Part 14 (1/2)
He had not, however, made allowance for his own extreme weariness or for the soporific effect of the alcoholic fumes with which his comrade's breath was redolent. When six o'clock struck at the church of St. Eustache, the young detective's alarm resounded faithfully enough, with a loud and protracted whir. Shrill and sonorous as was the sound, it failed, however, to break the heavy sleep of the two detectives. They would indeed, in all probability, have continued slumbering for several hours longer, if at half-past seven a st.u.r.dy fist had not begun to rap loudly at the door. With one bound Lecoq was out of bed, amazed at seeing the bright sunlight, and furious at the futility of his precautions.
”Come in!” he cried to his early visitor. He had no enemies to fear, and could, without danger, sleep with his door unlocked.
In response to his call, Father Papillon's shrewd face peered into the room.
”Ah! it is my worthy coachman!” exclaimed Lecoq. ”Is there anything new?”
”Excuse me, but it's the old affair that brings me here,” replied our eccentric friend the cabman. ”You know-the thirty francs those wretched women paid me. Really, I shan't sleep in peace till you have worked off the amount by using my vehicle. Our drive yesterday lasted two hours and a half, which, according to the regular fare, would be worth a hundred sous; so you see I've still more than twelve hours at your disposal.”
”That is all nonsense, my friend!”
”Possibly, but I am responsible for it, and if you won't use my cab, I've sworn to spend those twelve hours waiting outside your door. So now make up your mind.” He gazed at Lecoq beseechingly, and it was evident that a refusal would wound him keenly.
”Very well,” replied Lecoq, ”I will take you for the morning, only I ought to warn you that we are starting on a long journey.”
”Oh, Cocotte's legs may be relied upon.”
”My companion and myself have business in your own neighborhood. It is absolutely necessary for us to find the Widow Chupin's daughter-in-law; and I hope we shall be able to obtain her address from the police commissary of the district where the Poivriere is situated.”
”Very well, we will go wherever you wish; I am at your orders.”
A few moments later they were on their way.
Papillon's features wore an air of self-satisfied pride as, sitting erect on his box, he cracked his whip, and encouraged the nimble Cocotte. The vehicle could not have got over the ground more rapidly if its driver had been promised a hundred sous' gratuity.
Father Absinthe alone was sad. He had been forgiven by Lecoq, but he could not forget that he, an old police agent, had been duped as easily as if he had been some ignorant provincial. The thought was humiliating, and then in addition he had been fool enough to reveal the secret plans of the prosecution! He knew but too well that this act of folly had doubled the difficulties of Lecoq's task.
The long drive in Father Papillon's cab was not a fruitless one. The secretary of the commissary of police for the thirteenth arrondiss.e.m.e.nt informed Lecoq that Polyte Chupin's wife lived with her child, in the suburbs, in the Rue de la b.u.t.te-aux-Cailles. He could not indicate the precise number, but he described the house and gave them some information concerning its occupants.
The Widow Chupin's daughter-in-law, a native of Auvergne, had been bitterly punished for preferring a rakish Parisian ragam.u.f.fin to one of the grimy charcoal-burners of the Puy de Dome. She was hardly more than twelve years of age when she first came to Paris and obtained employment in a large factory. After ten years' privation and constant toil, she had managed to ama.s.s, sou by sou, the sum of three thousand francs. Then her evil genius threw Polyte Chupin across her path. She fell in love with this dissipated, selfish rascal; and he married her for the sake of her little h.o.a.rd.
As long as the money lasted, that is, for some three or four months, matters went on pleasantly enough. But as soon as the last franc had been spent, Polyte left his wife, and complacently resumed his former life of idleness, thieving, and debauchery. When at times he returned home, it was merely with the view of robbing his wife of what little money she might have saved in the mean while; and periodically she uncomplainingly allowed him to despoil her of the last penny of her earnings.
Horrible to relate, this unworthy rascal even tried to trade on her good looks. Here, however, he met with a strenuous resistance-a resistance which excited not merely his own ire, but also the hatred of the villain's mother-that old hag, the Widow Chupin. The result was that Polyte's wife was subjected to such incessant cruelty and persecution that one night she was forced to fly with only the rags that covered her. The Chupins-mother and son-believed, perhaps, that starvation would effect what their horrible threats and insidious counsel had failed to accomplish. Their shameful expectations were not, however, gratified.
In mentioning these facts to Lecoq, the commissary's secretary added that they had become widely known, and that the unfortunate creature's force of character had won for her general respect. Among those she frequented, moreover, she was known by the nickname of ”Toinon the Virtuous”-a rather vulgar but, at all events, sincere tribute to her worth.
Grateful for this information, Lecoq returned to the cab. The Rue de la b.u.t.te-aux-Cailles, whither Papillon was now directed to drive, proved to be very unlike the Boulevard Malesherbes, and one brief glance sufficed to show that opulence had not here fixed its abode. Luck seemed for the moment to have turned in Lecoq's favor. At all events, when he and Father Absinthe alighted at the corner of the street, it so happened that the very first person the young detective questioned concerning the virtuous Toinon was well acquainted with her whereabouts. The house in which she resided was pointed out, and Lecoq was instructed to go upstairs to the top floor, and knock at the door in front of him. With such precise directions the two detectives speedily reached Madame Polyte Chupin's abode.
This proved to be a cold and gloomy attic of medium size, windowless, but provided with a small skylight. A straw pallet, a broken table, two chairs, and a few plain kitchen utensils const.i.tuted the sole appointments of this miserable garret. But in spite of the occupant's evident poverty, everything was neat and clean, and to use a forcible expression that fell from Father Absinthe, one could have eaten off the floor.
The two detectives entered, and found a woman busily engaged in making a heavy linen sack. She was seated in the centre of the room, directly under the skylight, so that the sun's rays might fall upon her work. At the sight of two strangers, she half rose from her chair, surprised, and perhaps a little frightened; but when Lecoq had explained that they desired a few moments' conversation with her, she gave up her own seat, and drawing the second chair from a corner, invited both detectives to sit down. Lecoq complied, but Father Absinthe declared that he preferred to remain standing.
With a single glance Lecoq took an inventory of the humble abode, and, so to speak, appraised the woman. She was short, stout, and of commonplace appearance. Her forehead was extremely low, being crowned by a forest of coa.r.s.e, black hair; while the expression of her large, black eyes, set very close together, recalled the look of patient resignation one so often detects in ill-treated and neglected animals. Possibly, in former days, she might have possessed that fleeting attraction called the beaute du diable; but now she looked almost as old as her wretched mother-in-law. Sorrow and privation, excessive toil and ill-treatment, had imparted to her face a livid hue, reddening her eyes and stamping deep furrows round about her temples. Still, there was an attribute of native honesty about her which even the foul atmosphere in which she had been compelled to live had not sufficed to taint.
Her little boy furnished a striking contrast. He was pale and puny; his eyes gleamed with a phosph.o.r.escent brilliancy; and his hair was of a faded flaxen tint. One little circ.u.mstance attracted both detectives' attention. If the mother was attired in an old, thin, faded calico dress, the child was warmly clad in stout woolen material.
”Madame, you have doubtless heard of a dreadful crime, committed in your mother-in-law's establishment,” began Lecoq in a soft voice.
”Alas! yes, sir,” replied Toinon the Virtuous, quickly adding: ”But my husband could not have been implicated in it, since he is in prison.”
Did not this objection, forestalling, as it were, suspicion, betray the most horrible apprehensions?
”Yes, I am aware of that,” replied Lecoq. ”Polyte was arrested a fortnight ago-”
”Yes, and very unjustly, sir,” replied the neglected wife. ”He was led astray by his companions, wicked, desperate men. He is so weak when he has taken a gla.s.s of wine that they can do whatever they like with him. If he were only left to himself he would not harm a child. You have only to look at him-”
As she spoke, the virtuous Toinon turned her red and swollen eyes to a miserable photograph hanging against the wall. This blotchy smudge portrayed an exceedingly ugly, dissipated-looking young man, afflicted with a terrible squint, and whose repulsive mouth was partially concealed by a faint mustache. This rake of the barrieres was Polyte Chupin. And yet despite his unprepossessing aspect there was no mistaking the fact that this unfortunate woman loved him-had always loved him; besides, he was her husband.
A moment's silence followed her indication of the portrait-an act which clearly revealed how deeply she wors.h.i.+ped her persecutor; and during this pause the attic door slowly and softly opened. Not of itself, however, for suddenly a man's head peered in. The intruder, whoever he was, instantly withdrew, uttering as he did so a low exclamation. The door was swiftly closed again; the key-which had been left on the outside-grated in the lock, and the occupants of the garret could hear hurried steps descending the stairs.
Lecoq was sitting with his back to the door, and could not, therefore, see the intruder's face. Quickly as he had turned, he had failed to see who it was: and yet he was far from being surprised at the incident. Intuition explained its meaning.
”That must have been the accomplice!” he cried.
Thanks to his position, Father Absinthe had seen the man's face. ”Yes,” said he, ”yes, it was the same man who made me drink with him yesterday.”
With a bound, both detectives threw themselves against the door, exhausting their strength in vain attempts to open it. It resisted all their efforts, for it was of solid oak, having been purchased by the landlord from some public building in process of demolition, and it was, moreover, furnished with a strong and ma.s.sive fastening.
”Help us!” cried Father Absinthe to the woman, who stood petrified with astonishment; ”give us a bar, a piece of iron, a nail-anything!”
The younger man was making frantic efforts to push back the bolt, or to force the lock from the wood. He was wild with rage. At last, having succeeded in forcing the door open, they dashed out in pursuit of their mysterious adversary. On reaching the street, they eagerly questioned the bystanders. Having described the man as best they could, they found two persons who had seen him enter the house of Toinon the Virtuous, and a third who had seen him as he left. Some children who were playing in the middle of the street added that he had run off in the direction of the Rue du Moulin-des-Pres as fast as his legs could carry him. It was in this street, near the corner of the Rue de la b.u.t.te-aux-Cailles, that Lecoq had left old Papillon waiting with the cab.
”Let us hasten there!” proposed Father Absinthe; ”perhaps Papillon can give us some information.”
But Lecoq shook his head despondently. He would go no further. ”It would be of no use,” he said. ”He had sufficient presence of mind to turn the key in the lock, and that saved him. He is at least ten minutes in advance of us, and we should never overtake him.”
Father Absinthe could not restrain his anger. He looked upon this mysterious accomplice who had so cruelly duped him as a personal enemy, and he would willingly have given a month's pay to be able to lay his hand on his shoulder. Lecoq was quite as angry as his subordinate, and his vanity was likewise wounded; he felt, however, that coolness and deliberation were necessary.
”Yes,” said he thoughtfully, ”he's a shrewd and daring fellow-a perfect demon. He doesn't remain idle. If we are working, he's at work too. No matter what side I turn, I find him on the defensive. He foiled you, papa, in your effort to obtain a clue concerning Gustave's ident.i.ty; and he made me appear a fool in arranging that little comedy at the Hotel de Mariembourg. His diligence has been wonderful. He has. .h.i.therto been in advance of us everywhere, and this fact explains the failures that have attended all my efforts. Here we arrive before him. But if he came here, it was because he scented danger. Hence, we may hope. Now let us get back and question Polyte's wife.”
Alas! poor Toinon the Virtuous did not understand the affair at all. She had remained upstairs, holding her child by the hand, and leaning over the bal.u.s.ter; her mind in great perplexity and her eyes and ears on the alert. As soon as she perceived the two detectives coming up the stairs again, she hastened down to meet them. ”In the name of heaven, what does this all mean?” she asked. ”Whatever has happened?”
But Lecoq was not the man to tell his business on a landing, with inquisitive ears all around him, and before he answered Toinon he made her go up into her own garret, and securely close the door.
”We started in pursuit of a man who is implicated in the murders at the Poivriere,” he said; ”one who came here hoping to find you alone, who was frightened at seeing us.”
”A murderer!” faltered Toinon, with clasped hands. ”What could he want of me?”
”Who knows? It is very probable that he is one of your husband's friends.”
”Oh! sir.”
”Why, did you not tell me just now that Polyte had some very undesirable acquaintances? But don't be alarmed; this does not compromise him in the least. Besides, you can very easily clear him of all suspicion.”