Part 21 (1/2)
To convince the Suisse of his error it was necessary for the young detective to place himself in communication with Father Absinthe and the sergeant de ville on the other side of the wall. As Lecoq had expected, the latter both replied that they had not once taken their eyes off the wall, and that not even a mouse had crossed into the street.
The exploration had hitherto been conducted after a somewhat haphazard fas.h.i.+on, each of the servants obeying his own inspiration; but the necessity of a methodically conducted search was now recognized. Accordingly, Lecoq took such measures that not a corner, not a recess, could possibly escape scrutiny; and he was dividing the task between his willing a.s.sistants, when a new-comer appeared upon the scene. This was a grave, smooth-faced individual in the attire of a notary.
”Monsieur Otto, Monseigneur's first valet de chambre,” the Suisse murmured in Lecoq's ear.
This important personage came on behalf of Monsieur le Duc (he did not say ”Monseigneur”) to inquire the meaning of all this uproar. When he had received an explanation, M. Otto condescended to compliment Lecoq on his efficiency, and to recommend that the house should be searched from garret to cellar. These precautions alone would allay the fears of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse.
He then departed, and the search began again with renewed ardor. A mouse concealed in the gardens of the Hotel de Sairmeuse could not have escaped discovery, so minute were the investigations. Not a single object of any size was left undisturbed. The trees were examined leaf by leaf, one might almost say. Occasionally the discouraged servants proposed to abandon the search; but Lecoq urged them on. He ran from one to the other, entreating and threatening by turns, swearing that he asked only one more effort, and that this effort would a.s.suredly be crowned with success. Vain promises! The fugitive could not be found.
The evidence was now conclusive. To persist in searching the garden any longer would be worse than folly. Accordingly, the young detective decided to recall his auxiliaries. ”That's enough,” he said, in a despondent voice. ”It is now certain that the criminal is no longer in the garden.”
Was he cowering in some corner of the great house, white with fear, and trembling at the noise made by his pursuers? One might reasonably suppose this to be the case; and such was the opinion of the servants. Above all, such was the opinion of the Suisse who renewed with growing a.s.surance his affirmations of a few moments before.
”I have not moved from the threshold of the house to-night,” he said, ”and I should certainly have seen any person who pa.s.sed out.”
”Let us go into the house, then,” said Lecoq. ”But first let me ask my companion, who is waiting for me in the street, to join me. It is unnecessary for him to remain any longer where he is.”
When Father Absinthe had responded to the summons all the lower doors were carefully closed and guarded, and the search recommenced inside the house, one of the largest and most magnificent residences of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. But at this moment all the treasures of the universe could not have won a single glance or a second's attention from Lecoq. All his thoughts were occupied with the fugitive. He pa.s.sed through several superb drawing-rooms, along an unrivaled picture gallery, across a magnificent dining-room, with sideboards groaning beneath their load of ma.s.sive plate, without paying the slightest attention to the marvels of art and upholstery that were offered to his view. He hurried on, accompanied by the servants who were guiding and lighting him. He lifted heavy articles of furniture as easily as he would have lifted a feather; he moved each chair and sofa from its place, he explored each cupboard and wardrobe, and drew back in turns all the wall-hangings, window-curtains, and portieres. A more complete search would have been impossible. In each of the rooms and pa.s.sages that Lecoq entered not a nook was left unexplored, not a corner was forgotten. At length, after two hours' continuous work, Lecoq returned to the first floor. Only five or six servants had accompanied him on his tour of inspection. The others had dropped off one by one, weary of this adventure, which had at first possessed the attractions of a pleasure party.
”You have seen everything, gentlemen,” declared an old footman.
”Everything!” interrupted the Suisse, ”everything! Certainly not. There are the private apartments of Monseigneur and those of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse still to be explored.”
”Alas!” murmured Lecoq, ”What good would it be?”
But the Suisse had already gone to rap gently at one of the doors opening into the hall. His interest equaled that of the detectives. They had seen the murderer enter; he had not seen him go out; therefore the man was in the house and he wished him to be found.
The door at which he had knocked soon opened, and the grave, clean-shaven face of Otto, the duke's first valet de chambre, showed itself. ”What the deuce do you want?” he asked in surly tones.
”To enter Monseigneur's room,” replied the Suisse, ”in order to see if the fugitive has not taken refuge there.”
”Are you crazy?” exclaimed the head valet de chambre. ”How could any one have entered here? Besides, I can't suffer Monsieur le Duc to be disturbed. He has been at work all night, and he is just going to take a bath before going to bed.”
The Suisse seemed very vexed at this rebuff; and Lecoq was presenting his excuses, when another voice was heard exclaiming. ”Let these worthy men do their duty, Otto.”
”Ah! do you hear that!” exclaimed the Suisse triumphantly.
”Very well, since Monsieur le Duc permits it. Come in, I will light you through the apartments.”
Lecoq entered, but it was only for form's sake that he walked through the different apartments; a library, an admirable study, and a charming smoking-room. As he was pa.s.sing through the bed-chamber, he had the honor of seeing the Duc de Sairmeuse through the half-open door of a small, white, marble bath-room.
”Ah, well!” cried the duke, affably, ”is the fugitive still invisible?”
”Still invisible, monsieur,” Lecoq respectfully replied.
The valet de chambre did not share his master's good humor. ”I think, gentlemen,” said he, ”that you may spare yourselves the trouble of visiting the apartments of the d.u.c.h.ess. It is a duty we have taken upon ourselves-the women and I-and we have looked even in the bureau drawers.”
Upon the landing the old footman, who had not ventured to enter his master's apartments, was awaiting the detectives. He had doubtless received his orders, for he politely inquired if they desired anything, and if, after such a fatiguing night, they would not find some cold meat and a gla.s.s of wine acceptable. Father Absinthe's eyes sparkled. He probably thought that in this royal abode they must have delicious things to eat and drink-such viands, indeed, as he had never tasted in his life. But Lecoq civilly refused, and left the Hotel de Sairmeuse, reluctantly followed by his old companion.
He was eager to be alone. For several hours he had been making immense efforts to conceal his rage and despair. May escaped! vanished! evaporated! The thought drove him almost mad. What he had declared to be impossible had nevertheless occurred. In his confidence and pride, he had sworn to answer for the prisoner's head with his own life; and yet he had allowed him to slip between his fingers.
When he was once more in the street, he paused in front of Father Absinthe, and crossing his arms, inquired: ”Well, my friend, what do you think of all this?”
The old detective shook his head, and in serene unconsciousness of his want of tact, responded: ”I think that Gevrol will chuckle with delight.”
At this mention of his most cruel enemy, Lecoq bounded from the ground like a wounded bull. ”Oh!” he exclaimed. ”Gevrol has not won the battle yet. We have lost May; it is a great misfortune; but his accomplice remains in our hands. We hold the crafty man who has. .h.i.therto defeated all our plans, no matter how carefully arranged. He is certainly shrewd and devoted to his friend; but we will see if his devotion will withstand the prospect of hard labor in the penitentiary. And that is what awaits him, if he is silent, and if he thus accepts the responsibility of aiding and abetting the fugitive's escape. Oh! I've no fears-M. Segmuller will know how to draw the truth out of him.”
So speaking, Lecoq brandished his clinched fist with a threatening air and then, in calmer tones, he added: ”But we must go to the station-house where the accomplice was removed. I wish to question him a little.”
XXII
It was six o'clock, and the dawn was just breaking when Father Absinthe and his companion reached the station-house, where they found the superintendent seated at a small table, making out his report. He did not move when they entered, failing to recognize them under their disguises. But when they mentioned their names, he rose with evident cordiality, and held out his hand.
”Upon my word!” said he, ”I congratulate you on your capture last night.”
Father Absinthe and Lecoq exchanged an anxious look. ”What capture?” they both asked in a breath.
”Why, that individual you sent me last night so carefully bound.”
”Well, what about him?”
The superintendent burst into a hearty laugh. ”So you are ignorant of your good fortune,” said he. ”Ah! luck has favored you, and you will receive a handsome reward.”
”Pray tell us what we've captured?” asked Father Absinthe, impatiently.
”A scoundrel of the deepest dye, an escaped convict, who has been missing for three months. You must have a description of him in your pocket-Joseph Couturier, in short.”
On hearing these words, Lecoq became so frightfully pale that Father Absinthe, fearing he was going to faint, raised his arms to prevent his falling. A chair stood close by, however, and on this Lecoq allowed himself to drop. ”Joseph Couturier,” he faltered, evidently unconscious of what he was saying. ”Joseph Couturier! an escaped convict!”
The superintendent certainly did not understand Lecoq's agitation any better than Father Absinthe's discomfited air.
”You have reason to be proud of your work; your success will make a sensation this morning,” he repeated. ”You have captured a famous prize. I can see Gevrol's nose now when he hears the news. Only yesterday he was boasting that he alone was capable of securing this dangerous rascal.”
After such an irreparable failure as that which had overtaken Lecoq, the unintended irony of these compliments was bitter in the extreme. The superintendent's words of praise fell on his ears like so many blows from a sledge hammer.
”You must be mistaken,” he eventually remarked, rising from his seat and summoning all his energy to his a.s.sistance. ”That man is not Couturier.”
”Oh, I'm not mistaken; you may be quite sure of that. He fully answers the description appended to the circular ordering his capture, and even the little finger of his left hand is lacking, as is mentioned.”
”Ah! that's a proof indeed!” groaned Father Absinthe.