“Last night, as he was alighting from his carriage, at his own door, he had a most unfortunate fall, and broke his leg.”
IX
Some men are wealthy. They own a carriage drawn by a pair of high-stepping horses, and driven by a coachman in stylish livery; and as they pass by, leaning back on comfortable cushions, they become the object of many an envious glance. Sometimes, however, the coachman has taken a drop too much, and upsets the carriage; perhaps the horses run away and a general smash ensues; or, maybe, the hitherto fortunate owner, in a moment of absent-mindedness, misses the step, and fractures his leg on the curbstone. Such accidents occur every day; and their long list should make humble foot-passengers bless the lowly lot which preserves them from such peril.
On learning the misfortune that had befallen M. d’Escorval, Lecoq’s face wore such an expression of consternation that the doorkeeper could not help laughing. “What is there so very extraordinary about that I’ve told you?” he asked.
“I—oh! nothing—”
The detective did not speak the truth. The fact is, he had just been struck by the strange coincidence of two events—the supposed murderer’s attempted suicide, and the magistrate’s fall. Still, he did not allow the vague presentiment that flitted through his mind to assume any definite form. For after all, what possible connection could there be between the two occurrences? Then again, he never allowed himself to be governed by prejudice, nor had he as yet enriched his formulary with an axiom he afterward professed: “Distrust all circumstances that seem to favor your secret wishes.”
Of course, Lecoq did not rejoice at M. d’Escorval’s accident; could he have prevented it, he would have gladly done so. Still, he could not help saying to himself that this stroke of misfortune would free him from all further connection with a man whose superciliousness and disdain had been painfully disagreeable to his feelings.
This thought caused a sensation of relief—almost one of light-heartedness. “In that case,” said the young detective to the doorkeeper, “I shall have nothing to do here this morning.”
“You must be joking,” was the reply. “Does the world stop moving because one man is disabled? The news only arrived an hour ago; but all the urgent business that M. d’Escorval had in charge has already been divided among the other magistrates.”