk handkerchief, exclaimed: ”Madame, I have come to return this article to one of your lodgers.”
”To which one?”
”Really, I don't exactly know.”
In a moment the worthy dame imagined that this polite young man was making fun of her. ”You scamp-!” she began.
”Excuse me,” interrupted Lecoq; ”allow me to finish. I must tell you that at about three o'clock in the morning, of the day before yesterday, I was quietly returning home, when two ladies, who were seemingly in a great hurry, overtook me and pa.s.sed on. One of them dropped this handkerchief, which I picked up. I hastened after her to restore it, but before I could overtake them they had rung the bell at your door and were already in the house. I did not like to ring at such an unearthly hour for fear of disturbing you. Yesterday I was so busy I couldn't come; however, here I am at last, and here's the handkerchief.” So saying, Lecoq laid the handkerchief on the table, and turned as if to go, when the concierge detained him.
”Many thanks for your kindness,” said she, ”but you can keep it. We have no ladies in this house who are in the habit of coming home alone after midnight.”
”Still I have eyes,” insisted Lecoq, ”and I certainly saw-”
”Ah! I had forgotten,” exclaimed the old woman. ”The night you speak of some one certainly did ring the bell here. I pulled the string that opens the door and listened, but not hearing any one close the door or come upstairs, I said to myself: 'Some mischievous fellow has been playing a trick on me.' I slipped on my dress and went out into the hall, where I saw two women hastening toward the door. Before I could reach them they slammed the door in my face. I opened it again as quickly as I could and looked out into the street. But they were hurrying away as fast as they could.”
”In what direction?”
”Oh! they were running toward the Rue de Varennes.”
Lecoq was baffled again; however, he bowed civilly to the concierge, whom he might possibly have need of at another time, and then went back to the cab. ”As I had supposed, they do not live here,” he remarked to the driver.
The latter shrugged his shoulders in evident vexation, which would inevitably have vent in a torrent of words, if Lecoq, who had consulted his watch, had not forestalled the outburst by saying: ”Nine o'clock-I am an hour behind time already: still I shall have some news to tell. Now take me to the Morgue as quickly as possible.”
When a mysterious crime has been perpetrated, or a great catastrophe has happened, and the ident.i.ty of the victims has not been established, ”a great day” invariably follows at the Morgue. The attendants are so accustomed to the horrors of the place that the most sickly sight fails to impress them; and even under the most distressing circ.u.mstances, they hasten gaily to and fro, exchanging jests well calculated to make an ordinary mortal's flesh creep. As a rule, they are far less interested in the corpses laid out for public view on the marble slabs in the princ.i.p.al hall than in the people of every age and station in life who congregate here all day long; at times coming in search of some lost relative or friend, but far more frequently impelled by idle curiosity.
As the vehicle conveying Lecoq reached the quay, the young detective perceived that a large, excited crowd was gathered outside the building. The newspapers had reported the tragedy at the Widow Chupin's drinking-den, of course, more or less correctly, and everybody wished to see the victims.
On drawing near the Pont Notre Dame, Lecoq told the driver to pull up. ”I prefer to alight here, rather than in front of the Morgue,” he said, springing to the ground. Then, producing first his watch, and next his purse, he added: ”We have been an hour and forty minutes, my good fellow, consequently I owe you-”
”Nothing at all,” replied the driver, decidedly.
”But-”
”No-not a sou. I am too worried already to think that I took the money these hussies offered me. It would only have served me right if the liquor I bought with it had given me the gripes. Don't be uneasy about the score, and if you need a trap use mine for nothing, till you have caught the jades.” As Lecoq's purse was low, he did not insist. ”You will, at least, take my name and address?” continued the driver.
”Certainly. The magistrate will want your evidence, and a summons will be sent you.”
”All right, then. Address it to Papillon (Eugene), driver, care of M. Trigault. I lodge at his place, because I have some small interest in the business, you see.”
The young detective was hastening away, when Papillon called him back. ”When you leave the Morgue you will want to go somewhere else,” he said, ”you told me that you had another appointment, and that you were already late.”
”Yes, I ought to be at the Palais de Justice; but it is only a few steps from here.”
”No matter. I will wait for you at the corner of the bridge. It's useless to say 'no'; I've made up my mind, and I'm a Breton, you know. I want you to ride out the thirty francs that those jades paid me.”
It would have been cruel to refuse such a request. Accordingly, Lecoq made a gesture of a.s.sent, and then hurried toward the Morgue.
If there was a crowd on the roadway outside, it was because the gloomy building itself was crammed full of people. Indeed, the sightseers, most of whom could see nothing at all, were packed as closely as sardines, and it was only by dint of well-nigh superhuman efforts that Lecoq managed to effect an entrance. As usual, he found among the mob a large number of girls and women; for, strange to say, the Parisian fair s.e.x is rather partial to the disgusting sights and horrible emotions that repay a visit to the Morgue.
The shop and work girls who reside in the neighborhood readily go out of their way to catch a glimpse of the corpses which crime, accident, and suicide bring to this horrible place. A few, the more sensitive among them, may come no further than the door, but the others enter, and after a long stare return and recount their impressions to their less courageous companions.
If there should be no corpse exhibited; if all the marble slabs are unoccupied, strange as it may seem, the visitors turn hastily away with an expression of disappointment or discontent. There was no fear of their doing so, however, on the morrow of the tragedy at Poivriere, for the mysterious murderer whose ident.i.ty Lecoq was trying to establish had furnished three victims for their delectation. Panting with curiosity, they paid but little attention to the unhealthy atmosphere: and yet a damp chill came from beyond the iron railings, while from the crowd itself rose an infectious vapor, impregnated with the stench of the chloride of lime used as a disinfectant.
As a continuous accompaniment to the exclamations, sighs, and whispered comments of the bystanders came the murmur of the water trickling from a spigot at the head of each slab; a tiny stream that flowed forth only to fall in fine spray upon the marble. Through the small arched windows a gray light stole in on the exposed bodies, bringing each muscle into bold relief, revealing the ghastly tints of the lifeless flesh, and imparting a sinister aspect to the tattered clothing hung around the room to aid in the identification of the corpses. This clothing, after a certain time, is sold-for nothing is wasted at the Morgue.
However, Lecoq was too occupied with his own thoughts to remark the horrors of the scene. He scarcely bestowed a glance on the three victims. He was looking for Father Absinthe, whom he could not perceive. Had Gevrol intentionally or unintentionally failed to fulfil his promise, or had Father Absinthe forgotten his duty in his morning dram?
Unable to explain the cause of his comrade's absence, Lecoq addressed himself to the head keeper: ”It would seem that no one has recognized the victims,” he remarked.
”No one. And yet, ever since opening, we have had an immense crowd. If I were master here, on days like this, I would charge an admission fee of two sous a head, with half-price for children. It would bring in a round sum, more than enough to cover the expenses.”
The keeper's reply seemed to offer an inducement to conversation, but Lecoq did not seize it. ”Excuse me,” he interrupted, ”didn't a detective come here this morning?”
”Yes, there was one here.”
”Has he gone away then? I don't see him anywhere?”
The keeper glanced suspiciously at his eager questioner, but after a moment's hesitation, he ventured to inquire: ”Are you one of them?”
”Yes, I am,” replied Lecoq, exhibiting his card in support of his a.s.sertion.