The copper country evening news. [volume] (Calumet, Mich.) 18??-1907, 1898-02-14
THE CRIME OF
THE BOULEVARD.
By JULES OLARETIE.
tcopyright. 1897. by R. F. Fenno s. Co.
CHAPTER I.


''At the passage to the right. Yes
nat house which you see with the graf
ing eld the garden behind it.
The man TO whom a passerby hat
given this information hurried away il
the direction pointed out. Although
gasping for breath, he tried to run, in
order to more quickly reach the little
house at the end of the passage of the
Elysee DIES Beaux Arts This passage a
sort of cul de sac, on either side of which
were black buildings, strange old houses
and dilapidated storehouses, opened upon
a boulevard filed with life and move
ment, with people promenading, with
the noise Of tramways, with gayety and
light.
The man wore the dress and had the
bearing of a workman. He was very
short, very fat, and his bald head was
barred to the warm October rain. He
was a workman, in truth, who worked
in his concierge lodge, making over and
mending garments for his neighbors,
while his wife looked after the house.
swept the staircases and complained of
her lot
Nine. Moniche found life hard and
disagreeable and regretted that it had
not given her what il promised when,
at Is, and very pretty, she had expected
something better than to watch beside a
tailor bent over his work in a concierges
lodge. Into her life tragedy had sud-
denly precipitated itself, and Mime.
Moniche found that day something to
brighten up her afternoon. Entering a
moment before the apartment occupied
by M. Revere, she had found her ledger
lying on his back, his eyes fixed, his
arms flung out, with cash across his
throat.
NJ. Revere had lived alone in the
house for many years, receiving few
mysterious persons. Nine Moniche
looked after his apartment, entering by
using her own key whenever it was
necessary, and her ledger had given her
permission to come there at any time to
read the daily papers.
Nine. Moniche hurried down the |
stairs.
an. Revere is dead NJ Revere has |
been murdered His throat has been
cut He has been assassinated - And |
pursuing her husband out of the door |
she exclaimed:
"The police-go for the policer'
This word police" awakened in the |
tailor's mind not the thought of the
neighboring commissary, but the
thought of the man to whom he felt
that he ought to appeal, whom he ought
70 consult. This man was the good little
M. Bernardet, who passed for man of
genius of his kind at the Surete and for
whom Moniche had often repaired coats
and rehemmed trousers.
From the mansion in the Boulevard
de Clichy, where Moniche lived, to NJ.
Bernardet's house was but a short dis
lance, and the concierge knew the way
very well, as he had often been there,
but the poor man was so stupefied, so
overwhelmed, by the sudden appearance
of his wife in his room, by the brutal
revelation which came to him as the
blow OF fist by the horrible manner of
NJ. Revere s DEATH that he lost his head.
Mortified, breathless, he asked the first
passerby where Bernardet lived, and he
ran as fast as he could in the direction
pointed out
Arrived at the grating, the worthy
man, little confused, stopped short.
He was very strongly moved. 1t seemed
70 him that he had been cast into the
agony Of a horrible nightmare. An as
in the house A murder in
the Boulevard de Clichy in broad day.
light, just over his head, while he was
quietly repairing a vest
He stood looking at the house without
ringing. NJ. Bernardet was, no doubt,
with his family, for it was
Sunday, and the police officer, meeting
Moniche the evening before, had said
TO him, Tomorrow is my birthday"
Moniche hesitated a moment. Then he
rang the bell. He was not kept waiting.
The sudden opening of the grating star.
tied him. He pushed back the door and
entered. He crossed little court, at
the end of which was a pavilion. He
the three steps and was met on
the threshold by little woman, as rosy
and fresh as an apple, who, napkin in
hand, gayly saluted him.
"Eh, M. Monichep'
1t was Mime. Bernardet, a Burgundi-
an woman, about 35 years of age, trim
and coquettish, who stepped back so
that the tailor could enter.
"What il the matter, M. Moniche?"
Poor Moniche rolled his frightened
eyes around and gasped out, II must
speak to M. Bernardet.
Nothing easier" said the little wo-
man. I'M. Bernardet is in the garden.
Yes, he is taking advantage of the beau
tiful day. He is taking q group
What group"
"You know very we'll photography
Is his passion. Come with me-
And Mime. Bernardet pointed to the
md Of the corridor, where an open door
gave glimpse of the garden at the rear
Of the house. M. Bernardet, the in.
spector, had posed his three daughters
with their mother about . small table,
On which cQffee had been served.