If I had invented the amazing scene, I might have said that there were four men in black gowns, but no. I declared that there had been three men in black gowns and one woman in a dark cloak. And three gowns and one cloak had been stolen!

I will go even further to meet the doubts and questions of the sceptic.

Had I invented this "tale," as M. Andre called it, how could I have imagined that the three men wearing black ecclesiastical gowns, had _not_ worn black ecclesiastical hats? Surely coincidences have limits. I said that the men wore "felt hats with high, pointed crowns"--not ecclesiastical hats. And the ecclesiastical hats which belonged to the stolen gowns were found in their separate baskets--a small basket; and M. Goldstein declared: "We generally put the hats aside; we hide them so as to prevent the performers from choosing among them just as they please."

There can be no longer any question of coincidence. There cannot exist one single human being endowed with the most ordinary amount of common sense who could or would deny, after the fact which I have quoted from evidence given to the head of the _Surete_ and to the magistrate in charge of my case, that suspicions or attacks against me should not have been allowed to go on, and that it was quite unpardonable to dare accuse me of having murdered my husband and my mother.

Among the thousand and one anonymous letters I received later on, there was one written by some one who had realised the whole importance of the stolen gowns as a proof of my complete innocence. But in his--or her--desire to prove to me that I was a murderess, the anonymous writer explained: "You stole the gowns yourself or had them stolen by some one!" The prosecution possibly thought the same, but never expressed the thought, for its absurdity was, of course, obvious.

The prosecution, however, wanted to find me guilty even on the fact of such an overwhelming proof of my innocence.

Will the reader now hear how the prosecution dealt with this _affaire des levites_, as it was called? Here are the very words used in the indictment on this matter:

"_A strange circ.u.mstance_ revealed by the witness Villemant _had made it possible to believe for one moment that the narrative of the 'accused'

concerning the men in the black gowns could have some character of likelihood_...."

After a rapid survey of the evidence given by M. Villemant, Mme.

Mazeline, and M. Guilbert... the indictment says:

"The evidence thus gathered seemed likely to throw some doubt on the judicial _instruction_, and to lend some truth to Mme. Steinheil's narrative. But... firstly, it is certain that the disappearance of the ecclesiastical gowns was only noticed on the evening of May 31st--that is, several hours after the crime. Secondly, the ecclesiastical hats were never lost and have been found. Now, Mme. Steinheil has stated that the criminals wore hats which harmonised with their costumes.... It is, therefore, necessary to wave aside that fable and to note an unimportant coincidence between the thefts of the gowns and the crime of May 31st...."

Could anything be more revolting in its absolute lack of good faith! For surely the prosecution had read the evidence of the various witnesses and was bound to know, firstly, that the black gowns were stolen, _not after_ the crime, _but before_ the crime, on May 30th, as the evidence of M. Feinberg and Goldstein established beyond discussion; secondly, that the report of the Criminal Investigation Department itself, dated June 5th, 1908, contained this sentence, which I have already quoted:

"Concerning the hats, it is useful to recall that on Monday, June 1st, when Mme. Steinheil gave a description of the individuals whom she saw on the night of May 30th-31st, she specified that:

"'The men did not wear hats such as those usually worn by priests, but hats of black felt, the brims of which, bent down, had appeared to her as wide and the crowns higher and more pointed than the hats of ecclesiastics.'"

(_Dossier_, Cote 914.)

In spite of the prosecution and its wilful blindness to all the proofs of my innocence, the jury of the Paris a.s.size Court, in November 1909, after I had spent a whole year in prison, saw the truth and acquitted me.

In my heart I have often blessed the honest and zealous Underground _employe_ who handed the cards he had found to the police. There can be no doubt that the "stolen black gowns" helped the jurors to understand that I had spoken the truth, and could not have murdered my husband and my mother. And I have often blessed the memory of my father, too. For had he not taught me to observe and see at a glance the main lines, the striking or essential parts of a person or object? And how without that training of the eye and mind could I have noticed and remembered on that night of terror the princ.i.p.al points of the murderers' attire?

CHAPTER XVI

INVESTIGATIONS

A curious thing happened while I was at Bellevue. I received from my notary, who had received it from the judicial authorities, a package which contained a number of things found at my house: a few letters from President Faure, some letters from M. B., and the President's talisman!

If these objects are returned to me, I thought, it is evidently because it is not desired that anything concerning the late President of the Republic and the Attorney-General be brought up in the "Affair of the Impa.s.se Ronsin." This impression was right, as will be fully realised later on. Every phase of my past life, from my earliest years to the date of the mysterious murder, was investigated, _except_ my relations with magistrates and with President Faure.

The circle of my friends was daily growing smaller, which was perhaps only human, since I was in trouble. I still received many letters from friends and acquaintances, but they were every day fewer in number. And their tone grew less sympathetic, their style more formal.... Soon no letters reached me at all. No one seemed to remember me, not even the few friends in whom I had absolute confidence, and I painfully repeated to myself a saying of my mother's: "A friend who ceases to be a friend never was a friend."

Letters, however, kept pouring into the letter-box of Vert-Logis. But they were all anonymous letters, a few threatening me or calling me a criminal, the others denouncing as the authors of the double-murder, my cook, Mariette, her son, Alexandre Wolff, my valet, Remy Couillard and others. The letters gave me all kinds of "information" about their past life and doings, suggested theories of the crime that were so crowded with details that one might have thought the writers had been present when it was committed. I burnt them all, except a few, which, when I was not too ill, I read and re-read, with an interest that became almost morbid.... They haunted me, some of those letters, and I lived in an atmosphere of suspicion that was painful and distractful.

Couillard was at Bellevue. Naturally enough he had not wanted to remain at the house in the Impa.s.se Ronsin. He was nervous, trembling, frightened of everybody and everything, and was a pitiful object to look at.... I pitied him... and I pitied myself.

Marthe was with me, and her presence, her solicitude, her love, enabled me to bear my cross. At the same time, I remembered the Inspector's startling promises, and the words spoken both by M. Leydet and M.

Hamard: "Be patient... we will find them...."

Doctor Regal--appointed by the authorities--came on June 26th with Inspector Pouce to see if I were strong enough to bear the journey from Bellevue to Boulogne (on the Seine). It appeared that M. Leydet was compelled, on account of the public feeling against me, to ask me further questions, in the presence this time of M. Grandjean, _subst.i.tut_ of the _Procureur de la Republique_. The new examination would take place at the house of M. Brouard, the husband of M.

Steinheil's sister Marguerite, whom the reader perhaps remembers as the lady who received me in Paris, when I returned from my wedding-trip.

I was only too anxious to a.s.sist the law in its investigations, and I consented to go to Boulogne--where I was to be kept from 1 P.M. till late in the evening! The nurse, who had accompanied us, of course, had to give me occasional doses of ether to enable me to breathe, and to reply to the questions I was asked. Marthe and M. Boeswilwald were in the next room, for serious fears were entertained that I might utterly collapse. I spent several long hours lying full length on a stretcher placed on the floor. The nurse remained near me.

I was asked the most fantastic questions by M. Leydet and M.

Grandjean.... But here again I will quote from the _dossier_ the questions and my answers.

I pa.s.s over the questions about the gate and the doors of the Impa.s.se Ronsin, the story of the key lost by Couillard, and of the return of the dog he had borrowed, the story of my husband's revolver which Couillard did not hand back to M. Steinheil, and which was found in his ap.r.o.n, and of our delayed departure for Boulogne on account of my mother's ill-health.... These points have already been dealt with. I had nothing to add to my first statements. But here are some new questions, and my replies.

_Question._ "According to what you told us on the morning after the crime, the criminals appearing suddenly before you, in the middle of the night, in your daughter's room, which you were occupying, took you for your daughter. There is no doubt that you were then in a room which was evidently that of a young girl, and that you were in your daughter's bed, but we cannot conceal from you that the criminals' mistake is open to scepticism."

_Answer._ "I can only repeat the words that were spoken to me and which implied that mistake. I may add that my face was in repose, that my hair was loose, and merely held by a ribbon of blue satin, and was spread around my head. I wore no jewels, no rings, no wedding-ring. All these were left in the dressing-room--and were stolen. I wore a plain night-dress of pale blue _linon_. It has frequently happened in society that I was taken for my daughter's elder sister. Believe me, there is no question of coquetry in this. If I tell you all this, it is merely because you ask me to reply to those who are sceptical. I am slender, I lost much weight last winter, about thirty pounds, during my illness--gastro-enteritis. Although the criminals had two dark-lanterns, the scene lasted so short a time that they certainly had not much time to examine me carefully. Everything took place with fantastic rapidity...."

_Question._ "Whatever the acts of violence you had to suffer that night (blows, gags, and ropes round neck, hands and feet) it may appear possible that the criminals spared your life. This has given rise to various rumours. It seems difficult to admit that the criminals allowed a young lady--or rather the person whom they took for a seventeen-year-old young lady--that is, a most dangerous witness, to survive. Unless the chief of the gang yielded to a feeling of pity, which, by the way, is sometimes met with among hardened criminals, then another explanation must be found. Here is one which has been suggested--and it compels me to ask you a 'delicate' question. Suppose that in a moment of weakness you had relations with a man of doubtful morality, who, at some time might be capable of burglary and 'plunder and violence,' in order to obtain money. Suppose that man entering at night into your house, finding it inhabited contrary to his expectations; suppose that man, suddenly finding himself in your presence and, as far as you are concerned, not daring to go as far as murder, because of 'the past'--would you not have hesitated to denounce him?"

_Answer._ "I swear to you by all that I hold most sacred, on my poor dead mother and husband, on the head of my little Marthe, that I never had the 'weakness' you refer to in your most painful question. Even though I had been deceived by appearances, I should not hesitate, however painful it might be, to denounce the man."

_Question._ "The cord--three metres in length--with which your husband was strangled has been compared with and found similar to a ball of cord which was found in a basket in the cupboard of the pantry. Have you any interesting remarks to make on that matter?"

_Answer._ "All I can say is that the ball you mention was blind-cord and was used for various purposes in the house. Some was used at the time of the exhibition of paintings which took place in the 'winter garden.' I have no recollection of any piece of cord that might have been left somewhere in the rooms."

(_Dossier_, Cote 79.)

This _Cote_ 79 contained only sixteen foolscap pages, and they represent the gist of an examination which lasted several hours! There were frequent interruptions, when I felt so ill that the woman had to come and give me ether.... Part of the examination was what I can only call conversation. I did my best to call the attention of M. Leydet to M. de Balincourt, to the "mysterious German," to the various men who had come into my husband's life during the weeks immediately preceding the crime.

I remember the judge telling me: "You don't mention Couillard. It looks as if you were protecting him...." And I replied: "Some tell me Couillard 'must know something,' others a.s.sert that he is absolutely innocent... I have nothing to say. Let the law make investigations, discover the truth and arrest the murderers...."

I was greatly surprised when Couillard was sent for. I admit the anonymous letters had had some influence on me, and that I had certain suspicions against Couillard, but of late they had vanished. I thought only of the "clue of clues," of the man whose photographs had been shown me (Mr. Burlingham).

When I returned to Bellevue it was very late. Couillard had left for Boulogne. He returned at 1.30 A.M.

During the following days the detectives came just as often as before.

They did not seem, however, to make much progress in the "case."

Mariette was still with me, and was as devoted as ever, to say the least. Her son, Alexandre, a horse-dealer, whom I had known when he was a mere lad, came twice to Bellevue. He was better dressed than usual and seemed to roll in money. I mention the two details because they were also mentioned in the anonymous letters I received, and because, five months later, and in circ.u.mstances which I will fully describe, I accused Alexandre Wolff.

As for Couillard, I no longer required his services now that my life was so completely changed, and I sent him to a motor-car garage to learn to be a chauffeur.

M. Souloy brought me the altered jewels. I gave one of the "new" rings (sapphire and diamonds) to Marthe, and kept the others.

The Inspector continued his a.s.surances that they would soon arrest the murderers. They had fresh clues, they were on the right track.... All would soon be well.... But nothing happened, and I hoped and waited in vain....

Towards the end of July I felt a little stronger and could walk about. I asked a doctor to allow me to go to Normandy with Marthe. He said a change would do me much good. I left Bellevue and went to stay at Louvieres (Calvados) with some friends who ran their own farm. Their daughter was an intimate friend of Marthe, who was, of course, with me.

For a whole month we led the simple life. There were no detectives around me. I avoided reading the newspapers. The country people, who knew who I was, were kind and sympathetic, and Marthe and I breathed again. It was as if we were at last allowed to live, to be like all other human beings, and we blessed those good friends who had invited us to spend a few weeks with them in happy and beautiful Normandy.