The Lerouge Case Part 6

The train entered the station at this moment. M. Daburon, having called a cab, offered a seat to M. Tabaret. The old fellow declined.

"It is not worth while," he replied, "for I live, as I have had the honour of telling you, in the Rue St. Lazare, only a few steps from here."

"Till to-morrow, then!" said M. Daburon.

"Till to-morrow," replied old Tabaret; and he added, "We shall succeed."

CHAPTER III.

M. Tabaret's house was in fact not more than four minutes' walk from the railway terminus of St. Lazare. It was a fine building carefully kept, and which probably yielded a fine income though the rents were not too high. The old fellow found plenty of room in it. He occupied on the first floor, overlooking the street, some handsome apartments, well arranged and comfortably furnished, the princ.i.p.al of which was his collection of books. He lived very simply from taste, as well as habit, waited on by an old servant, to whom on great occasions the concierge lent a helping hand.

No one in the house had the slightest suspicion of the avocations of the proprietor. Besides, even the humblest agent of police would be expected to possess a degree of acuteness for which no one gave M. Tabaret credit. Indeed, they mistook for incipient idiocy his continual abstraction of mind.

It is true that all who knew him remarked the singularity of his habits. His frequent absences from home had given to his proceedings an appearance at once eccentric and mysterious. Never was young libertine more irregular in his habits than this old man. He came or failed to come home to his meals, ate it mattered not what or when. He went out at every hour of the day and night, often slept abroad, and even disappeared for entire weeks at a time. Then too he received the strangest visitors, odd looking men of suspicious appearance, and fellows of ill-favoured and sinister aspect.

This irregular way of living had robbed the old fellow of much consideration. Many believed they saw in him a shameless libertine, who squandered his income in disreputable places. They would remark to one another, "Is it not disgraceful, a man of his age?"

He was aware of all this t.i.ttle-tattle, and laughed at it. This did not, however, prevent many of his tenants from seeking his society and paying court to him. They would invite him to dinner, but he almost invariably refused.

He seldom visited but one person of the house, but with that one he was very intimate, so much so indeed, that he was more often in her apartment, than in his own. She was a widow lady, who for fifteen years had occupied an apartment on the third floor. Her name was Madame Gerdy, and she lived with her son Noel, whom she adored.

Noel Gerdy was a man thirty-three years of age, but looking older; tall and well made, with a n.o.ble and intelligent face, large black eyes, and black hair which curled naturally. An advocate, he pa.s.sed for having great talent, and greater industry, and had already gained a certain amount of notoriety. He was an obstinate worker, cold and meditative, though devoted to his profession, and affected, with some ostentation, perhaps, a great rigidity of principle, and austerity of manners.

In Madame Gerdy's apartment, old Tabaret felt himself quite at home. He considered her as a relation, and looked upon Noel as a son. In spite of her fifty years, he had often thought of asking the hand of this charming widow, and was restrained less by the fear of a refusal than its consequence. To propose and to be rejected would sever the existing relations, so pleasurable to him. However, he had by his will, which was deposited with his notary const.i.tuted this young advocate his sole legatee; with the single condition of founding an annual prize of two thousand francs to be bestowed on the police agent who during the year had unravelled the most obscure and mysterious crime.

Short as was the distance to his house, old Tabaret was a good quarter of an hour in reaching it. On leaving M. Daburon his thoughts reverted to the scene of the murder; and, so blinded was the old fellow to external objects, that he moved along the street, first jostled on the right, then on the left, by the busy pa.s.sers by, advancing one step and receding two. He repeated to himself for the fiftieth time the words uttered by Widow Lerouge, as reported by the milk-woman. "If I wished for any more, I could have it."

"All is in that," murmured he. "Widow Lerouge possessed some important secret, which persons rich and powerful had the strongest motives for concealing. She had them in her power, and that was her fortune. She made them sing to her tune; she probably went too far, and so they suppressed her. But of what nature was this secret, and how did she become possessed of it? Most likely she was in her youth a servant in some great family; and whilst there, she saw, heard, or discovered, something--What? Evidently there is a woman at the bottom of it. Did she a.s.sist her mistress in some love intrigue? What more probable? And in that case the affair becomes even more complicated. Not only must the woman be found but her lover also; for it is the lover who has moved in this affair. He is, or I am greatly deceived, a man of n.o.ble birth. A person of inferior rank would have simply hired an a.s.sa.s.sin. This man has not hung back; he himself has struck the blow and by that means avoiding the indiscretion or the stupidity of an accomplice. He is a courageous rascal, full of audacity and coolness, for the crime has been admirably executed. The fellow left nothing behind of a nature to compromise him seriously. But for me, Gevrol, believing in the robbery, would have seen nothing. Fortunately, however, I was there. But yet it can hardly be that," continued the old man. "It must be something worse than a mere love affair."

Old Tabaret entered the porch of the house. The concierge seated by the window of his lodge saw him as he pa.s.sed beneath the gas lamp.

"Ah," said he, "the proprietor has returned at last."

"So he has," replied his wife, "but it looks as though his princess would have nothing to do with him to-night. He seems more loose than ever."

"Is it not positively indecent," said the concierge, "and isn't he in a state! His fair ones do treat him well! One of these fine mornings I shall have to take him to a lunatic asylum in a straight waistcoat."

"Look at him now!" interrupted his wife, "just look at him now, in the middle of the courtyard!"

The old fellow had stopped at the extremity of the porch. He had taken off his hat, and, while talking to himself, gesticulated violently.

"No," said he, "I have not yet got hold of the clue, I am getting near it; but have not yet found it out."

He mounted the staircase, and rang his bell, forgetting that he had his latch-key in his pocket. His housekeeper opened the door.

"What, is it you, sir," said she, "and at this hour!"

"What's that you say?" asked the old fellow.

"I say," replied the housekeeper, "that it is more than half-past eight o'clock. I thought you were not coming back this evening. Have you at least dined?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, fortunately I have kept your dinner warm. You can sit down to it at once."

Old Tabaret took his place at the table, and helped himself to soup, but mounting his hobby-horse again, he forgot to eat, and remained, his spoon in the air, as though suddenly struck by an idea.

"He is certainly touched in the head," thought Manette, the housekeeper.

"Look at that stupid expression. Who in his senses would lead the life he does?" She touched him on the shoulder, and bawled in his ear, as if he were deaf,--"You do not eat. Are you not hungry?"

"Yes, yes," muttered he, trying mechanically to escape the voice that sounded in his ears, "I am very hungry, for since the morning I have been obliged--" He interrupted himself, remaining with his mouth open, his eyes fixed on vacancy.

"You were obliged--?" repeated Manette.

"Thunder!" cried he, raising his clenched fists towards the ceiling,--"heaven's thunder! I have it!"

His movement was so violent and sudden that the housekeeper was a little alarmed, and retired to the further end of the dining-room, near the door.

"Yes," continued he, "it is certain there is a child!"

Manette approached him quickly. "A child?" she asked in astonishment.

"What next!" cried he in a furious tone. "What are you doing there? Has your hardihood come to this that you pick up the words which escape me?

Do me the pleasure to retire to your kitchen, and stay there until I call you."

"He is going crazy!" thought Manette, as she disappeared very quickly.

Old Tabaret resumed his seat. He hastily swallowed his soup which was completely cold. "Why," said he to himself, "did I not think of it before? Poor humanity! I am growing old, and my brain is worn out. For it is clear as day; the circ.u.mstances all point to that conclusion."

He rang the bell placed on the table beside him; the servant reappeared.

"Bring the roast," he said, "and leave me to myself."

"Yes," continued he furiously carving a leg of Presale mutton--"Yes, there is a child, and here is his history! The Widow Lerouge, when a young woman, is in the service of a great lady, immensely rich. Her husband, a sailor, probably had departed on a long voyage. The lady had a lover--found herself enciente. She confided in the Widow Lerouge, and, with her a.s.sistance, accomplished a clandestine accouchement."

He called again.

"Manette, the dessert, and get out!"

Certainly such a master was unworthy of so excellent a cook as Manette.

He would have been puzzled to say what he had eaten for diner, or even what he was eating at this moment; it was a preserve of pears.

"But what," murmured he, "has become of the child? Has it been destroyed? No; for the Widow Lerouge, an accomplice in an infanticide, would be no longer formidable. The child has been preserved, and confided to the care of our widow, by whom it has been reared. They have been able to take the infant away from her, but not the proofs of its birth and its existence. Here is the opening. The father is the man of the fine carriage; the mother is the lady who came with the handsome young man. Ha! ha! I can well believe the dear old dame wanted for nothing. She had a secret worth a farm in Brie. But the old lady was extravagant; her expenses and her demands have increased year by year.

Poor humanity! She has leaned upon the staff too heavily, and broken it.

She has threatened. They have been frightened, and said, 'Let there be an end of this!' But who has charged himself with the commission? The papa? No; he is too old. By jupiter! The son,--the child himself! He would save his mother, the brave boy! He has slain the witness and burnt the proofs!"