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Updated: June 18, 2025
In the second place, the assassin arrived here before half-past nine; that is to say, before the rain fell. No more than M. Gevrol have I been able to discover traces of muddy footsteps; but under the table, on the spot where his feet rested, I find dust. We are thus assured of the hour. The widow did not in the least expect her visitor.
"I don't mind making a bet on it; and the best evidence of my belief is, that I have sent three men, under the surveillance of a gendarme, to drag the Seine at the nearest spot from here. If they succeed in finding the bundle, I have promised them a recompense." "Out of your own pocket, old enthusiast?" "Yes, M. Gevrol, out of my own pocket."
This proposition seemed anything but pleasing to the old police agent. "Eh! what is the use of that?" he exclaimed. "I know the General. When he goes in search of the commissary, as he has gone this evening, there is nothing more to be done. Do you think you can see anything that he didn't see?" "I think that Gevrol, like every one else, is liable to be mistaken.
But before we part I'll give you a light to find your way with. Do you know who that witness is that I've brought?" "No; but tell me, my good M. Gevrol." "Well, that fellow on the bench there, who is waiting for M. Daburon, is the husband of the victim of the La Jonchere tragedy!" "Is it possible?" exclaimed old Tabaret, perfectly astounded.
"You see that Gevrol already speaks ill of me; he is jealous." "Ah, well! what does that matter to you? If you succeed, you will have your revenge. If you are mistaken then I am mistaken, too." Then, as it was already late, M. Segmuller confided to Lecoq's keeping the various articles the latter had accumulated in support of his theory.
To send Father Absinthe where a shrewd and subtle agent was required was a mockery. Still Lecoq did not protest, for it was better to be badly served than to be betrayed; and he could at least trust Father Absinthe. "It doesn't much matter," continued Gevrol; "but you should have informed me of this last evening. However, when I reached the prefecture you had gone." "I had some work to do."
"M. Tabaret," said the magistrate, "your investigation is admirable; and I am persuaded your inferences are correct." "Ah!" cried Lecoq, "is he not colossal, my old Tirauclair?" "Pyramidal!" cried Gevrol ironically.
"Here come Gevrol and two of our comrades with the commissary of police and two other gentlemen." It was, indeed, the commissary who was approaching, interested but not disturbed by this triple murder which was sure to make his arrondissement the subject of Parisian conversation during the next few days. Why, indeed, should he be troubled about it?
She suddenly ceased her hypocritical lamentations, rose, placed her hands defiantly on her hips, and poured forth a torrent of invective upon Gevrol and his agents, accusing them of persecuting her family ever since they had previously arrested her son, a good-for-nothing fellow.
When Gevrol had torn the apron off Widow Chupin's head he had thrown it upon the steps of the stairs; neither of the police agents had since touched it. And yet the pockets of this apron were now turned inside out; this was a proof, this was evidence. At this discovery Lecoq was overcome with consternation, and the contraction of his features revealed the struggle going on in his mind.
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