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Updated: June 18, 2025
He looked up and perceived Gevrol, who, with three of his men, had come to cast his nets round about the markets, whence the police generally return with a good haul of thieves and vagabonds. "You are up very early this morning, Monsieur Lecoq," continued the inspector; "you are still trying to discover our man's identity, I suppose?" "Still trying."
Hence, the police veteran was now much more strongly convinced than his companion that the usually clever Gevrol had been mistaken, and accordingly he laughed the inspector to scorn. On hearing Lecoq affirm that women had taken part in the horrible scene at the Poivriere, his joy was extreme "A fine affair!" he exclaimed; "an excellent case!"
Why look, the poor devil did not even know how to put on his shoes; he has laced his gaiters wrong side outwards." Evidently further doubt was impossible after this evidence, which confirmed the truth of Lecoq's first remark to Inspector Gevrol. "Still, if this person was a civilian, how could he have procured this clothing?" insisted the commissary.
"A man can only do what he can!" "Ah!" murmured Lecoq in a low tone, perfectly audible, however, "why is not old Tirauclair here?" "What could he do more than we have done?" retorted Gevrol, directing a furious glance at his subordinate. Lecoq bowed his head and was silent, inwardly delighted at having wounded his chief. "Who is old Tirauclair?" asked M. Daburon.
"Naturally, but we do not see it." "I have been attacked; ask that old woman. I defended myself; I have killed I had a right to do so; it was in self-defense!" The gesture with which he enforced these words was so menacing that one of the agents drew Gevrol violently aside, saying, as he did so; "Take care, General, take care! The revolver has five barrels, and we have heard but two shots."
The most valuable testimony. On the Monday morning, at nine o'clock, M. Daburon was preparing to start for the Palais de Justice, where he expected to find Gevrol and his man, and perhaps old Tabaret. His preparations were nearly made, when his servant announced that a young lady, accompanied by another considerably older, asked to speak with him.
The men hastened to obey, with the exception of the youngest among them, the same who had won the General's passing praise. He approached his chief, and motioning that he desired to speak with him, drew him outside the door. When they were a few steps from the house, Gevrol asked him what he wanted. "I wish to know, General, what you think of this affair."
"It is nothing," declared the police agent, but as he spoke there was no mistaking the movement of his lower lip. It was evident that he considered the wound very dangerous, probably mortal. "It will be nothing," affirmed Gevrol in his turn; "wounds in the head, when they do not kill at once, are cured in a month." The wounded man smiled sadly. "I have received my death blow," he murmured.
He is a young man, a little above the middle height, elegantly dressed. He wore on that evening a high hat. He carried an umbrella, and smoked a trabucos cigar in a holder." "Ridiculous!" cried Gevrol. "This is too much." "Too much, perhaps," retorted old Tabaret. "At all events, it is the truth. If you are not minute in your investigations, I cannot help it; anyhow, I am, I search, and I find.
Still, if the catastrophe itself was a patent fact, its motive, its surroundings, could only be conjectured. Who could tell what circumstances had preceded and paved the way for this tragical denouement? It is true that all doubt might be dispelled by one discovery the identity of the murderer. Who was he? Who was right, Gevrol or Lecoq?
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