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The countess held a piece of cloth tightly in her hand; therefore it was put there, intentionally, by the murderers." M. Domini did not hear this remark. He shook hands with M. Plantat and made an appointment to meet him on the morrow, at the court-house. Then he went away with his clerk.
Did M. Plantat give an absolutely disinterested opinion, or did he make an insinuation? The judge of instruction looked at him attentively, to reassure himself, but his visage expressed nothing but a profound serenity. He told the story as he would any other, no matter what. "Please go on, Monsieur," resumed M. Domini. "Alas!" said M. Plantat, "nothing here below is eternal, not even grief.
He would have asked what right I had to interfere in his affairs." "But the girl?" M. Plantat sighed heavily. "Though I detest mixing up with what does not concern me, I did try one day to talk with her. With infinite precaution and delicacy, and without letting her see that I knew all, I tried to show her the abyss near which she was drawing." "And what did she reply?" "Nothing.
"What's that to me?" was his invariable exclamation. Such was the man who, a quarter of an hour after Baptiste's departure, entered the mayor's house. M. Plantat was tall, thin, and nervous. His physiognomy was not striking. His hair was short, his restless eyes seemed always to be seeking something, his very long nose was narrow and sharp.
He was, perhaps, the least tormented of the four companions at this funereal repast. The crime did not seem to him one of those which keep judges of instruction sleepless through the night; he saw clearly the motive of it; and he had Bertaud and Guespin, two of the assassins, or at least accomplices, secure. M. Plantat and Dr.
Petit, whose eavesdropping projects were checked by this order. "They will, perhaps, need something." "I will show them their rooms," said M. Plantat, dryly. "And if they need anything, I shall be here." They went into the library. M. Plantat brought out a box of cigars and passed them round: "It will be healthful to smoke a little before retiring."
The doctor had not been present at the various episodes which, during the day at Valfeuillu and in the evening at the mayor's, had established a tacit understanding between Plantat and Lecoq. He needed all the shrewdness he possessed to fill up the gaps and understand the hidden meanings of the conversation to which he had been listening for two hours.
'Besides, he added, 'my master is an American; he gives us our orders in French, but Madame and he always talk English together." M. Lecoq's eye glistened as Palot proceeded. "Tremorel speaks English, doesn't he?" asked he of M. Plantat. "Quite well; and Laurence too." "If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorel shaved his beard off on the night of the murder.
I could not resist the tears of a poor old mother, who clung to my knees and implored pardon for her son. To-day I am going to exceed my right, and to risk an attempt for which my conscience will perhaps reproach me. I yield to your entreaty." "Oh, my dear Lecoq, how grateful I am!" cried M. Plantat, transported with joy. But the detective remained grave, almost sad, and reflected.
He seizes a pair of scissors and cuts off his long, carefully cultivated beard." "Ah!" interrupted M. Plantat, "that's why you examined the portrait so closely." M. Lecoq was too intent on following the thread of his deductions to note the interruption.
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