emotion.
“Yes, comrade, and if you want to know her name, to put in your prayers, she is called—Jenny.”
Men who are really able in some specialty, whatever it may be, never uselessly abuse their superiority; their satisfaction at seeing it recognized is sufficient reward. M. Lecoq softly enjoyed his triumph, while his hearers wondered at his perspicacity. A rapid chain of reasoning had shown him not only Tremorel’s thoughts, but also the means he had employed to accomplish his purpose.
Guespin’s astonishment soon changed to anger. He asked himself how this man could have been informed of things which he had every reason to believe were secret. Lecoq continued:
“Since I have told you the woman’s name, tell me now, how and why the count gave you a five-hundred-franc note.”
“It was just as I was going out. The count had no change, and did not want to send me to Orcival for it. I was to bring back the rest.”
“And why didn’t you rejoin your companions at the wedding in the Batignolles?”
No answer.
“What was the errand which you were to do for the count?”
Guespin hesitated. His eyes wandered from one to another of those present, and he seemed to discover an ironical expression on all the faces. It occurred to him that they were making sport of him, and had set a snare into which he had fallen. A great despair took possession of him.
“Ah,” cried he, addressing M. Lecoq, “you have deceived me. You have been lying so as to find out the truth. I have been such a fool as to answer you, and you are going to turn it all against me.”
“What? Are you going to talk nonsense again?”
“No, but I see just how it is, and you won’t catch me again! Now I’d rather die than say a word.”
The detective tried to reassure him; but he added:
“Besides, I’m as sly as you; I’ve told you nothing but lies.”
This sudden whim surprised no one. Some prisoners intrench themselves behind a system of defence, and nothing can divert them from it; others vary with each new question, denying what they have just affirmed, and constantly inventing some new absurdity which anon they reject again. M. Lecoq tried in vain to draw Guespin from his silence; M. Domini made the same attempt, and also failed; to all questions he only answered, “I don’t know.”
At last the detective waxed impatient.
“See here,” said he to Guespin, “I took you for a young man of sense, and you are only an ass. Do you imagine that we don’t know anything? Listen: On the night of Madame Denis’s wedding, you were getting ready to go off with your comrades, and had just borrowed twenty francs from the valet, when the count called you. He made you promise absolute secrecy (a promise which, to do you justice, you kept); he told you to leave the other servants at the station and go to Vulcan’s Forges, where you were to buy for him a hammer, a file, a chisel, and a dirk; these you were to carry to a certain woman. Then he gave you this famous five-hundred-franc note, telling you to bring him back the change when you returned next day. Isn’t that so?”
An affirmative response glistened in the prisoner’s eyes; still, he answered, “I don’t recollect it.”
“Now,” pursued M. Lecoq, “I’m going to tell you what happened afterwards. You drank something and got tipsy, and in short spent a part of the change of the note. That explains your fright when you were seized yesterday morning, before anybody said a word to you. You thought you were being arrested for spending that money. Then, when you learned that the count had been murdered during the night, recollecting that on the evening before you had bought all kinds of instruments of theft and murder, and that you didn’t know either the address or the name of the woman to whom you gave up the package, convinced that if you explained the source of the money found in your pocket, you would not be believed—then, instead of thinking of the means to prove your innocence, you became afraid, and thought you would save yourself by holding your tongue.”
The prisoner’s countenance visibly changed; his nerves relaxed; his tight lips fell apart; his mind opened itself to hope. But he still resisted.
“Do with me as you like,” said he.
“Eh! What should we do with such a fool as you?” cried M. Lecoq angrily. “I begin to think you are a rascal too. A decent fellow would see that we wanted to get him out of a scrape, and he’d tell us the truth. You are prolonging your imprisonment by your own will. You’d better learn that the greatest shrewdness consists in telling the truth. A last time, will you answer?”
Guespin shook his head; no.
“Go back to prison, then; since it pleases you,” concluded the detective. He looked at the judge for his approval, and added:
“Gendarmes, remove the prisoner.”
The judge’s last doubt was dissipated like the mist before the sun. He was, to tell the truth, a little uneasy at having treated the detective so rudely; and he tried to repair it as much as he could.
“You are an able man, Monsieur Lecoq,” said he. “Without speaking of your clearsightedness, which is so prompt as to seem almost like second sight, your examination just now was a master-piece of its kind. Receive my congratulations, to say nothing of the reward which I propose to recommend in your favor to your chiefs.”
The detective at these compliments cast down his eyes with the abashed air of a virgin. He looked tenderly at the dear defunct’s portrait, and doubtless said to it:
“At last, darling, we have defeated him—this austere judge who so heartily detests the force of which we are the brightest ornament, makes his apologies; he recognizes and applauds our services.”
He answered aloud:
“I can only accept half of your eulogies, Monsieur; permit me to offer the other half to my friend Monsieur Plantat.”
M. Plantat tried to protest.
“Oh,” said he, “only for some bits of information! You would have ferreted out the truth without me all the same.”
The judge arose and graciously, but not without effort, extended his hand to M. Lecoq, who respectfully pressed it.
“You have spared me,” said the judge, “a great remorse. Guespin’s innocence would surely sooner or later have been recognized; but the idea of having imprisoned an innocent man and harassed him with my interrogatories, would have disturbed my sleep and tormented my conscience for a long time.”
“God knows this poor Guespin is not an interesting youth,” returned the detective. “I should be disposed to press him hard were I not certain that he’s half a fool.”
M. Domini gave a start.
“I shall discharge him this very day,” said he, “this very hour.”
“It will be an act of charity,” said M. Lecoq; “but confound his obstinacy; it was so easy for him to simplify my task. I might be able, by the aid of chance, to collect the principal facts—the errand, and a woman being mixed up in the affair; but as I’m no magician, I couldn’t
