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It is true that the magistrate's penetration may have been due to some notes he had just perused notes containing an abstract of the woman's former life, and furnished by the chief of police at the magistrate's request. With a gesture of authority M. Segmuller warned Goguet, the clerk with the silly smile, to get his writing materials ready. He then turned toward the Widow Chupin.
The longer investigation is delayed the more difficult it becomes to adduce conclusive evidence. In the present instance there were various matters that M. Segmuller might at once attend to. With which should he begin? Ought he not to confront May, the Widow Chupin, and Polyte with the bodies of their victims?
A messenger has been sent to the prefecture after you already. M. Segmuller has charge of the case, and he's waiting for you." Doubt and perplexity were plainly written on Lecoq's forehead. He was trying to remember the magistrate that bore this name, and wondered whether he was a likely man to espouse his views.
Lecoq shuddered on hearing this question, which brought him face to face with the horrible reality of his situation. "To the Prefecture!" he responded. "Why should I go there? To expose myself to Gevrol's insults, perhaps? I haven't courage enough for that. Nor do I feel that I have strength to go to M. Segmuller and say: 'Forgive me: you have judged me too favorably. I am a fool!"
When he saw, however, that the magistrate was not alone, and when he recognized Polyte Chupin the original of the photograph in the man M. Segmuller was examining, his stupefaction became intense. He instantly perceived his mistake and understood its consequences. There was only one thing to be done. He must prevent any exchange of words between the two.
"But for that supposition, your words would have been meaningless?" "What words?" The magistrate turned to his clerk: "Goguet," said he, "read the last remark you took down." In a monotonous voice, the smiling clerk repeated: "I should like to kill the person who dared to say that I knew Lacheneur." "Well, then!" insisted M. Segmuller, "what did you mean by that?"
M. Segmuller stroked his chin, according to his habit whenever he considered that a prisoner had committed some grave blunder. "In that case," said he, "will you give me a specimen of your talent?" "Ah, ha!" laughed the prisoner, evidently supposing this to be a jest on the part of the magistrate. "Ah, ha!" "Obey me, if you please," insisted M. Segmuller. The supposed murderer made no objection.
If M. Segmuller had seated himself at his desk, that article of furniture would naturally have served as a rampart between the prisoner and himself. For purposes of convenience he usually did place himself behind it; but after Goguet's display of fear, he would have blushed to have taken the slightest measure of self-protection.
At last he ordered a messenger to go and see if he could not find Lecoq somewhere in the neighborhood; perhaps in some restaurant or cafe. "At all events, he must be found and brought back immediately," said he. When the man had started, M. Segmuller began to recover his composure. "We must not lose valuable time," he said to his clerk. "I was to examine the widow Chupin's son.
Such a description was bound to reassure the most skeptical mind, and M. Segmuller breathed again: "Now that I am easy on that score," said he, "I should like some information about another prisoner a fellow named Chupin, who isn't in the secret cells. I want to know if any visitor came for him yesterday."
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