Monsieur Lecoq | Page 6

in force, you
can not escape; so lay down your arms."
"I am innocent," exclaimed the man, in a hoarse, strained voice.
"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."
But the inspector was inaccessible to fear; he freed himself from the
grasp of his subordinate and again stepped forward, speaking in a still
calmer tone. "No foolishness, my lad; if your case is a good one, which
is possible, after all, don't spoil it."
A frightful indecision betrayed itself on the young man's features. He
held Gevrol's life at the end of his finger, was he about to press the
trigger? No, he suddenly threw his weapon to the floor, exclaiming:
"Come and take me!" And turning as he spoke he darted into the
adjoining room, hoping doubtless to escape by some means of egress
which he knew of.
Gevrol had expected this movement. He sprang after him with
outstretched arms, but the table retarded his pursuit. "Ah!" he
exclaimed, "the wretch escapes us!"
But the fate of the fugitive was already decided. While Gevrol parleyed,
one of the agents--he who had peered through the shutters--had gone to
the rear of the house and effected an entrance through the back door.
As the murderer darted out, this man sprang upon him, seized him, and
with surprising strength and agility dragged him back. The murderer
tried to resist; but in vain. He had lost his strength: he tottered and fell
upon the table that had momentarily protected him, murmuring loud
enough for every one to hear: "Lost! It is the Prussians who are
coming!"
This simple and decisive maneuvre on the part of the subordinate had

won the victory, and at first it greatly delighted the inspector. "Good,
my boy," said he, "very good! Ah! you have a talent for your business,
and you will do well if ever an opportunity--"
But he checked himself; all his followers so evidently shared his
enthusiasm that a feeling of jealousy overcame him. He felt his prestige
diminishing, and hastened to add: "The idea had occurred to me; but I
could not give the order without warning the scoundrel himself."
This remark was superfluous. All the police agents had now gathered
around the murderer. They began by binding his feet and hands, and
then fastened him securely to a chair. He offered no resistance. His
wild excitement had given place to that gloomy prostration that follows
all unnatural efforts, either of mind or body. Evidently he had
abandoned himself to his fate.
When Gevrol saw that the men had finished their task, he called on
them to attend to the other inmates of the den, and in addition ordered
the lamps to be lit for the fire was going out. The inspector began his
examination with the two men lying near the fireplace. He laid his hand
on their hearts, but no pulsations were to be detected. He then held the
face of his watch close to their lips, but the glass remained quite clear.
"Useless," he murmured, after several trials, "useless; they are dead!
They will never see morning again. Leave them in the same position
until the arrival of the public prosecutor, and let us look at the other
one."
The third man still breathed. He was a young fellow, wearing the
uniform of a common soldier of the line. He was unarmed, and his
large bluish gray cloak was partly open, revealing his bare chest. The
agents lifted him very carefully--for he groaned piteously at the
slightest movement--and placed him in an upright position, with his
back leaning against the wall. He soon opened his eyes, and in a faint
voice asked for something to drink. They brought him a glass of water,
which he drank with evident satisfaction. He then drew a long breath,
and seemed to regain some little strength.
"Where are you wounded?" asked Gevrol.
"In the head, there," he responded, trying to raise one of his arms. "Oh!
how I suffer."
The police agent, who had cut off the murderer's retreat now
approached, and with a dexterity that an old surgeon might have envied,

made an examination of the gaping wound which the young man had
received in the back of the neck. "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