My Memoirs Part 32

_Answer._ "I make personal inquiries for people.... As regards this particular case, _I would rather not tell you the name of the person for whom I made the investigations_, as I consider myself bound by 'professional secrecy.' _At first, the object of my inquiries was to find out all that Madame Steinheil did--that is, in August 1908._ That is how I took the necessary steps to see her, and did see her, at Bellevue. It was also in these circ.u.mstances that I watched her two or three days later at the Saint-Lazare Station, and saw her talk, then lunch with the man I told you of. I found out nothing in particular about Madame Steinheil's doings. In November I made inquiries about Rossignol. This was after the publication in the Pet.i.t Parisien which stated that Madame Steinheil had special relations with an inspector--afterwards dismissed--who had had to make inquiries at her house on the occasion of a burglary, which took place two years ago, I believe. I found out that the only Inspector in the Vaugirard district who had been recently dismissed was called Rossignol. I heard Rossignol was at Avesnes-le-Comte, and I went there. I had made inquiries, and had discovered that the man had a bad reputation, and had been connected with burglars. At Avesnes-le-Comte.... I talked to Rossignol about the article in the _Pet.i.t Parisien_; he said he had not seen it; I made him read it, and he said afterwards: 'No, I don't believe they mean me in that article, especially as _I have never known Mme. Steinheil, have never seen her, and have only heard of her through the newspapers_.' I then asked him whether he thought the murder in the Impa.s.se Ronsin had been committed by one of the Vaugirard gang. To this he replied: 'No; there are no heads strong enough in Vaugirard to-day, to carry out such a crime.' I concluded our interview by telling him: 'I am returning to Paris to render an account of my mission to the person who sent me, and it is possible that that person will contradict the article in the Pet.i.t Parisien.' The contradiction appeared in the _Matin_ on November 17, but I must tell you that it was not for this newspaper that I went to Avesnes-le-Comte. Since my interview with Rossignol in that city, I have seen him--the last time at Dijon, towards December 10. I went to Dijon for the same person who had sent me to Avesnes-le-Comte. There Rossignol merely confirmed what he had told me before.... I am not sure that the woman whom I saw at the Saint-Lazare Station was really Mme. Steinheil.

Two or three days before I had seen her, or rather the person I thought was Mme. Steinheil--for all I had was a description--near Vert-Logis, without a hat, in ordinary dress. The woman I saw at the station wore a full mourning and a thick veil, and it is quite possible I made a mistake. Also when I saw Rossignol at Avesnes-le-Comte, I was not absolutely certain that I was standing before the man I had seen at the station with the lady I have just mentioned."

_Question._ "_To sum up your explanations, it appears that you are unable to a.s.sert that in August last, at the Saint-Lazare Station and at Scossa's, you really saw Rossignol and Mme. Steinheil._"

_Answer._ "_No, I cannot be positive on the point; besides that is exactly what I have always told to the person for whom I made those investigations._"...

(_Dossier_ Cote 923)

And it was on the strength of such "discoveries" that M. Sauerwein thought fit to insult an unfortunate and innocent woman, and fiercely accuse her, to her own face, of a ghastly crime!

CHAPTER XIX

THE PEARL IN THE POCKET-BOOK

Maitre Aubin grew daily more alarmed at the turn events were taking. He read a number of the anonymous letters I received, went carefully through every newspaper, felt the pulse of the Public, and shook his head in dismay. One morning he said to me: "Go to my friend Goron, the ex-Chief of the _Surete_. He has founded a private agency, and he may be able to a.s.sist you. I have the greatest confidence in his ability and his _flair_."

I followed this advice. M. Goron, a small, smart man, with white hair and moustache, searching eyes, a keen, intelligent expression, received me at once.

I may mention here that I am firmly convinced that, like M. Leydet, M.

Hamard, the successor of M. Goron at the _Surete_, always believed in my absolute innocence, and I readily recognise that he treated me not only with the utmost fairness, but with dignified courtesy.... But I felt that, whenever he promised to spare no efforts in the search for the murderers, he was not quite sincere. My impression has ever been that M.

Hamard, for reasons which I have never fully fathomed, had his hands tied, as it were....

M. Goron went straight to the point, in a persuasive though very blunt manner: "I have my views on this mystery, and I will tell you what they are.... I may possibly hurt your feelings, but--I always speak my mind.

The Affair is quite clear to me. It is _not_ a 'low crime' (_un crime c.r.a.puleux_). The Burlingham clue?... Nonsense, farce, absurdity. The case is more serious. Between ourselves--you have never spoken about your close relations with Felix Faure.... You did wisely; the law doesn't want to know about that portion of your life, however important it may be in connection with the murder.... But my opinion is this: that the murder is a direct sequel to your friendship with the late President. You have been brave and discreet, and I congratulate you. As a matter of fact, you know too many things, and that kind of knowledge is always dangerous.... I know all about your friendship with Felix Faure, of course; I also know that you had nothing to do with his strange death, and I further know that you have nothing to do with the a.s.sa.s.sination of your mother and your husband. Your husband had too much confidence in various persons who were not worthy of it, and he paid dearly for his grave mistake...."

I was conquered by the evident sincerity and the business-like ways of M. Goron, and without hesitation I told him about the pearl necklace, the doc.u.ments, and the "mysterious German."

He then said, quite simply: "Exactly. I had guessed something of the sort. The Impa.s.se Ronsin affair is not unique of its kind. There is nothing absolutely new in it. I believe that what took place is this.

Some man or men--who did it for the money the doc.u.ments might represent, or out of _fanfaronade_ or some kind of morbidness--heard that you possessed most interesting papers. They managed to become close friends of your husband. They found out, somehow, that the house would be empty that day, since you had decided to go to Bellevue. You know the rest."

I told M. Goron about the letters I was constantly receiving.

"Yes, yes," he said. "All this may be interesting. I have a good mind to lend you some of my men. There are workmen in your house just now. Well, my men will disguise themselves as workmen, and they will observe everything and everybody. I have never seen your house. Will you receive me and my son? I will look the place over. My son will a.s.sist me. We will come as foreigners who wish to visit the studio...."

I consented, of course. M. Goron came to the Impa.s.se Ronsin the next day and examined everything with his son. Before going he said to me: "Persevere in your endeavours to solve the problem, but take care of yourself. Leave the Press alone. Tell the journalists you are exhausted, done for.... You are in a terrible state; you will lose your reason, if you go on with this kind of life. I have known even the strongest men come to such a state, in their desire to work out a murder mystery that the Law had given up, that they have had to be put in an asylum, or they have been seeing the murderers everywhere. I could quote to you the example of two men, both of superior intellect, who committed two dreadful crimes, convinced that they were killing the a.s.sa.s.sins they had so long been searching for; one of them is a convict now; the other died in prison--he was one of my friends--and all the members of his family were ruined and disgraced.... Look here, I will give you some sound advice: Think of your daughter. Go with her to Bellevue or to the Riviera, where it is bright and sunny. Try to forget. Send me all the letters you receive, even those from the people you trust, from your friends.... Everybody seems to have an influence over you.... That is bad, bad."...

"No," I said. "I must fight to the end. You will see I shall win yet, and the whole world will know...."

He interrupted me: "Leave the world alone. Think of yourself, think of your child, and let me act for you. You are in a fever, your eyes have an unhealthy glow, you look worn out. At this rate, in a week's time you will be seriously ill. If I were your doctor, I should lock you up for a time in a nursing home.... Meanwhile, I will send you some of my men who will carry out my instructions. But promise me to do nothing, and to go away and rest soon, very soon!..."

I promised, and shook M. Goron warmly by the hand. Then I went home, very much pacified and fully determined to follow his excellent advice.

When I reached home, I found a journalist waiting for me. He was M. D., an eighteen-year-old reporter. He came frequently and always had extraordinary things to say against Couillard--things which, curiously enough, tallied with the remarks about my valet contained in a large number of the anonymous letters I received. (Couillard was now once more in my service. He had not found a situation as a chauffeur and had returned to me.)

"Madame," explained the young journalist; "you can go and tell M. Hamard about Couillard. I know all about him!"

I was truly amazed at the number of people I met who dramatically declared to me that they knew all about me and every one else!... Still I listened to M. D. intently, as he gave me extraordinary information about Couillard, his family, his past, his habits and what not.

"To be quite on the safe side," M. D. concluded, "I would like to know the name of Couillard's birth-place. I want to know why he left his village to come to Paris.... Did you know, Madame, that your valet, who you told me said he had never been in Paris and could not find his way about, had been in Paris for two years as a navvy!"

I was amazed. "You must be mistaken!" I exclaimed, but the journalist gave me all kinds of convincing details, and I began to remember the denunciations in the anonymous letters.... A few untruths spoken by my valet did not prove that he was a murderer, but I was not in a normal state of mind, and M. D. spoke with such pa.s.sion that I began to think he was right. I had been in the past months so often swung from clue to clue that I was ready to admit almost everything. He told me about the private life of Couillard, gave me details about his "friends."... "He probably possesses an 'ident.i.ty-card,' I should very much like to see it. But if we ask him for it, he will guess something if he is guilty or if he knows things about the murder which he does not dare to say....

How could we arrange to get at the information I need, without alarming him?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: I. M. DE BALINCOURT II. REMY COUILLARD

Sketches by Mme. Steinheil]

I went to Mariette, and asked her about Couillard. The old cook said to me, in her usual rough but not unpleasant manner: "Madame, I don't know anything. He comes from a village.... Are they going to worry Couillard now? Are they going to ask me questions again? I am tired of all journalists, and I am tired of the police."

"Mariette," I said. "Do you know the name of Couillard's village, yes or no. I am told it is essential to know it."

"Ah! Well, if that's all you ask, it is a simple matter. His overcoat is here. You will find the name you want in one of his pockets, in his pocket-book."

I returned to M. D. and said: "I don't know what to do. What you want is in Couillard's coat."

"What does it matter, Madame? There is no harm in examining his pocket-book. All I need, after all, is an address."

Mariette brought the pocket-book. M. D. opened it, found in it the address he wanted, when, suddenly, I noticed in the pocket-book an envelope with Marthe's handwriting, and addressed to her fiance, Pierre Buisson. My daughter, who was present, took the letter and exclaimed: "Mother, that is the letter I wrote to Pierre on the eve of All Saints'

Day!"

"What! Has Couillard kept the letter all this time!"

M.D. rubbed his hands: "You see, I was right about Couillard. A letter written by your daughter is found in your valet's pocket-book, that is most suspicious. He surely did not take the letter just for the sake of the stamp, which has been cut off, by the way. He would have destroyed the letter." He hesitated, then, suddenly exclaimed: "That letter was written--and stolen--at the very time you had decided to take up the Affair again. I suppose Couillard wanted to know what you and your daughter intended doing.... Let me go and examine his bag. We may discover something more important and more conclusive." M.D. went up to the attic with Marthe. Couillard was not in the house at the time. I had engaged him again at the end of October, to please my daughter; she thought, very justly, that if Couillard had been unable to find a situation, it was on account of the Impa.s.se Ronsin drama, and owing to the fact that after his examination at Boulogne, there had been rumours of his arrest. Couillard worked in the house all day, but did not sleep there. He had asked me, however, to let him leave his bag in the attic, and he frequently went up there.

M.D. returned and said: "The bag is locked, and so I cannot open it. But we are nearing the solution of the mystery!"

When the young journalist had gone, I had a long conversation with my daughter. Marthe was amazed. She could not believe what she had seen.

She had always had the greatest confidence in Couillard. We both tried to find out why he had stolen that letter. It could not have been for the sake of a penny stamp! What was the real reason, then?... (Later another stolen letter was found, in Couillard's bag this time, a letter written by me to an old friend, Mlle. Lefevre.)

Since that dreadful month of November 1908, I have fully realised my mistake. I asked my former valet's forgiveness at my trial, as I have already stated, and I do so now, unhesitatingly, in these Memoirs.

Moreover, I have gladly offered him, recently, some financial compensation. I did a dreadful thing when I accused him without proofs of his guilt. But the reader should try to bear in mind the state I was in--a state of mind which made me see as proofs the untruths he had told me about his past, and the letters he had stolen.

All night long I lay awake, and worked myself up against Couillard.... I remembered and re-read the anonymous letters... in which he was stated to be the murderer, or, at any rate, a "man who knew," and others telling me: "What Public Opinion does not understand is why you should have been spared, whilst your husband and your mother were killed." And he was still alive, like myself! I was told over and over again that the murder must have been committed by some one who lived in the house.

Well, there were only Couillard and myself besides the victims, in the house. Since it was not I, it must be Couillard!... Then there was the key that he had lost shortly before the fatal night.... Then, he had kept the revolver, instead of handing it back to my husband.... I thought, too, of another crime, the murder of M. Remy, a banker, a week or so after the Impa.s.se Tragedy. M. Remy had been killed by his valet, a young man... who was not suspected for a long time, and it suddenly occurred to me that Couillard had been out on Sat.u.r.day, May 30, in the evening. I had sent him to take a wedding present--the Sevres vase--to M. Ch.'s daughter.... On his way Couillard had perhaps met his accomplices. During the night he had left his room above the studio, and gone down to receive the other men. The red-haired woman was perhaps his mistress, and he had let her come so that she might get some of the jewels.... Couillard was rather timid and nervous. Perhaps he was the one man who remained motionless, near the door of my room, and whose eyes had looked so frightened.... I did not recognise him because of the black gown, the long felt hat, and the false beard. It must have been a false beard.... How my imagination ran riot, how the most insignificant facts that I had observed began to fit in with the theory with which I became more and more obsessed. Madness had begun. Henceforth, I was almost irresponsible. I had had so many shocks, gone through so many crises, been played with, insulted, threatened, accused, and tortured so relentlessly during the past weeks that I ceased to distinguish between what was right and what was wrong, what good and what bad, what criminal and what legitimate.... I was in the hands of several journalists, who forced my door open when I refused to receive them, who treated my house as their own, and wrote almost anything they pleased about me. So many clues had been taken up and abandoned, that I clung desperately to this one. Yes, Couillard would have to confess, and then it would all be over. I should have the right to live, to breathe, to sleep.... I had no friends.... My beloved Marthe was as ill as I was, and wept day after day. She had lost her father, her grandmother, her fiance.... Winter had come, with howling winds, chill, driving rain, and days of gloom.... It was dark and it was cold.... An effort, and I should win. Yes, M. D. was right; Couillard was the man. Of course he was the criminal... of course....

The next morning there came more letters, still more letters, and Couillard's name was mentioned in most of them....

I went to M. Goron, the ex-chief of the _Surete_, in whose judgment I had the greatest confidence, and told him all about the discovery of the stolen letter.

He was greatly surprised: "Of course," he explained, "there may be nothing in it, but it certainly looks suspicious. Your valet will have to be carefully watched. Now, don't do anything without the Chief of the _Surete_. Write to Hamard about this new development or send some one to him. Ask for two inspectors, who will witness the discovery of the letter in the pocket-book. Do everything to-day. Couillard might destroy the letter, if he suspected anything."

"And if M. Hamard attaches no importance to the discovery, and refuses?"