Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 166: what you’re looking at

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of 7 152 plished—all this formed ample food for my | wonderment, experience, and conjecture. But to be brief ;—three years elapsed from the period when I, together with others of | PICKWICK ABROAD. ‘? viously. There could not be a. doubt of it, In front of me sate the assassin; and { was no longer surprised that an operative at Aulnay-le-Vicomte should be so well ac- my comrades, were employed to trace the quainted with Paris. Iaccordingly asked him author of the horrible deed which I men- tioned ere now.” “An’ vich as yet was not diskivered,” said Mr. Weller, senior. “Go on, sir, it’s werry pretty.” - “At the expiration of those three years,” continued Dumont with a smile, “I was despatched to Aulnay-le-Vicomte on the most particular business,” “I ’spose they changes about you Johnny ° Darmies jist as they changes us coachmen in England, from yon road to another,” cried the elder Mr. Weller. | “Pray, Mr. Weller, do not interrupt this gentlemag,” said Mr. Pickwick; “ you can make your observations afterwards.” “ Wery true, sir, I never thought ’o that,” returned the old coachman. “ Go on, sir.” “To Aulnay-le-Vicomte I, proceeded, in obedience to superior orders,” resumed the Gendarme, “and stopped at a small inn when | transacted the business which formed the object of my mission. One evening I was seated by the kitchen fire, smoking a cigar, and conversing. with a stranger who was placed opposite to me; when the con- versation turned upon the late robberies and murders which had been committed in that neighborhood. The stranger was a man who evidently belonged to the operative class, as his attire and language seemed. to testify ; but he appeared exceedingly well acquamted with Paris and all that had taken place there a few years previously. We drank our wine, and smoked—I a cigar, and he his pipe, till a late hour; when I proposed to retire for the night. He how- ever expressed a wish to empty another bottle, and I acceded to the proposition. | The stranger refilled his pipe, and lighted it with a letter which he took -from his pocket. He then passed the paper to me, as I had just extracted another cigar from my case. While I was lighting my cigar, my eyes fell upon the folded letter which I held in my hand, and a certain name that met my glance instantly attracted my attention. I reflected for a moment, and as this circumstance had_ suddenly stirred up all my slumbering reminiscences. concerning a particular individual, Iimmediately called to. mind the description of the murderer whom I had vainly sought three years pre- Ny if he had ever been to the metropolis, He replied in the affirmative; I inquired how long a period had elapsed since his visit, and he, probably unsuspicious of any danger, at once informed me that he was in Paris three years previously. ‘ Do you recollect a terrible murder which was committed upon two old people by then unnatural son? I demanded. The villain gave a start which nearly broke his pipe in_ his mouth : he however recollected himself, and deliberately answered in the negative.— ‘You know more about that deed,’ said I, ‘than you choose to admit.—‘ What do you mean? What would you infer? cried the guilty wretch, and this time his pipe fell from his mouth and was broken into small pieces upon the floor.—‘ I mean, was my answer, ‘that a most extraordinary coincidence has detected you. Nay—do not start! you are my prisoner!’ and as I spoke I laid a brace of pistols by my side upon the table.-—‘ You are mistaken, cried the murderer, in a hollow tone of voice—‘That you must induce others to believe, was my reply.— ‘Upon this paper is a word which aroused my conjectures—it is the name of yourself and your murdered parents! I shall not take the trouble to peruse all that remains unburnt in my hands: the commissary of police may fultil that duty.—‘ I see,’ said he in a hurried voice, ‘ that it is useless to deny the truth, I am. awretch unfit to live; and still life is dear tome! Not far from hence, concealed in a thicket of wood, are eight thousand francs, the relics of that sum which induced me to imbrue my hands inhuman gore. Release me, and the money shall be yours.—‘ Villain,’ cried J, ‘ would you make others as vile as yourself? Know | you not that he who suffers: tlie murderer to escape, is as it were an accomplice in the deed?. No—your money is defiled with blood; and whoever received it as a bribe, would receive the thirty pieces of sil- ver from the hands of Judas. Prepare your- self to accompany me to the office of the com- missary !—the guilty wretch fell upon his knees, implored me to release him, and wept like a child. I bound bis arms—he mace but a slight resistance—and in a few moments he was safely lodged in the town-gaol, Two months afterwards le COnnicloookks Eo