I am
positive as regards that fellow Gustave--I read it in her eyes. I am
also convinced that she knows Lacheneur--the man upon whom the dying
soldier breathed vengeance--the mysterious personage who evidently
possesses the key to the enigma. That man must be found."
"Ah!" replied Lecoq, "and I will find him even if I have to question
every one of the eleven hundred thousand men who constantly walk the
streets of Paris!"
This was promising so much that the magistrate, despite his
preoccupation, could not repress a smile.
"If this old woman would only decide to make a clean breast of it at her
next examination!" remarked Lecoq.
"Yes. But she won't."
The young detective shook his head despondently. Such was his own
opinion. He did not delude himself with false hopes, and he had noticed
between the Widow Chupin's eyebrows those furrows which, according to
physiognomists, indicate a senseless, brutish obstinacy.
"Women never confess," resumed the magistrate; "and even when they
seemingly resign themselves to such a course they are not sincere. They
fancy they have discovered some means of misleading their examiner. On
the contrary, evidence will crush the most obstinate man; he gives up
the struggle, and confesses. Now, a woman scoffs at evidence. Show her
the sun; tell her it's daytime; at once she will close her eyes and
say to you, 'No, it's night.' Male prisoners plan and combine different
systems of defense according to their social positions; the women, on
the contrary, have but one system, no matter what may be their condition
in life.
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