"That," he resumed, "is the first act of the drama.An irresistible prostration succeeds the count's furious passion.The various circumstances which I am describing to you are to be noticed in nearly all great crimes.The assassin is always seized, after the murder, with a horrible and singular hatred against his victim, and he often mutilates the body.Then comes the period of a prostration so great, of torpor so irresistible, that murderers have been known literally to go to sleep in the blood, that they have been surprised sleeping, and that it was with great difficulty that they were awakened.The count, when he has frightfully disfigured the poor lady, falls into an arm-chair; indeed, the cloth of one of the chairs has retained some wrinkles, which shows that someone had sat in it.What are then the count's thoughts? He reflects on the long hours which have elapsed, upon the few hours which remain to him.He reflects that he has found nothing; that he will hardly have time, before day, to execute his plans for turning suspicion from him, and assure his safety, by creating an impression that he, too, has been murdered.And he must fly at once - fly, without that accursed paper.He summons up his energies, rises, and do you know what he does? He seizes a pair of scissors and cuts off his long, carefully cultivated beard.""Ah!" interrupted M.Plantat, "that's why you examined the portrait so closely."M.Lecoq was too intent on following the thread of his deductions to note the interruption.
"This is one of those vulgar details," pursued he, "whose very insignificance makes them terrible, when they are attended by certain circumstances.Now imagine the Count de Tremorel, pale, covered with his wife's blood, shaving himself before his glass;rubbing the soap over his face, in that room all topsy-turvy, while three steps off lies the still warm and palpitating body!
It was an act of terrible courage, believe me, to look at himself in the glass after a murder - one of which few criminals are capable.The count's hands, however, trembled so violently that he could scarcely hold his razor, and his face must have been cut several times.""What!" said 'Dr.Gendron, "do you imagine that the count spared the time to shave?""I am positively sure of it, pos-i-tive-ly.A towel on which Ihave found one of those marks which a razor leaves when it is wiped - and one only - has put me on the track of this fact.Ilooked about, and found a box of razors, one of which had recently been used, for it was still moist; and I have carefully preserved both the towel and the box.And if these proofs are not enough, I will send to Paris for two of my men, who will find, somewhere in the house or the garden, both the count's beard and the cloth with which he wiped his razor.As to the fact which surprises you, Doctor, it seems to me very natural; more, it is the necessary result of the plan headopted.Monsieur de Tremorel has always worn his full beard: he cuts it off, and his appearance is so entirely altered, that if he met anyone in his flight, he would not be recognized."The doctor was apparently convinced, for he cried:
"It's clear - it's evident,"
"Once thus disguised, the count hastens to carry out the rest of his plan, to arrange everything to throw the law off the scent, and to make it appear that he, as well as his wife, has been murdered.
He hunts up Guespin's vest, tears it out at the pocket, and puts a piece of it in the countess's hand.Then taking the body in his arms, crosswise, he goes downstairs.The wounds bleed frightfully - hence the numerous stains discovered all along his path.Reaching the foot of the staircase he is obliged to put the countess down, in order to open the garden-door.This explains the large stain in the vestibule.The count, having opened the door, returns for the body and carries it in his arms as far as the edge of the lawn;there he stops carrying it, and drags it by the shoulders, walking backward, trying thus to create the impression that his own body has been dragged across there and thrown into the Seine.But the wretch forgot two things which betray him to us.He did not reflect that the countess's skirts, in being dragged along the grass, pressing it down and breaking it for a considerable space, spoiled his trick.Nor did he think that her elegant and well-curved feet, encased in small high-heeled boots, would mould themselves in the damp earth of the lawn, and thus leave against him a proof clearer than the day."M.Plantat rose abruptly.
"Ah," said he, "you said nothing of this before.""Nor of several other things, either.But I was before ignorant of some facts which I now know; and as I had reason to suppose that you were better informed than I, I was not sorry to avenge myself for a caution which seemed to me mysterious.
"Well, you are avenged," remarked the doctor, smiling.
