Lavenne, having finished his inspection, rose to his feet, dusted the soil from his knees, and having paid the man liberally for his trouble, took his way to where the carriage was waiting to convey him back to Paris. On the journey, he made some notes with a pencil in his pocket-book.
He had discovered the poisoner of Atalanta. Led by the luck that sometimes attends genius, or perhaps by the commonsense which made him conduct his inquiry, not by direct interrogation, but by conversation on things in general, he had accomplished in a few hours what Sartines had failed to accomplish in several days.
Arrived at the Hôtel de Sartines, he found his master absent and Monsieur Beauregard acting in his stead. Beauregard was a big, fine-looking man, one of the best swordsmen in France, fearless and honest, but not of the highest intelligence as far as detective work was concerned. Nor did Sartines use him for that business. Sartines had made Beauregard his chief of staff because the latter had all the qualities of a good organizer, the fidelity of a hound, and the rigid business methods in which Sartines was lacking. He was also a fine figure of a man, and so upheld the dignity of his position in the eyes of the Court and the populace.
Beauregard was a great friend of Lavenne.
“So his Excellency is out,” said Lavenne. “Well, that is a pity, as I have some news for him, and a request to make.”
“And the news?” said Beauregard.
“The news is, simply that I have found an indication as to the poisoner of Atalanta.”
“Oh, mon Dieu! My dear Lavenne, if you can only put your finger on that person, you will own the thanks of the entire staff. It is not that a dog has been poisoned, or that the dog is the favourite dog of the King, or rather, I should say, was the favourite dog of the King. It is that the Hôtel de Sartines has been put to shame by a small matter like this. Other failures one can hush up; other failures, though, indeed, we make few enough, are forgotten; but the smell of this business seems to permeate everywhere; and the thing will not be forgotten, simply because it is so small that it gives such a splendid field for the little wits of Paris and the Court to exercise themselves in.”
“Well, Captain Beauregard,” said Lavenne, “the poisoning of Atalanta, though seemingly a small enough affair, will, if I am not greatly mistaken, be the centre of an affair big enough to satisfy even the Hôtel de Sartines. I hope to put my hand on the poisoner, and in doing so to clear Monsieur de Rochefort from the charge of being an assassin, and also I hope to save a woman’s life.”
“Mordieu!” said Beauregard, “you are going to do a great many clever things, then—— Tell me, am I in your secret?”