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26
THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL.
warm and palpitating body! It was an act of terrible cour-
age, believe me, to look at himself in the glass after a murder
—one of which few criminals are capable. The count's
hands, however, trembled so violently that he could scarcely
hold his razor, and his face must have been cut several times."
"What!" said Dr. Gendron, "do you imagine that the
count spared the time to shave?"
"I am positively sure of it, pos-i-tive-ly. A towel on
which I have found one of those marks which a razor leaves
when it is wiped—and one only—has put me on the track of
this fact. I looked about, and found a box of razors, one of
which had recently been used, for it was still moist; and I
have carefully preserved both the towel and the box. And
if these proofs are not enough, I will send.to Paris for two of
my men, who will find, somewhere in the house or the gar-
den, both the count's beard and the cloth with which he
wiped his razor. As to the fact which surprises you, doctor,
it seems to me very natural; more, it is the necessary result
of the plan he adopted. M. de Tremorel has always worn
his full beard; he cuts it off, and his appearance is so entirely
altered, that if he met any one in his flight, he would not be
recognized."
The doctor was apparently convinced, for he cried:
"It's clear—it's evident."
"Once thus disguised, the count hastens to carry out the
rest of his plan, to arrange everything to throw the law off
the scent, and to make it appear that he, as well as his wife,
has been murdered. He hunts up Guespin's vest, tears it
out at the pocket, and puts a piece of it in the countess's
hand. Then taking the body in his arms, crosswise, he goes
down-stairs. The wounds bleed frightfully—hence the numer-
ous stains discovered all along his path. Reaching the foot
of the staircase he is obliged to put the countess down, in
order to open the garden door. This explains the large stain
in the vestibule. The count, having opened the door, re-
turns for the body and carries it in his arms as far as the edge
of the lawn; there he stops carrying it, and drags it by the
shoulders, walking backward, trying thus to create the im-
pression that his own body has been dragged across there and
thrown into the Seine. But the wretch forgot two things
which betray him to us. He did not reflect that the count-
ess's skirts, in being dragged along the grass, pressing it down
and breaking it for a considerable space, spoiled his trick.
Nor did he think that her elegant and well-curved feet, en-
cased in small, high-heeled boots, would mold themselves in
the damp earth of the lawn, and thus leave against him a
proof clearer than the day."
M. Plantât rose abruptly.
"Ah," said he, "you said nothing of this before."
" Nor of several other things, either. But I was before
ignorant of some facts which I now know; and as I had rea-
son to suppose that you were better informed than I, I was
not sorry to avenge myself for a caution which seemed to me
mysterious. "
" Well, you are avenged," remarked the doctor, smiling.
"On the other side of the lawn," continued M. Lecoq,
" the count again took up the countess's body. But forget-
ting the effect of water when it spirts, or—who knows?—¦
disliking to soil himself, instead of throwing her violently in
the river, he put her down softly, with great precaution.
That's not all. He wished it to appear that there had been
a terrible struggle. What does he do? Stirs up the sand
with the end of his foot. And he thinks that will deceive
the police!"
" Yes, yes," muttered Plantât, "exactly so—I saw it."
" Having got rid of the body, the count returns to the
house. Time presses, but he is .still anxious to find the pa-
per. He hastens to take the last measures to assure his safety.
He smears his slippers and handkerchief with blood. He
throws his handkerchief and one of his slippers on the sward,
and the other slipper into the river. His haste explains the
incomplete execution of his manoeuvres. He hurries—and
commits blunder after blunder. He does not reflect that
his valet will explain about the empty bottles which he puts
on the table. He thinks he is turning wine into the five
glasses—it is vinegar, which will prove that no one has drunk
out of them. He ascends, puts forward the hands of the
clock, but forgets to put the hands and the striking bell
in harmony. He rumples up the bed, but he does it awk-
wardly—and it is impossible to reconcile these three facts,
the bed crumpled, the clock showing twenty minutes past
three, and the countess dressed as if it were midday. He
adds as much as he can to the disorder of the room.    He
smears a sheet with blood; also the bed curtains and furni-
ture. Then he marks the door with the imprint of a oloody
hand, too distinct and precise not to be done designedly. Is
there so far a circumstance or detail of the crime, which does
not explain the count's guilt?"
"There's the hatchet," answered M. Plantât, "found on
the second story, the position of which seemed so strange to
you."
" I am coming to that. There is one point in this mys-
terious affair, which, thanks to you, is now clear. We know
that Madame de Tremorel, known to her husband, possessed
and concealed a paper or a letter which he wanted, and which
she obstinately refused to give up in spite of all his entreaties.
You have told us that the anxiety—perhaps the necessity—to
have this paper was a powerful motive of the crime. We will
not be rash then in supposing that the importance of this
paper was immense—entirely beyond an ordinary affair. It
must have been, somehow, very damaging to one or the other.
To whom? To both, or only the count. Here I am reduced
to conjectures. It is certain that it was a menace—capable
of being executed at any moment—suspended over the head
of him or them concerned by it. Madame de Tremorel surely
regarded this paper either as a security, or as a terrible arm
which put her husband at her mercy. It was surely to de-
liver himself from this perpetual menace that the count killed
his wife."
The logic was so clear, the last words brought the evidence
out so lucidly and forcibly, that his hearers were struck with
admiration.    They both cried:
"Very good!"
"Now," resumed M. Lecoq, "from the various elements
which have served to form our conviction, we must conclude
that the contents of this letter, if it can be found, will
clear away our last doubts, will explain the crime, and
will render the assassin's precautions wholly useless. The
count, therefore, [must do everything in the world,
must attempt the impossible, not to leave this danger be-
hind him. ;His preparations [for flight ended, Hector, in
spite of his deadly peril, of the speeding time, of the coming
day, instead of flying recommences with more desperation than
ever his useless search. Again he goes through all the furni-
ture, the books, the papers—in vain. Then he determines to
search the second story, and armed with his hatchet, goes up
to it. He has already attacked a bureau, when he hears a cry
in the garden. He runs to the window—what does he see?
Philippe and old Bertaud are standing on the river bank un-
der the willows, near the corpse. Can you imagine his im.
m en se terror? Now, there's not a second to lose—be has al-
ready delayed too long. The danger is near, terrible. Day-
light has come, the crime is discovered, they are coming, he
sees himself lost beyond hope. He must fly, fly at once, at
the peril of being seen, met, arrested. He throws the hatchet
down violently—it cuts the floor. He rushes down, slips the
bank notes in his pocket, seizes Guespin's torn and smeared
vest, which he will throw into the river from the bridge, and
saves himself by the garden. Forgetting all caution, con-
fused, beside himself, covered with blood, he runs, clears the
ditch, and it is he whom old Bertaud sees making for the
forest of Mauprevior, where he. intends- to arrange the dis-
order of his clothes. For the moment he is safe. But he
leaves behind him this letter, which is, believe me, a for-
midable witness, which will enlighten justice and will betray
his guilt and the perfidy of his projects. For he has not found
it, but.we will find it; it is necessary for us to have it to de-
feat M. Domini, and to change our doubts into certainty."
CHAPTER XL
A long silence followed the detective's discourse. Per-
haps his hearers were casting about for objections. At last
Dr. Gendron spoke:
"I don't see Guespin's part in all this."
"Nor I, very clearly," answered M. Lecoq. "And here I
ought to confess to you not only the strength, but the weak-
ness also, of the theory I have adopted. By this method,
which consists of reconstructing the crime before discovering
the criminal, I can be neither right nor wrong by halves.
Either all my inferences are correct, or not one of them is.
It's all, or nothing. If I am right, Guespin has not been
mixed up with this crime, at least directly; for there isn't a