Detective Lecoq - Complete Murder Mysteries. Emile Gaboriau
seemed feasible. The police were seeking him, and he could think of no place in the whole world where he would feel perfectly safe.
He was near the Odeon theatre, when a thought quicker than a flash of lightning lit up the darkness of his brain.
It occurred to him that as the police were doubtless already in pursuit of him, his description would soon be known to everyone, his white cravat and well trimmed whiskers would betray him as surely as though he carried a placard stating who he was.
Seeing a barber’s shop, he hurried to the door; but, when on the point of turning the handle, he grew frightened.
The barber might think it strange that he wanted his whiskers shaved off, and supposing he should question him!
He passed on.
He soon saw another barber’s shop, but the same fears as before again prevented his entering.
Gradually night had fallen, and, with the darkness, Noel seemed to recover his confidence and boldness.
After this great shipwreck in port, hope rose to the surface. Why should he not save himself? There had been many just such cases. He could go to a foreign country, change his name, begin his life over again, become a new man entirely. He had money; and that was the main thing.
And, besides, as soon as his eighty thousand francs were spent, he had the certainty of receiving, on his first request, five or six times as much more.
He was already thinking of the disguise he should assume, and of the frontier to which he should proceed, when the recollection of Juliette pierced his heart like a red hot iron.
Was he going to leave without her, going away with the certainty of never seeing her again? What! he would fly, pursued by all the police of the civilized world, tracked like a wild beast, and she would remain peaceably in Paris? Was it possible? For whom then had he committed this crime? For her. Who would have reaped the benefits of it? She. Was it not just, then, that she should bear her share of the punishment?
“She does not love me,” thought the advocate bitterly, “she never loved me. She would be delighted to be forever free of me. She will not regret me, for I am no longer necessary to her. An empty coffer is a useless piece of furniture. Juliette is prudent; she has managed to save a nice little fortune. Grown rich at my expense, she will take some other lover. She will forget me, she will live happily, while I— And I was about to go away without her!”
The voice of prudence cried out to him: “Unhappy man! to drag a woman along with you, and a pretty woman too, is but to stupidly attract attention upon you, to render flight impossible, to give yourself up like a fool.”
“What of that?” replied passion. “We will be saved or we will perish together. If she does not love me, I love her; I must have her! She will come, otherwise —”
But how to see Juliette, to speak with her, to persuade her. To go to her house, was a great risk for him to run. The police were perhaps there already.
“No,” thought Noel; “no one knows that she is my mistress. It will not be found out for two or three days and, besides, it would be more dangerous still to write.”
He took a cab not far from the Carrefour de l’Observatoire, and in a low tone told the driver the number of the house in the Rue de Provence, which had proved so fatal to him. Stretched on the cushions of the cab, lulled by its monotonous jolts, Noel gave no thought to the future, he did not even think over what he should say to Juliette. No. He passed involuntarily in review the events which had brought on and hastened the catastrophe, like a man on the point of death, reviews the tragedy or the comedy of his life.
Just one month before, ruined, at the end of his expedients and absolutely without resources, he had determined, cost what it might, to procure money, so as to be able to continue to keep Madame Juliette, when chance placed in his hands Count de Commarin’s correspondence. Not only the letters read to old Tabaret, and shown to Albert, but also those, which, written by the count when he believed the substitution an accomplished fact, plainly established it.
The reading of these gave him an hour of mad delight.
He believed himself the legitimate son; but his mother soon undeceived him, told him the truth, proved to him by several letters she had received from Widow Lerouge, called on Claudine to bear witness to it, and demonstrated it to him by the scar he bore.
But a falling man never selects the branch he tries to save himself by. Noel resolved to make use of the letters all the same.
He attempted to induce his mother to leave the count in his ignorance, so that he might thus blackmail him. But Madame Gerdy spurned the proposition with horror.
Then the advocate made a confession of all his follies, laid bare his financial condition, showed himself in his true light, sunk in debt; and he finally begged his mother to have recourse to M. de Commarin.
This also she refused, and prayers and threats availed nothing against her resolution. For a fortnight, there was a terrible struggle between mother and son, in which the advocate was conquered.
It was then that the idea of murdering Claudine occurred to him.
The unhappy woman had not been more frank with Madame Gerdy than with others, so that Noel really thought her a widow. Therefore, her testimony suppressed, who else stood in his way?
Madame Gerdy, and perhaps the count. He feared them but little. If Madame Gerdy spoke, he could always reply: “After stealing my name for your son, you will do everything in the world to enable him to keep it.” But how to do away with Claudine without danger to himself?
After long reflection, the advocate thought of a diabolical stratagem.
He burnt all the count’s letters establishing the substitution, and he preserved only those which made it probable.
These last he went and showed to Albert, feeling sure, that, should justice ever discover the reason of Claudine’s death, it would naturally suspect he who appeared to have most interest in it.
Not that he really wished Albert to be suspected of the crime, it was simply a precaution. He thought that he could so arrange matters that the police would waste their time in the pursuit of an imaginary criminal.
Nor did he think of ousting the Viscount de Commarin and putting himself in his place. His plan was simply this; the crime once committed, he would wait; things would take their own course, there would be negotiations, and ultimately he would compromise the matter at the price of a fortune.
He felt sure of his mother’s silence, should she ever suspect him guilty of the assassination.
His plan settled, he decided to strike the fatal blow on the Shrove Tuesday.
To neglect no precaution, he, that very same evening, took Juliette to the theatre, and afterwards to the masked ball at the opera. In case things went against him, he thus secured an unanswerable alibi.
The loss of his overcoat only troubled him for a moment. On reflection, he reassured himself, saying: “Pshaw! who will ever know?”
Everything had resulted in accordance with his calculations; it was, in his opinion, a matter of patience.
But when Madame Gerdy read the account of the murder, the unhappy woman divined her son’s work, and, in the first paroxysms of her grief, she declared that she would denounce him.
He was terrified. A frightful delirium had taken possession of his mother. One word from her might destroy him. Putting a bold face on it, however, he acted at once and staked his all.
To put the police on Albert’s track was to guarantee his own safety, to insure to himself, in the event of a probable success, Count de Commarin’s name and fortune.
Circumstances, as well as his own terror, increased his boldness and his ingenuity.
Old Tabaret’s visit occurred just at the right moment.
Noel knew of his connection with the police, and guessed