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Published in the United States of America by

Cherry Lake Publishing

Ann Arbor, Michigan

www.cherrylakepublishing.com

Content Adviser: David Hunsanger, Rural Letter Carrier, Port Austin, Michigan

Reading Adviser: Marla Conn MS, Ed., Literacy specialist, Read-Ability, Inc.

Photo Credits: © Monkey Business Images/Shutterstock Images, cover, 1; © Ellen Isaacs/

Alamy Stock Photo, 4; © AVAVA/Shutterstock Images, 6; © David R. Frazier Photolibrary, Inc./

Alamy Stock Photo, 8; © 67photo/Alamy Stock Photo, 10; © age fotostock/Alamy Stock Photo, 12;

© Charles Robertson/Alamy Stock Photo, 14; © LesPalenik/Shutterstock Images, 16; © MilousSK/

Shutterstock Images, 18; © IPGGutenbergUKLtd/iStock Images, 20

Copyright © 2017 by Cherry Lake Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any

form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Colby, Jennifer, 1971- author.

Title: Post office / by Jennifer Colby.

Description: Ann Arbor : Cherry Lake Publishing, [2016] | Series: 21st

century junior library | Series: Explore a workplace | Includes

bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2015048513| ISBN 9781634710763 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781634711753 (pdf) |

ISBN 9781634712743 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781634713733 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Postal service—Juvenile literature.

Classification: LCC HE6078 .C65 2016 | DDC 383/.42—dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015048513

Cherry Lake Publishing would like to acknowledge the work of The Partnership for 21st Century Learning.

Please visit www.p21.org for more information.

Printed in the United States of America

Corporate Graphics

ISBN-13: 978-1-68444-493-9 (e-book)

Synchred Read-Along Version by:

Triangle Interactive LLC

PO Box 573

Prior Lake, MN 55372

CONTENTS

5 What Is a Post Office?

11 Post Office Workers

19 Do You Want to Work

at the Post Office?

22 Glossary

23 Find Out More

24 Index

24 About the Author

 Post office workers help people every day.

4
What Is a

Post Office?

You are in a line. Others wait with you.

You see people with letters and packages.

Some people need to buy stamps. Others

have questions about how to send their mail.

Where are you? You are at a post of fice!

 The post office sells stamps.

6
 You go to the post of fice to send mail.

Do you need to send a package to a friend

who lives far away? Mail for your family

arrives at the post of fice. How does that

mail get to your house? It takes many

people to deliver the mail.

 There are many jobs to do at the post office.

8
 There are many kinds of jobs at the

post of fice. Clerks help you send mail.

Mail carriers deliver mail. Are you ready

to learn more about post of fice workers?

Make a Guess!
Guess how many people work at a post office. Write down your

guess. Visit a post office with a parent. Ask the clerk how many

people work there. Was your guess correct?

 A postmaster must be organized.

10
Post Office Workers

A postmaster runs the post of fice.

The postmaster must be a good leader.

The postmaster is in charge of the workers.

Customers can talk with the postmaster.

The postmaster makes sure people can

easily send and receive mail.

 Clerks are happy to answer questions.

12
 Post of fice clerks help customers. They

work at the front counter. They prepare your

packages to be mailed. They sell stamps

and mailing materials. Clerks answer

questions about the mail.

Think!
Post office clerks weigh packages on a scale. Then they figure out

the cost to mail it. The cost depends on the weight of the package.

Do you think it costs more to send a heavy item? Why or why not?
 People all over the world get mail.

14
 Other workers sort the mail. Machines

help them do this. It is a complicated job.

Ever y piece of mail must go to the correct

mail carrier.

Mail carriers deliver the mail. They take

letters and packages to the right address.

Mail carriers also pick up mail from stores,

homes, and mailboxes. They take this mail

to the post of fice.

 This truck is called a Long Life Vehicle.

It is designed to help mail carriers reach curbside mailboxes.

16
 Truck drivers deliver the mail from one

city to another. Mail handlers unload the

mail from the trucks. They bring the mail

inside the post of fice. Workers use

machines to sor t the mail. Mechanics fix

the machines and trucks. Custodians

keep the post of fice clean.

The post of fice has many workers.

Each one wants to help you send and

receive mail.
 Post office workers sort mail from all over the world.

18
Do You Want to

Work at the Post

Office?

Would you like to work at a post of fice?

Talk to workers when you visit the post

of fice. Do they like their job?

What skills do they need to do their

jobs? They need to pay close attention to

details. They must be friendly. Post of fice

workers must like helping others.

 Many workers help get your mail to you.

20
 You can practice working at a post

of fice. Sor t your family’s mail. Deliver

each letter to the right person.

There are many jobs at a post of fice.

Learn as much as you can now. This will

help you decide if a post of fice job is right

for you!

Ask Questions!
Do you want to be a mail carrier? Ask your mail carrier

about his job. How many hours each day does it take to deliver

the mail? What is the hardest part of the job? What does he

or she like the most?

 GLOSSARY

clerks (KLURKS) people who sor t mechanics (muh-KAN-iks) people

mail and help customers send who fix machines or make sure they

letters and packages are working correctly

custodians (kuhs-TOH-dee-uhnz)
packages (PAK-ij-iz) boxes filled

people who clean buildings such as

with items

the post of fice

postmaster (POHST-mas-tur) a
details (DEE-taylz) the small par ts

person in charge of a post of fice

of something

scale (SKAYL) a machine that is

mail (MAYL) packages or letters

used for weighing people or things

that are delivered by the post of fice

mail carriers (MAYL KAIR-ee-urz)

sor t (SORT) to separate or put

people who deliver mail and pick up

things in a cer tain order

mail from mailboxes, stores, and

homes

22
FIND OUT MORE

BOOKS

Murray, Julie. Mail Carriers. Edina, MN: Abdo Kids, 2015.

Rosario, Miguel. A Mail Carrier’s Job. New York: Cavendish Square

Publishing, 2014.

WEB SITES

The Kid Should See This—United States Postal Service:

Systems at Work

http://thekidshouldseethis.com/post/united-states-postal-ser vice-

systems-at-work

Watch a step-by-step video of how your mail reaches its destination.

Kentucky Educational Television—Electronic Field Trip to the

Post Office

https://www.ket.org/trips/postof fice/

Watch KET’s video about visiting the U.S. Postal Ser vice.
 INDEX

C M S

clerks, 9, 13 machines, 15, 17 scales, 13

custodians, 17 mailboxes, 15 sor ting, 15, 17, 21

mail carriers, 9, 15, 21 stamps, 5, 13

D mail handlers, 17

details, 19
mechanics, 17
T

trucks, 17

L P

letters, 5, 7, 15,
packages, 5, 7, 13,
W

21
15 workers, 9, 11, 15,

postmasters, 11
17, 19

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer Colby is the author of many books for children. She is a high

school librarian in Michigan. She goes to the post of fice to mail

packages of books to her nephews in Washington.

24
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
the mean time the grandmother, and Barbe Girot, Marie Prévol's
servant, were interrogated.
Madame Lemarque stated that her daughter was an actress at the
Porte-Saint-Martin. She was very beautiful, and was more renowned
for her grace and beauty than for her acting. She danced and sang
and acted in fairy scenes. She was only three-and-twenty years of
age at the time of her death.
Upon being asked by the judge whether her daughter led a strictly
moral life, Madame Lemarque replied that her conduct was purity
itself as compared with that of many ladies who acted in fairy
pieces.
"But there was some one, perhaps," insinuated the judge, "there is
always some one. So beautiful a woman must have had many
admirers. I have her photograph here. It is an exquisite face, a
beauty quite out of the common, refined, spiritual. Surely among her
many admirers there must have been one whom she favoured above
all the rest?"
"Yes, there was one, and it was that one who murdered my
daughter and Monsieur de Maucroix. No one can doubt it."
"But you have no actual knowledge of the fact? You speak upon
conjecture?"
"Who else should murder her? Whom did she ever injure, poor child?
She was amiability itself—the kindest of comrades, charitable, good
to everybody."
"What do you know of this person whom you suspect?"
"Nothing except that which I heard from my daughter."
"Did you never see him?"
"Never. If he had been the Emperor he could not have been more
mysterious in his goings to and fro. I was never allowed to see him."
"Was he often at your daughter's apartment?"
"Very often. He used to go there after the theatre. He was devoted
to her. There were some who believed that he was her husband,
that he loved her too passionately to deny her anything she might
ask. When she was not acting he took her abroad, to Italy—to Spain.
If it were only for a holiday for a fortnight, he would carry her off to
some remote village in the Italian Alps or the Pyrenees. I used to tell
her that he was ashamed of his love for her, or he would not have
hidden her in those distant places. He would have taken her to
Dieppe or Arcachon, where she would have been seen and
admired."
"Did you ever find out who this person is?"
"Never."
"But you must know something about him and his circumstances.
Was he a nobleman, or did he belong to the mercantile class?"
"I know nothing except that he was rich. He showered gifts upon my
daughter. He would have taken her off the stage if she would have
allowed him. He would have given her a house and gardens at
Bougival instead of her little apartment on a third floor in the Rue
Lafitte; but she loved the theatre, and she had a proud spirit, poor
child—she had not the temper of la femme entretenue."
"What was the name of this person?"
"Monsieur Georges. I never heard of him by any other name."
"Did your daughter reciprocate his passion?"
"For a long time she seemed to do so. They were like lovers in a
story. That lasted for years—from the time of her first appearance at
the Porte-Saint-Martin, which was four years before her death. And
then there came a change. Monsieur de Maucroix fell in love with
her, followed her about everywhere, worshipped her. And he was
young and handsome and fascinating, with the style, and manners
of a prince. He had spent all his life in palaces; had been attached to
the Emperor's household from his boyhood; had fought bravely
through the war."
"Had you reason to know that Monsieur Georges was jealous of
Monsieur de Maucroix?"
"Yes, my daughter told me that there had been scenes."
"Had the two men met?"
"I think not."
"How long had Monsieur de Maucroix been an avowed admirer of
your daughter?"
"Only a few months—since Easter, I think. My granddaughter used to
see him when she was staying with her aunt."
"Could you reconcile it to your conscience to allow your grandchild to
live in the house of an aunt who was leading—well, we will say a
doubtful life?"
"There was no harm in my daughter's life that I knew of. Monsieur
Georges may have been my daughter's husband. There is no reason
that he should not have been. At her lodgings she was known as
Madame Georges. It was under that name she travelled when she
went abroad."
"But you had never heard of any marriage—at the Mairie or
elsewhere? And, again, your daughter could not be married without
your consent."
"I do not say that she had been married in France. She may have
been married abroad—in England, perhaps. He took her to England
soon after they became acquainted. It was the first time she left
Paris with him; and until then I know she had been as distant to him
as if she had been the Empress. In England there are no obstacles
to marriage; there is no one's consent to be asked."
"We will admit that a marriage in a foreign country would have been
possible. But this Maxime de Maucroix, this second admirer——"
"Was only an admirer. My daughter's life was not a disreputable life.
I have nothing to reproach myself with upon that score."
"Can you help us to find this man Georges, whom you suspect as
the murderer? Do you know where he is to be found?"
"If I did, the police would have known before now. I tell you I know
nothing about him—absolutely nothing. I have seen and heard
nothing of him since the murder. He has not been to my daughter's
apartment since her death—he was not at her funeral. He who
pretended to adore her did not follow her to her grave. All Paris was
there; but he who was supposed to be her husband was not there."
"How can you tell that he was not there, since you do not know his
appearance?"
"Barbe Girot knows him. It is on her authority that I say he was not
there."
"I will trouble you with no further questions to-day, madame. I will
take Barbe Girot's evidence next."
Barbe Girot's evidence was to the effect that for nearly four years
this Monsieur Georges had been a constant visitor at her mistress's
apartment. He had come there after the theatre, and it had been
Barbe's duty to leave the supper-table laid, and the candles ready on
the chimney-piece and table, before she went to bed. Madame
Georges let herself in with a latch-key, and Barbe rarely sat up for
her. Madame did not always return to the Rue Lafitte for supper.
There were occasions when she supped on the Boulevard, or in the
Bois, and returned to her apartment at a very late hour. Barbe saw
Monsieur Georges occasionally, but not frequently. He was a
handsome man, but not in his first youth. He might have been five
or six and thirty. He was generous, and appeared to be rich.
Whatever his fortune may have been, he would have given Madame
the whole of it if she had asked him. There was never a man more
passionately in love with a woman. After the Baron de Maucroix's
appearance on the scene there were storms. Barbe had seen
Monsieur Georges cry like a child. She had also seen him give way to
violent passion. There had been one night when she thought that he
would kill Madame. He had his hands upon her throat; he seemed as
if he were going to strangle her. And then he fell on his knees, and
grovelled at her feet. He implored her to forgive him. It was
dreadful.
Did Barbe Girot think that Monsieur Georges was Madame's
husband?
She had never presumed to form an opinion upon that subject. Her
mistress wore a wedding-ring, and was always known as Madame
Georges in the house where she lived. Madame's conduct was
altogether irreproachable. Until the Baron de Maucroix began to visit
her, no other man than Monsieur Georges had crossed her threshold.
And the visits of Monsieur de Maucroix were such visits as any
gentleman in Paris might pay to any lady, were she the highest in
the land.
"Did your mistress ever go out with Monsieur de Maucroix before
that fatal visit to Saint-Germain?"
"Never. And on that occasion Madame took the little girl with her.
She refused to go alone with the Baron."
"Is it your opinion that your mistress was inclined to favour Monsieur
de Maucroix' suit?"
"Alas, yes! He was so young, so fascinating, so handsome, and he
adored her. If she had not been in love with him she would hardly
have permitted his visits, for they were the cause of such agony of
mind to Monsieur Georges."
"It is your belief, then, that she had transferred her affection from
the older to the younger lover?"
"I fear so."
"You have not seen Monsieur Georges since the murder?"
"No."
"Are you sure that he was not at the funeral?"
"Quite sure."
"But there was a great crowd at the cemetery. How can you be sure
that he was not in the crowd?"
"I cannot be sure of that; but I am sure that he paid my mistress no
honour. He was not among those who stood around her grave, or
who threw flowers upon her coffin. I stayed by the grave after all
was over and the crowd had dispersed; but Monsieur Georges never
came near to cast a look upon the spot where my poor mistress was
lying. He has not been at her apartment since her death; he never
came to look upon her corpse when it was lying there."
"And he has not written—he has given no orders as to the disposal
of your mistress's property?"
"No. Madame Lemarque has taken possession of everything. She is
living in my mistress's apartment until the furniture can be sold."
"Do you know of any photograph or portrait of Monsieur Georges
among your late mistress's possessions?"
"I never saw any such portrait."
"You would know Monsieur Georges wherever you might happen to
see him?"
"Yes. I do not think I could fail to recognise him."
"Even if he had disguised himself?"
"Even then. I think I should know his voice anywhere, even if I could
not see his face."
"Will you describe him?"
"He is a tall man, broad-shouldered, powerful-looking. He has fine
features, blue eyes, light-auburn hair, thick and flowing, and worn
much longer than most people wear their hair. He is not so
handsome or so elegant as Monsieur de Maucroix, but he has a
more commanding look."
"That description would apply to hundreds of men. Can you mention
any peculiarity of feature, expression, gait, manner?"
"No, I can recall nothing peculiar."
"And in moments of confidence did your mistress never tell you
anything about this Monsieur Georges, his profession, his
belongings, his place of residence?"
"Nothing."
"He did not live at your mistress's apartments, I conclude?"
"No, he did not live there."
"Did you never hear how he was occupied during the day, since you
say he was never at your mistress's apartment in the daytime?"
"Never. I was told nothing about him except that he was rich and a
gentleman. I asked no questions. My place was comfortable, my
wages were paid regularly, and Madame was kind to me."
"Where did Léonie Lemarque sleep when she stayed in the Rue
Lafitte?"
"She occupied a little bed in my room, which is inside the kitchen."
"Were you long in Madame's service?"
"Nearly four years. From the beginning of her engagement at the
Porte-Saint-Martin, when she took the apartment in the Rue Lafitte.
Her salary at the theatre justified her in taking such an apartment.
Before that time she had been living with her mother on the other
side of the Seine."
"Is it your opinion that Monsieur Georges was the murderer?"
"That is my fixed opinion."
This concluded the examination of Barbe Girot. The little girl's
examination was not resumed until ten days later. She had been
very ill in the mean time, and seemed altogether weak and broken
down when she was brought before the Juge d'Instruction. She
burst out crying in the midst of her evidence, and the grandmother
had great difficulty in calming her.
"We had a nice dinner, and Monsieur de Maucroix was very kind, and
gave me grapes and a big peach, and he promised to buy me a doll
next day in the Passage Jouffroy. My aunt was sad, and Monsieur de
Maucroix begged her to be gay, and he talked about taking her to
Italy with him, just as he had talked in the train. And then we went
out in a carriage and drove along a terrace, where there was a
beautiful view over a river and a great green valley. My aunt seemed
much gayer, and she and Monsieur de Maucroix were talking and
laughing all the time; and afterwards, when we all got out of the
carriage and walked in the forest, they both seemed very happy, and
my aunt rested her head on Monsieur de Maucroix's shoulder as they
walked along, and said it was like being in heaven to be in that
moonlit forest with him; and then, just at that moment, a man
rushed out from the darkness under the trees, like a wild beast out
of a cave, and shot, and shot, and shot, again and again and again.
And first Monsieur de Maucroix fell, and then my aunt, and she was
all over blood. I could see it streaming over her light-blue gown, first
one stream and then another. I can see it now. I am seeing it
always. It wakes me out of my sleep. O, take it away; take away the
dark forest; take away the blood!"
At this point, said the report, the child again became hysterical, and
had to be carried away. After this she had an attack of brain-fever,
and could not again be interrogated formally.

END OF VOL. I.
WYLLARD'S WEIRD
A Novel

BY
 M. E. BRADDON
THE AUTHOR OF

"LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," "VIXEN,"

"ISHMAEL," ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOL. II.

LONDON

JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL

MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET

AND

35 ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C.

1885

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

I. LÉONIE'S MISSION
II. A STUDENT OF MEN AND WOMEN
III. BOTHWELL BEGINS TO SEE HIS WAY
IV. THE HOME OF THE PAST
 V. A FACE FROM THE GRAVE
VI. STRUCK DOWN
VII. THE GENERAL RECEIVES A SUMMONS
VIII. WIDOWED AND FREE
IX. TWO WOMEN
X. ROSES ON A GRAVE

WYLLARD'S WEIRD

CHAPTER I.

LÉONIE'S MISSION.

The report of the interrogatory before the Juge d'Instruction was

followed by a page of notes written by the police-officer Drubarde.
The child Léonie Lemarque was not again in a condition to give her
evidence. A violent attack of brain-fever succeeded her second
appearance before the Juge d'Instruction, and on her recovery from
the fever it was found that her mind had suffered seriously from the
shock she had undergone. Memory was a blank. The Juge
d'Instruction visited her in her own home when she was
convalescent, and tried to recall the impressions made upon her at
the time of the murder, in the hope of identifying the murderer; but
she had forgotten the whole circumstances of her aunt's death, and
yet she suffered agonies from a vague terror associated in her
enfeebled mind with the very name of that aunt.
As soon as she was well enough to travel she was taken to the
Ursuline convent at Dinan by a good priest who had befriended her
grandmother for many years. After this transference to the convent
the police lost sight of the child Lemarque.
Throughout the evening, even amidst the distractions of a finely
acted comedy by Augier, and in the wakeful intervals of a somewhat
disturbed night, Edward Heathcote brooded over the details of the
evidence which he had read, not once, but several times, before he
closed the volume of reports.
The detective instinct, which is a characteristic of every well-trained
lawyer's mind, had been suddenly developed into almost a passion.
He no longer limited his desire to the unravelling of the web of
Léonie Lemarque's fate; he ardently longed to discover the mystery
of Marie Prévol's murder—to succeed where one of the most
accomplished Parisian detectives had ignominiously failed. His
eagerness to hear more about Drubarde's efforts and failures in this
particular case led him to the Quai des Grands Augustins at an early
hour, in time to surprise the worthy Félix in the act of breakfasting
temperately upon café au lait and boiled eggs.
Monsieur Drubarde gave his new friend a cheery welcome. It was a
lovely morning, balmy as midsummer, and the little garden on the
leads was bright with gaily-coloured asters, nasturtiums, and
geraniums, and agreeably perfumed with mignonette.
"Do you perceive the exquisite odours?" asked Drubarde.
"Your mignonette is delicious."
"My mignonette!" cried the police-officer scornfully. "Why, when the
wind blows straight from the flower-market, as it does to-day, I can
sit in my garden and enjoy all the perfumes of the Riviera. I can
revel in orange-blossoms, drink my fill of tube-roses and stephanotis,
Maréchal Niel and Jacqueline roses. And look what a view! Not a
touch of the sculptor's chisel that I cannot see yonder on the old
kings of Notre Dame; not a cornice or a column in the new hospital
that does not stand clear in the morning light! And yet Paris is
peopled with fools who do not make gardens on their housetops!"
"Perhaps every landlord would not be so complaisant as yours,
Monsieur Drubarde, nor every housetop so adapted to horticulture."
"True, your Parisian landlord is a churl and a niggard, and a good
many of our housetops are no doubt impracticable. But the inventive
mind, the love of the beautiful, is more often wanting. I see you
have been good enough to bring back my volume. You have read
the report, I suppose?"
"Every line, every syllable, three times over."
"And you are interested?"
"Deeply. I was never more intensely interested in any case that has
come within my knowledge: yet as a lawyer I have become
acquainted with many strange stories. Yes, I am more interested
than I can say in the fate of that unhappy actress, in the character
of her mysterious lover: and yet I doubt if this former crime has any
bearing upon the murder of Léonie Lemarque."
"It would certainly be going somewhat far to suppose a link between
the death of a girl travelling alone in Cornwall—a death which may
after all have been accidental—and the murder of her aunt ten years
before in the forest of Saint-Germain. However, it is only by the
minutest scrutiny of Léonie's past life that you can arrive at the
motive which took her to England, and discover whether she had an
enemy in that country—that is to say, if she was lured across the
Channel in order to be made away with by that enemy. A very wild
and far-fetched supposition I think you will admit, Monsieur, and one
which our talented friend Mr. Distin would not entertain for five
minutes."
"Professional acumen like Mr. Distin's is apt to run in grooves—to be
too intent upon following the practical and the possible, to shut out
the romantic element, to strangle the imagination, and to forget that
it is very often by following the apparently impossible that we arrive
at the truth."
"I see you are an enthusiast, Monsieur."
"I have never tried to subjugate my imagination. As a lawyer I found
ideality the most useful faculty of my brain. Now, I have been
thinking about Léonie Lemarque's fate from every possible point of
view, from the standpoint of imagination as well as from the
standpoint of common sense; and it has occurred to me that if the
murderer of Marie Prévol were living, he would be Léonie's natural
enemy."
"Why so?"
"Because she was the only witness of his crime. She alone would
have the power to identify him as the murderer."
"You forget that it is just that power which the poor girl lost during
her illness. The fever deprived her of memory."
"That effect of the fever may not have been permanent. The
agitation which she showed at the mention of her aunt's name—
when Sister Gudule questioned her about the silk handkerchief given
to her by Marie Prévol—would indicate that memory was not a
blank. And again, if she had forgotten the person of the murderer, or
even the fact of the murder, he would not know that, and would
regard her existence as a source of danger to himself."
Félix Drubarde smiled the superior smile of experience reproving
folly.
"And you think that after having allowed this one witness of his
crime to exist unmolested for ten years, the assassin all at once took
it into his head to murder her; that with this view he carried her to
your barbarous province of Cornuailles, and there flung her over an
embankment. I am tempted to paraphrase the Scripture, Monsieur,
and to exclaim, 'Are there not viaducts and embankments in this vast
France of ours, that a man should go to the remote west of your
little England in order to commit murder in that particular fashion!'"
Heathcote felt that the police-officer had the best of the argument.
"I grant that it would have been a clumsy method of getting rid of
the girl," he said, "but murder has been clumsily done before to-day,
and imagination can conceive no crime so improbable as not to be
paralleled by fact. However, it is perhaps too soon to speculate that
the murderer of Marie Prévol was also the murderer of Léonie
Lemarque. What we have to do is to find out the reason of the girl's
journey to England. But before we set about that task, I should like
you to tell me what steps you took in your endeavour to trace the
murderer after the examination before the Juge d'Instruction."
"I looked over the case in my note-book last night, as I was
prepared for you to ask for those details," replied Drubarde. "It was
a case that interested me profoundly, all the more so, perhaps,
because I made so little headway in my investigations. My first
endeavour was to trace the murderer's proceedings immediately
after the crime. He must have made his escape from Saint-Germain
somehow, unless he had killed himself in some obscure corner of the
wood. Even then the finding of the body would have been a
question of so many days, weeks, or months. Alive, it would have
been impossible for him to remain in hiding in the forest for a week,
as the wood was searched thoroughly during the three days
immediately succeeding the murder. On the third day a hat was
found in a boggy bit of ground, ever so far from the scene of the
crime. The hat was a gentleman's hat, but it had been lying three
days and nights in a bog. It had been rained upon for two days out
of the three—there was no maker's name—no indication by which
the owner of the hat could be traced. That it had been found so far
off seemed to me to prove that the murderer had been roaming the
wood in a wild and disordered frame of mind, and walking at a
tremendous pace, or he could never have got over the distance
between the time when he was seen by the waiter at the Henri
Quatre, to turn the corner of the terrace, and the period of the
murder."
"You believe, then, that the man seen by the waiter was actually the
murderer?"
"I have no doubt of it. That spasmodic walk, that hesitancy, the
looking back, and then hurrying on—all these indicated a mind
engaged upon some agitating theme. The man was seen watching
the window inside which Marie Prévol and her admirer were seated.
He moved away when he saw himself observed. He had disguised
himself as much as he could by turning up the collar of his coat; and
who can doubt that this was the same man who had been seen by
Léonie in the railway-station, watching Marie Prévol and her lover
from behind the door of the waiting-room? The dark spectacles were
part of a disguise. These are all details that point to one conclusion.
The finding of the hat induced me to visit every shop in Saint-
Germain where a hat could be bought. It was clear that the
murderer could not have gone far from the forest bare-headed,
without attracting attention. He must have procured a hat somehow;
and it was not long before I ascertained that a hat had been bought
late on that very evening. At a shop in an out-of-the-way corner of
the town I was told that a boy, a gamin, had come in on the night of
the murder, and had asked for a cloth travelling-cap. He had chosen
one with flaps to protect the ears, a form of cap intended to give the
utmost protection from cold. He paid for his purchase with a
napoleon, and seemed in a great hurry to be gone, not even
stopping to count his change. The shopkeeper had wondered at
such a little ragamuffin being intrusted with a purchase of the kind.
The man had been on the point of closing his shop, and therefore
was quite positive as to the hour. It was his invariable habit to put
up his shutters at nine o'clock, and the clock was striking as the boy
came to the door of the shop, breathless and heated, as if he had
been running for some distance."
"And you conclude that this travelling-cap was bought for the
murderer?"
"Hear the sequel, and judge for yourself. I went from the hatter's to
the railway-station, and there, after having been bandied about from
pillar to post, I succeeded in finding a tolerably intelligent official
who remembered the night of the murder—now ten days past—and
who could recall most of the passengers who had left for Paris by
the half-past nine o'clock train upon that particular night. The news
of the murder had not been brought to the station before the
starting of the train: a most criminal neglect on the part of the local
police. No suspicious-looking person had been observed to enter the
train; but upon my questioning him closely, the man remembered
having noticed a traveller who wore a cloth cap with flaps over the
ears—a seemingly needless protection upon a mild September
evening. 'There is one who takes care of himself,' the railway official
had thought. For the rest, this passenger had looked like a
gentleman, tall, erect, well-built, a bigger man than the majority of
Frenchmen—what the railway official permitted himself to call un bel
homme. Had he appeared agitated, breathless, in a hurry? No, the
official had noticed nothing extraordinary in his manner. He wore
smoke-coloured spectacles, which concealed the expression of his
eyes. He had a return-ticket for Paris. The train was scarcely out of
the station when the police came to make inquiries. The murder had
been known of at the police-station at a quarter past eight, and it
was not until after half-past nine that the police thought of setting a
watch upon the railway-station. That is how your rustic police favour
the escape of a criminal."
"Did you trace your gentleman in the cloth cap any further?"
"Not an inch. No one had observed him at Saint-Lazare, nor at any
intermediate station where the train stopped. I wearied myself
during the next six weeks in the endeavour to trace the man called
Georges, who must have had some local habitation in Paris besides
Marie Prévol's apartment. In vain. In no quarter of Paris could I hear
of any apartment occupied by a man answering to the description of
this man who called himself Georges—rich, independent, handsome,
in the prime of life. I could trace no such man among the prosperous
classes of Paris, and my machinery for tracking any individual in the
wilderness of this great city had hitherto proved almost infallible.
This man baffled me. I 'touched on him' now and again, as you
English say of your hunted fox, but I could never get upon a scent
strong enough to follow; and in the end I gave up all hope of finding
him. He must have sneaked out of France under the very noses of
the police; for I had set a watch upon every probable exit from this
country."
"No doubt he was clever enough to choose the most improbable
point of departure. Did you see much of Madame Lemarque after
the murder?"
"No. My interest in her ceased when I gave up the case as hopeless.
I had fresh cases—new interests; and the murder of Marie Prévol
remained in my mind only as a tradition, until you recalled the story
of the crime."
"I telegraphed yesterday to the principal of the Ursuline convent at
Dinan," said Mr. Heathcote, "and I have obtained from her the
address at which Madame Lemarque was living two years ago, when
her niece was sent back to Paris in company with other pupils. After
leaving you I shall go to that address, and try to find Madame
Lemarque. I may have the painful duty of informing her of her
granddaughter's death; and yet I can but think that were the
grandmother still living she must have heard of the girl's death, and
would have communicated with the Cornish police."
"That is to suppose her more intelligent than the average
Frenchwoman," said Drubarde, as if he belonged to another nation.
"Suppose I accompany you in your search for Madame Lemarque?
That ought to be interesting."
"I shall be delighted to secure your aid."
Monsieur Drubarde and his guest descended the ladder. The
detective put on a gray overcoat, which concealed and subjugated
the airiness of his summer attire. He put on the hat of sober
commonplace existence, and contrived to give himself an almost
patriarchal aspect before he left his lodging.
The street in which Madame Lemarque had been living when the
nuns of Dinan last heard of her was a narrow and shabby little street
between Saint-Sulpice and the Luxembourg. The house was decently
kept, and had a respectable air, and was evidently not one of those
caravanserais where lodgers come and go with every term. It had a
settled sober appearance, and the brass plates upon the door told of
permanent residents with reputable avocations. One of these plates
informed society that Mesdames Lemarque and Beauville, Robes et
Modes, occupied the third floor. The staircase was clean and quiet,
and the first sound that saluted Mr. Heathcote's ears as he went up-
stairs was the screech of a parrot, which became momentarily louder
as the visitors approached the third floor.
On the door on the left of the landing appeared another brass plate
—Mesdames Lemarque et Beauville, Robes, Modes, Chapeaux.
Heathcote rang the bell. He felt curiously agitated at the thought
that in the next minute he might be face to face with the dead girl's
grandmother.
The door was opened by an elderly woman in black, very sallow,
very thin, with prominent cheekbones and hungry black eyes. She
was neatly clad, her rusty silk gown fitting her fleshless form to
perfection, her linen collar and cuffs spotlessly clean, her iron-gray
hair carefully arranged; but poverty was stamped upon every fold of
her gown, and written in every line upon her forehead.
"Madame Lemarque?" inquired Heathcote, while the ci-devant
police-officer looked over his shoulder.
"No, I am not Madame Lemarque, but I am her business
representative. Any orders intended for Madame Lemarque can be
executed by me. I am Mademoiselle Beauville."
"Alas, Mademoiselle, it is not a question of orders," replied
Heathcote, in his most courteous tones. "I have come on a painful
errand. I have to impart very sad news to Madame Lemarque."
Madame Beauville sighed and shrugged her thin shoulders.
"Madame Lemarque is taking her rest in a place where all the events
of this earth are alike indifferent," she said. "Take the trouble to
enter my humble apartment, gentlemen. Madame Lemarque was my
partner and my friend."
Heathcote and his companion followed the dressmaker into her little
salon, where a dilapidated old gray cockatoo was clambering upon a
perch, seemingly in danger of doing himself to death head
downwards at every other minute. The salon was like the
appearance of Mademoiselle Beauville, scrupulously neat, painfully
pinched and spare. A poor little old-fashioned walnut table, polished
to desperation, a cheap little china vase of common flowers, a carpet
which covered only a small island in an ocean of red tiles, an old
mahogany secrétaire with materials for writing, and by way of
decoration the fashion-plates of Le Follet neatly pinned against the
dingy wall-paper. There was a work-basket on the table, and
Mademoiselle Beauville had apparently been busily remaking a very
old gown of her own, in order to keep her hand in during the dead
season.
Heathcote discovered later that Mademoiselle Beauville cherished
one bitter and unappeasable hatred, and that was against Messrs.
Spricht, Van Klopen, and the whole confraternity of men-milliners.
"Then Madame Lemarque is dead, I apprehend, Mademoiselle?"
"Madame Lemarque died last June."
"Suddenly?"
"No, she had been ailing for some time. But the end came more
quickly than she expected. My poor friend had but a short time in
which to arrange her affairs."
"Was her granddaughter Léonie living with her at the time of her
death?"
"She was. But what do you know about Léonie?"
The ex-detective laid his hand hastily upon Heathcote's wrist before
he could answer.
"Answer nothing until we have heard what she can tell us," he
whispered.
"I know very little about her, but I am anxious to know more; and if
you should be a loser by the waste of your time in answering my
inquiries, I shall be most happy to recompense you for that loss,"
said Heathcote.
The spinster's hungry eyes sparkled. Decent poverty has depths
unknown to the professed pauper. Mademoiselle's larder would have