rather than a shrewd expression, so that his appearance alone seemed to awake all sorts of suspicions and put one instinctively on his guard.
“Good news!” said he in a big voice: “I didn’t make the journey to Paris for the King of Prussia; we are right on the track of this rogue of a Guespin.”
M. Domini encouraged him with an approving gesture.
“See here, Goulard,” said he, “let us go on in order if we can. You went then, according to my instructions, to the Vulcan’s Forges?”
“At once, Monsieur.”
“Precisely. Had they seen the prisoner there?”
“Yes; on the evening of Wednesday, July 8th.”
“At what hour?”
“About ten o’clock, a few minutes before they shut up; so that he was remarked, and the more distinctly observed.”
The judge moved his lips as if to make an objection, but was stopped by a gesture from M. Lecoq.
“And who recognized the photograph?”
“Three of the clerks. Guespin’s manner first attracted their attention. It was strange, so they said, and they thought he was drunk, or at least tipsy. Then their recollection was fixed by his talking very fast, saying that he was going to patronize them a great deal, and that if they would make a reduction in their prices he would procure for them the custom of an establishment whose confidence he possessed, the Gentil Jardinier, which bought a great many gardening tools.”
M. Domini interrupted the examination to consult some papers which lay before him on his desk. It was, he found, the Gentil Jardinier which had procured Guespin his place in Tremorel’s household. The judge remarked this aloud, and added:
“The question of identity seems to be settled. Guespin was undoubtedly at the Vulcan’s Forges on Wednesday night.”
“So much the better for him,” M. Lecoq could not help muttering.
The judge heard him, but though the remark seemed singular to him he did not notice it, and went on questioning the agent.
“Well, did they tell you what Guespin went there to obtain?”
“The clerks recollected it perfectly. He first bought a hammer, a cold chisel, and a file.”
“I knew it,” exclaimed the judge. “And then?”
“Then—”
Here the man, ambitious to make a sensation among his hearers, rolled his eyes tragically, and in a dramatic tone, added:
“Then he bought a dirk knife!”
The judge felt that he was triumphing over M. Lecoq.
“Well,” said he to the detective in his most ironical tone, “what do you think of your friend now? What do you say to this honest and worthy young man, who, on the very night of the crime, leaves a wedding where he would have had a good time, to go and buy a hammer, a chisel, and a dirk—everything, in short, used in the murder and the mutilation of the body?”
Dr. Gendron seemed a little disconcerted at this, but a sly smile overspread M. Plantat’s face. As for M. Lecoq, he had the air of one who is shocked by objections which he knows he ought to annihilate by a word, and yet who is fain to be resigned to waste time in useless talk, which he might put to great profit.
“I think, Monsieur,” said he, very humbly, “that the murderers at Valfeuillu did not use either a hammer or a chisel, or a file, and that they brought no instrument at all from outside—since they used a hammer.”
“And didn’t they have a dirk besides?” asked the judge in a bantering tone, confident that he was on the right path.
“That is another question, I confess; but it is a difficult one to answer.”
He began to lose patience. He turned toward the Corbeil policeman, and abruptly asked him:
“Is this all you know?”
The big man with the thick eyebrows superciliously eyed this little Parisian who dared to question him thus. He hesitated so long that M. Lecoq, more rudely than before, repeated his question.
“Yes, that’s all,” said Goulard at last, “and I think it’s sufficient; the judge thinks so too; and he is the only person who gives me orders, and whose approbation I wish for.”
M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded:
“Let’s see; did you ask what was the shape of the dirk bought by Guespin? Was it long or short, wide or narrow?”
“Faith, no. What was the use?”
“Simply, my brave fellow, to compare this weapon with the victim’s wounds, and to see whether its handle corresponds to that which left a distinct and visible imprint between the victim’s shoulders.”
“I forgot it; but it is easily remedied.”
“An oversight may, of course, be pardoned; but you can at least tell us in what sort of money Guespin paid for his purchases?”
The poor man seemed so embarrassed, humiliated, and vexed, that the judge hastened to his assistance.
“The money is of little consequence, it seems to me,” said he.
“I beg you to excuse me I don’t agree with you,” returned M. Lecoq. “This matter may be a very grave one. What is the most serious evidence against Guespin? The money found in his pocket. Let us suppose for a moment that night before last, at ten o’clock, he changed a one-thousand-franc note in Paris. Could the obtaining of that note have been the motive of the crime at Valfeuillu? No, for up to that hour the crime had not been committed. Where could it have come from? That is no concern of mine, at present. But if my theory is correct, justice will be forced to agree that the several hundred francs found in Guespin’s possession can and must be the change for the note.”
“That is only a theory,” urged M. Domini in an irritated tone.
“That is true; but one which may turn out a certainty. It remains for me to ask this man how Guespin carried away the articles which he bought? Did he simply slip them into his pocket, or did he have them done up in a bundle, and if so, how?”
The detective spoke in a sharp, hard, freezing tone, with a bitter raillery in it, frightening his Corbeil colleague out of his assurance.
“I don’t know,” stammered the latter. “They didn’t tell me—I thought—”
M. Lecoq raised his hands as if to call the heavens to witness: in his heart, he was charmed with this fine occasion to revenge himself for M. Domini’s disdain. He could not, dared not say anything to the judge; but he had the right to banter the agent and visit his wrath upon him.
“Ah so, my lad,” said he, “what did you go to Paris for? To show Guespin’s picture and detail the crime to the people at Vulcan’s Forges? They ought to be very grateful to you; but Madame Petit, Monsieur Plantat’s housekeeper,
