NEVER had Mme. Longuet or M. Lecamus been so upset before at the reading of a newspaper. The account of the atrocious murder did not seem to disturb ThÉophraste a bit. When he came to the part where Cartouche had placed the baker in the bake oven, Mme. Longuet groaned and could not sit still. M. Lecamus was no less disturbed, and they both rose and looked to ThÉophraste in amazement.

He then began to read the account of M. Houdry’s calf:

“‘M. Houdry was a head butcher on one of the small streets. Everybody came to him to buy veal, which was his specialty. This report explained itself by a fact so unusual that we can believe it only on the affirmation of M. le Commissioner of Police Mifroid, who conducted the first inquest. We know that all the butchers of Paris get their meat from the abattoirs. It was against the law for them to kill anything at home.’

“That is accurate,” said ThÉophraste, “that is exactly right; M. Houdry explained that to me several times, and the confidence that he placed in me by telling me the mystery of his abattoir astonished me not a little. Why should he confide to me a fact which was not known to his wife, his private clerk, a foundling whom he considered as one of the family, and his brother-in-law, who brought the calf to him each night? Why? Ah! No one knows. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t help it. You know very well that no one can escape his fate. As for me, I said to him: ‘Take care, you might end by being one of the calves!’ I resume my reading: ‘That calf was brought to him secretly each night by his brother-in-law, and as his abattoir was on a little court, behind which was the open country, no one ever saw a live calf at M. Houdry’s.

“‘The inquest will tell us from whence the calf came. M. Mifroid, the Commissioner of Police, has decided to sift the matter to the bottom, and penetrate the whole mystery.

“‘It appears that M. Houdry had his special way of killing his calf, a way that gave quality to the veal. He used to cut the calf’s throat with a bleeder.’

“Is it necessary for me,” said ThÉophraste, “to show you what a bleeder is?”

Going to the drawer of the sideboard, he took out the carving knife, and while explaining that a bleeder was twice as large as that, he passed it up and down M. Lecamus’ face to make him understand the method of killing the calf. He tried to get M. Lecamus to hold the knife, but by this time he was too frightened, and had retreated into a corner of the room, fearing that ThÉophraste would do something violent. However, he laughed at their temerity and sat down to read the further account.

“‘Yesterday, leaving early, monsieur shut himself in his abattoir as usual with his calf. He was aided by his clerk in tying the calf to the hanger. The calf being tied, the clerk busied himself in rinsing the casks before the abattoir, which the butcher always kept shut when killing.

“‘Ordinarily, M. Houdry took from twenty to thirty minutes to kill his calf, gut it and bleach it. Thirty-five minutes passed, and the double doors of the abattoir were not opened. The clerk, who had finished rinsing, noticed it with the greatest astonishment. Often M. Houdry had called him to scald the head, scrape the hairs off, and clean the ears. That particular day his master did not call him. Meanwhile, Mme. Houdry, the butcher’s wife, appeared at the door of the court.

“‘"What isthe matter there?” she asked. “Is he not finished yet?”

“‘"It is true, madame, he is a very long time.”

“‘Then she called, “Houdry! Houdry!” No response. She crossed the court and opened the abattoir door. The calf immediately escaped, and began gracefully jumping around her. She looked at the calf at once with emotion, for at that time the calf should have been dead. Then she struck a single blow on the double door, and called again to her husband, who did not answer her. She turned toward the clerk. “M. Houdry is not there,” she said. “Are you sure he has not gone out?”

“‘"Oh, madame, I am perfectly sure of it. He has not come out and no one has gone in. I have not left the court,” replied the clerk, springing at the calf’s head as it continued running around. “I am sure he is there. He is just hiding to frighten you.”

“‘"It will be better to hide the calf. Houdry! Houdry!”

“‘The clerk, with a turn of the halter, had tied the calf. Entering with Mme. Houdry he uttered a cry of surprise and said: “Oh, that is queer! When we came in there was only one calf, a single calf, madame, a calf which was tied to the hanger, and which gambols in the court now, and here is another calf on the crossbeam.” Yes, indeed, there was another calf on the tinel.

“‘"I see it now,” said Mme. Houdry. “What a small calf! But you are foolish; there should be two calves.”

“‘"Never, madame, never.”

“‘"Well, you see perfectly the calf on the beam?”

“‘The little clerk and Mme. Houdry drew near to the beam, which was in the shadow, and how astonished they were to see the kind of white meat which was hanging from the beam. They had never seen such white meat, and this meat was arranged exactly like the calf’s. They accounted for this finally by deciding that it was not veal meat.

“‘"What a curious calf,” the clerk continued to repeat.

“‘"It is not a small calf,” said Mme. Houdry. “No! no!”

“‘"All the same, madame, they have decorated the skin on the stomach with the lancet. See!

What pretty patterns! There are two hearts, some arrows, some flowers ...Ah! those beautiful flowers.” The clerk raised up the lungs from which hung the heart.

“‘"It is a beautiful pluck,” said he, “and has not been trufled. The heart is good.”

“‘"Yes, he had a good heart!” groaned Mme. Houdry, who was all at once terrified at what she had said.

“‘Thereupon the clerk began to weep, and without knowing why, dipped his hands in a pail of cold water which was placed beside the boiler, looking for the head of the animal, and he drew out a head. But when she saw the head, Mme. Houdry fainted, for she had recognized the head of her husband.

“‘Mme. Houdry had immediately recognized her husband’s head, and the clerk himself examined it more closely, to be sure that it was the head of his master. It was a well-cut head-well refined, well scalded, well scraped. The moustache and hair had been shaved, as they should be, and but for something unforeseen, if need be, the head of the butcher would have passed for the head of a calf.

“‘The clerk in his turn fainted, and let the head of M. Houdry roll away.

“‘Some minutes later the tragedy was discovered, judging from the disturbance in the quarter.’

“The journalist,” said ThÉophraste, “was not of the opinion that the calf had decapitated the butcher, and that also was put before Cartouche’s name-that poor Cartouche.” He shrugged his shoulders once more, and then, having raised his eyes above the paper, he sought in the two corners of the dining-room, where M. Lecamus and his wife had taken refuge. They had disappeared. He called them and they did not answer. He tried to open the door of the landing, and it would not open. He then rushed to the chimney, which was large enough for him to get up, and scaled it with the same facility as he had descended the chimney when the boiler was beginning to boil at M. Houdry’s, the same morning that he had decapitated that unfortunate man.