The Lerouge Case - Émile Gaboriau (e book reader for pc txt) 📗

the room, he added⁠—“Say nothing about my being unwell to anyone, Lubin; it is nothing at all. If I should feel worse, I will ring.”

At that moment, to see anyone, to hear a voice, to have to reply, was more than he could bear. He longed to be left entirely to himself.

After the painful emotions arising from his explanations with the count, he could not sleep. He opened one of the library windows, and looked out. It was a beautiful night: and there was a lovely moon. Seen at this hour, by the mild, tremulous evening light, the gardens attached to the mansion seemed twice their usual size. The moving tops of the great trees stretched away like an immense plain, hiding the neighbouring houses; the flowerbeds, set off by the green shrubs, looked like great black patches, while particles of shell, tiny pieces of glass, and shining pebbles sparkled in the carefully kept walks. The horses stamped in the stable and the rattling of their halter chains against the bars of the manger could be distinctly heard. In the coach-house the men were putting away for the night the carriage, always kept ready throughout the evening, in case the count should wish to go out.

Albert was reminded by these surroundings, of the magnificence of his past life. He sighed deeply.

“Must I, then, lose all this?” he murmured. “I can scarcely, even for myself, abandon so much splendour without regret; and thinking of Claire makes it hard indeed. Have I not dreamed of a life of exceptional happiness for her, a result almost impossible to realise without wealth?”

Midnight sounded from the neighbouring church of St. Clotilde, and as the night was chilly, he closed the window, and sat down near the fire, which he stirred. In the hope of obtaining a respite from his thoughts, he took up the evening paper, in which was an account of the assassination at La Jonchere; but he found it impossible to read: the lines danced before his eyes. Then he thought of writing to Claire. He sat down at his desk, and wrote, “My dearly loved Claire,” but he could go no further; his distracted brain could not furnish him with a single sentence.

At last, at break of day, he threw himself on to a sofa, and fell into a heavy sleep peopled with phantoms.

At half-past nine in the morning, he was suddenly awakened, by the noise of the door being hastily opened. A servant entered, with a scared look on his face, and so out of breath from having come up the stairs four at a time, that he could scarcely speak.

“Sir,” said he, “viscount, be quick, fly and hide, save yourself, they are here, it is the⁠—”

A commissary of police, wearing his sash, appeared at the door. He was followed by a number of men, among whom M. Tabaret could be seen, keeping as much out of sight as possible.

The commissary approached Albert.

“You are,” he asked, “Guy Louis Marie Albert de Rheteau de Commarin?”

“Yes, sir.”

The commissary placed his hand upon him, while pronouncing the usual formula: “M. de Commarin, in the name of the law I arrest you.”

“Me, sir? me?”

Albert, aroused suddenly from his painful dreams, seemed hardly to comprehend what was taking place, seemed to ask himself⁠—“Am I really awake? Is not this some hideous nightmare?”

He threw a stupid, astonished look upon the commissary of police, his men, and M. Tabaret, who had not taken his eyes off him.

“Here is the warrant,” added the commissary, unfolding the paper.

Mechanically Albert glanced over it.

“Claudine assassinated!” he cried.

Then very low, but distinct enough to be heard by the commissary, by one of his officers, and by old Tabaret, he added⁠—“I am lost!”

While the commissary was making inquiries, which immediately follow all arrests, the police officers spread through the apartments, and proceeded to a searching examination of them. They had received orders to obey M. Tabaret, and the old fellow guided them in their search, made them ransack drawers and closets, and move the furniture to look underneath or behind. They seized a number of articles belonging to the viscount⁠—documents, manuscripts, and a very voluminous correspondence; but it was with especial delight that M. Tabaret put his hands on certain articles, which were carefully described in their proper order in the official report:

In the anteroom, hung with all sorts of weapons, a broken foil was found behind a sofa. This foil has a peculiar handle, and is unlike those commonly sold. It is ornamented with the count’s coronet, and the initials A. C. It has been broken at about the middle; and the end cannot be found. When questioned, the viscount declared that he did not know what had become of the missing end.

In the dressing-room, a pair of black cloth trousers was discovered still damp, and bearing stains of mud or rather of mould. All one side is smeared with greenish moss, like that which grows on walls. On the front are numerous rents; and one near the knee is about four inches long. These trousers had not been hung up with the other clothes; but appear to have been hidden between two large trunks full of clothing.

In the pocket of the above mentioned trousers was found a pair of lavender kid gloves. The palm of the right hand glove bears a large greenish stain, produced by grass or moss. The tips of the fingers have been worn as if by rubbing. Upon the backs of both gloves are some scratches, apparently made by fingernails.

There were also found in the dressing-room two pairs of boots, one of which, though clean and polished, was still very damp; and an umbrella recently wetted, the end of which was still covered with a light coloured mud.

In a large room, called the library, were found a box of cigars of the trabucos brand, and on the mantel-shelf a number of cigar-holders in amber and meerschaum.

The last article noted down, M. Tabaret approached the commissary of police. “I have everything I could desire,” he