Within an Inch of His Life

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> Within an Inch of His Life


"After all we shall see," said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlocking
the door.

But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau at
Boiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thing
out of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or said
that he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home more
troubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, if
he could have retraced his steps!

But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himself
to go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it was
henceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;
that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It must
be. It was a question of life or death for him.

He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called at
his house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instant
his over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. What
could the two old ladies want of him?

"Show them in," he said at last.

They came in, and haughtily declined the chairs that were offered.

"I hardly expected to have the honor of a visit from you, ladies," he
commenced.

The older of the two, Miss Adelaide, cut him short, saying,--

"I suppose not, after what has passed."

And thereupon, speaking with all the eloquence of a pious woman who
is trying to wither an impious man, she poured upon him a stream of
reproaches for what she called his infamous treachery. What? How could
he appear against Jacques, who was his friend, and who had actually
aided him in obtaining the promise of a great match. By that one hope
he had become, so to say, a member of the family. Did he not know that
among kinsmen it was a sacred duty to set aside all personal feelings
for the purpose of protecting that sacred patrimony called family honor?

M. Galpin felt like a man upon whom a handful of stones falls from the
fifth story of a house. Still he preserved his self-control, and even
asked himself what advantage he might obtain from this extraordinary
scene. Might it open a door for reconciliation?

As soon, therefore, as Miss Adelaide stopped, he began justifying
himself, painting in hypocritical colors the grief it had given him,
swearing that he was able to control the events, and that Jacques was as
dear to him now as ever.

"If he is so dear to you," broke in Miss Adelaide, "why don't you set
him free?"

"Ah! how can I?"

"At least give his family and his friends leave to see him."

"The law will not let me. If he is innocent, he has only to prove it. If
he is guilty, he must confess. In the first case, he will be set free;
in the other case, he can see whom he wishes."

"If he is so dear to you, how could you dare read the letter he had
written to Dionysia?"

"It is one of the most painful duties of my profession to do so."

"Ah! And does that profession also prevent you from giving us that
letter after having read it?"

"Yes. But I may tell you what is in it."

He took it out of a drawer, and the younger of the two sisters, Miss
Elizabeth, copied it in pencil. Then they withdrew, almost without
saying good-by.

M. Galpin was furious. He exclaimed,--

"Ah, old witches! I see clearly you do not believe in Jacques's
innocence. Why else should his family be so very anxious to see him? No
doubt they want to enable him to escape by suicide the punishment of his
crime. But, by the great God, that shall not be, if I can help it!"

M. Folgat was, as we have seen, excessively annoyed at this step taken
by the Misses Lavarande; but he did not let it be seen. It was very
necessary that he at least should retain perfect presence of mind and
calmness in this cruelly tried family. M. de Chandore, on the other
hand, could not conceal his dissatisfaction so well; and, in spite of
his deference to his grandchild's wishes, he said,--

"I am sure, my dear child, I don't wish to blame you. But you know your
aunts, and you know, also, how uncompromising they are. They are quite
capable of exasperating M. Galpin."

"What does it matter?" asked the young girl haughtily. "Circumspection
is all very well for guilty people; but Jacques is innocent."

"Miss Chandore is right," said M. Folgat, who seemed to succumb to
Dionysia like the rest of the family. "Whatever the ladies may have
done, they cannot make matters worse. M. Galpin will be none the less
our bitter enemy."

Grandpapa Chandore started. He said,--

"But"--

"Oh! I do not blame him," broke in the young lawyer; "but I blame
the laws which make him act as he does. How can a magistrate remain
perfectly impartial in certain very important cases, like this one, when
his whole future career depends upon his success? A man may be a most
upright magistrate, incapable of unfairness, and conscientious in
fulfilling all his duties, and yet he is but a man. He has his interest
at stake. He does not like the court to find that that there is no case.
The great rewards are not always given to the lawyer who has taken most
pains to find out the truth."

"But M. Galpin was a friend of ours, sir."

"Yes; and that is what makes me fear. What will be his fate on the day
when M. Jacques's innocence is established?"

They were just coming home, quite proud of their achievement, and waving
in triumph the copy of Jacques's letter. Dionysia seized upon it; and,
while she read it aside, Miss Adelaide described the interview, stating
how haughty and disdainful she had been, and how humble and repentant M.
Galpin had seemed to be.

"He was completely undone," said the two old ladies with one voice: "he
was crushed, annihilated."

"Yes, you have done a nice thing," growled the old baron; "and you have
much reason to boast, forsooth."

"My aunts have done well," declared Dionysia. "Just see what Jacques
has written! It is clear and precise. What can we fear when he says, 'Be
reassured: when the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right'?"

M. Folgat took the letter, read it, and shook his head. Then he said,--

"There was no need of this letter to confirm my opinion. At the bottom
of this affair there is a secret which none of us have found out yet.
But M. de Boiscoran acts very rashly in playing in this way with a
criminal prosecution. Why did he not explain at once? What was easy
yesterday may be less easy to-morrow, and perhaps impossible in a week."

"Jacques, sir, is a superior man," cried Dionysia, "and whatever he says
is perfectly sure to be the right thing."

His mother's entrance prevented the young lawyer from making any reply.
Two hours' rest had restored to the old lady a part of her energy, and
her usual presence of mind; and she now asked that a telegram should be
sent to her husband.

"It is the least we can do," said M. de Chandore in an undertone,
"although it will be useless, I dare say. Boiscoran does not care that
much for his son. Pshaw! Ah! if it was a rare _faience_, or a plate that
is wanting in his collection, then would it be a very different story."

Still the despatch was drawn up and sent, at the very moment when a
servant came in, and announced that dinner was ready. The meal was less
sad than they had anticipated. Everybody, to be sure, felt a heaviness
at heart as he thought that at the same hour a jailer probably brought
Jacques his meal to his cell; nor could Dionysia keep from dropping a
tear when she saw M. Folgat sitting in her lover's place. But no one,
except the young advocate, thought that Jacques was in real danger.

M. Seneschal, however, who came in just as coffee was handed round,
evidently shared M. Folgat's apprehensions. The good mayor came to hear
the news, and to tell his friends how he had spent the day. The funeral
of the firemen had passed off quietly, although amid deep emotion. No
disturbance had taken place, as was feared; and Dr. Seignebos had not
spoken at the graveyard. Both a disturbance and a row would have been
badly received, said M. Seneschal; for he was sorry to say, the immense
majority of the people of Sauveterre did not doubt M. de Boiscoran's
guilt. In several groups he had heard people say, "And still you will
see they will not condemn him. A poor devil who should commit such a
horrible crime would be hanged sure enough; but the son of the Marquis
de Boiscoran--you will see, he'll come out of it as white as snow."

The rolling of a carriage, which stopped at the door, fortunately
interrupted him at this point.

"Who can that be?" asked Dionysia, half frightened.

They heard in the passage the noise of steps and voices, something like
a scuffle; and almost instantly the tenant's son Michael pushed open the
door of the sitting-room, crying out,--

"I have gotten him! Here he is!"

And with these words he pushed in Cocoleu, all struggling, and looking
around him, like a wild beast caught in a trap.

"Upon my word, my good fellow," said M. Seneschal, "you have done better
than the gendarmes!"

The manner in which Michael winked with his eye showed that he had not a
very exalted opinion of the cleverness of the gendarmes.

"I promised the baron," he said, "I would get hold of Cocoleu somehow or
other. I knew that at certain times he went and buried himself, like the
wild beast that he is, in a hole which he has scratched under a rock in
the densest part of the forest of Rochepommier. I had discovered this
den of his one day by accident; for a man might pass by a hundred times,
and never dream of where it was. But, as soon as the baron told me that
the innocent had disappeared, I said to myself, 'I am sure he is in his
hole: let us go and see.' So I gathered up my legs; I ran down to the
rocks: and there was Cocoleu. But it was not so easy to pull him out of
his den. He would not come; and, while defending himself, he bit me in
the hand, like the mad dog that he is."

And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece of
linen.

"It was pretty hard work to get the madman here. I was compelled to tie
him hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father's house. There
we put him into the little carriage, and here he is. Just look at the
pretty fellow!"

He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over with
red marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutish
glances.

"Why would you not come?" asked M. Seneschal.

The idiot looked as if he did not hear.

"Why did you bit Michael?" continued the mayor.

Cocoleu made no reply.

"Do you know that M. de Boiscoran is in prison because of what you have
said?"

Still no reply.

"Ah!" said Michael, "it is of no use to question him. You might beat him
till to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word."

"I am--I am hungry," stammered Cocoleu.

M. Folgat looked indignant.

"And to think," he said, "that, upon the testimony of such a thing, a
capital charge has been made!"

Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed. He said,--

"But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?"

"I am going to take him," said M. Seneschal, "to the hospital. I will
go with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealth
attorney."

Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd stories
which his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded. But he had,
at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he called
it, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views,
the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. He
would, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues were
amazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say so
in his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diploma
which gives him the right over life and death, that man became in his
eyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, he
thought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hence
his obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of his
contradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the
"gentlemen of the law" to leave the room in which _his_ patient was
lying.

"For these devils," he said, "would kill one man in order to get the
means of cutting off another man's head."

And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to work
once more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain the
lead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o'clock the
work was done.

"Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out," he said modestly, "but,
if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to wait
for certain symptoms which will tell me where they are."

As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His first
excitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to be
insensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;
and, considering the count's constitution, it was easily to be foreseen
that delirium would set in before the day was out.

"Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger," said the doctor to
the countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms,
so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to let
no one approach her husband's bed, and M. Galpin least of all.

This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment a
peasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the door
who wished to see the count.

"Show him in," said the doctor; "I'll speak to him."

It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up his
place, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officer
of justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was also
the agent of a fire insurance company. It was in this capacity that he
presumed, as he told the countess, to present himself in person. He had
been informed that the farm buildings at Valpinson, which were insured
in his company, had been destroyed by fire; that they had been purposely
set on fire by M. de Boiscoran; and that he wished to confer with
Count Claudieuse on the subject. Far from him, he added, to decline the
responsibility of his company: he only wished to establish the facts
which would enable him to fall back upon M. de Boiscoran, who was a man
of fortune, and would certainly be condemned to make compensation
for the injury done. For this purpose, certain formalities had to
be attended to; and he had come to arrange with Count Claudieuse the
necessary measures.

"And I," said Dr. Seignebos,--"I request you to take to your heels." He
added with a thundering voice,--

"I think you are very bold to dare to speak in that way of M. de
Boiscoran."

M. Tetard disappeared without saying another word; and the doctor,
very much excited by this scene, turned to the youngest daughter of the
countess, the one with whom she was sitting up when the fire broke out,
and who was now decidedly better: after that nothing could keep him at
Valpinson. He carefully pocketed the pieces of lead which he had taken
from the count's wounds, and then, drawing the countess out to the door,
he said,--

"Before I go away, madam, I should like to know what you think of these
events."

The poor lady, who looked as pale as death itself, could hardly hold up
any longer. There seemed to be nothing alive in her but her eyes, which
were lighted up with unusual brilliancy.

"Ah! I do not know, sir," she replied in a feeble voice. "How can I
collect my thoughts after such terrible shocks?"

"Still you questioned Cocoleu."

"Who would not have done so, when the truth was at stake?"

"And you were not surprised at the name he mentioned?"

"You must have seen, sir."

"I saw; and that is exactly why I ask you, and why I want to know what
you really think of the state of mind of the poor creature."

"Don't you know that he is idiotic?"

"I know; and that is why I was so surprised to see you insist upon
making him talk. Do you really think, that, in spite of his habitual
imbecility, he may have glimpses of sense?"

"He had, a few moments before, saved my children from death."

"That proves his devotion for you."

"He is very much attached to me indeed, just like a poor animal that I
might have picked up and cared for."

"Perhaps so. And still he showed more than mere animal instinct."

"That may well be so. I have more than once noticed flashes of
intelligence in Cocoleu."

The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.

"It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did not
enlighten him when he saw M. de Boiscoran make a fire and get ready to
murder Count Claudieuse."

The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint.

"But it is exactly to his excitement at the sight of the flames, and at
hearing the shots fired, that I ascribe Cocoleu's return to reason."

"May be," said the doctor, "may be."

Then putting on his spectacles again, he added,--

"That is a question to be decided by the professional men who will have
to examine the poor imbecile creature."

"What! Is he going to be examined?"

"Yes, and very thoroughly, madam, I tell you. And now I have the honor
of wishing you good-bye. However, I shall come back to-night, unless
you should succeed during the day in finding lodgings in Sauveterre,--an
arrangement which would be very desirable for myself, in the first
place, and not less so for your husband and your daughter. They are not
comfortable in this cottage."

Thereupon he lifted his hat, returned to town, and immediately asked
M. Seneschal in the most imperious manner to have Cocoleu arrested.
Unfortunately the gendarmes had been unsuccessful; and Dr. Seignebos,
who saw how unfortunate all this was for Jacques, began to get terribly
impatient, when on Saturday night, towards ten o'clock, M. Seneschal
came in, and said,--

"Cocoleu is found."

The doctor jumped up, and in a moment his hat on his head, and stick in
hand, asked,--

"Where is he?"

"At the hospital. I have seen him myself put into a separate room."

"I am going there."

"What, at this hour?"

"Am I not one of the hospital physicians? And is it not open to me by
night and by day?"

"The sisters will be in bed."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders furiously; then he said,--

"To be sure, it would be a sacrilege to break the slumbers of these good
sisters, these dear sisters, as you say. Ah, my dear mayor! When shall
we have laymen for our hospitals? And when will you put good stout
nurses in the place of these holy damsels?"

M. Seneschal had too often discussed that subject with the doctor, to
open it anew. He kept silent, and that was wise; for Dr. Seignebos sat
down, saying,--

"Well, I must wait till to-morrow."



VI.

"The hospital in Sauveterre," says the guide book, "is, in spite of
its limited size, one of the best institutions of the kind in the
department. The chapel and the new additions were built at the expense
of the Countess de Maupaison, the widow of one of the ministers of Louis
Philippe."

But what the guide book does not say is, that the hospital was endowed
with three free beds for pregnant women, by Mrs. Seneschal, or that the
two wings on both sides of the great entrance-gate have also been built
by her liberality. One of these wings, the one on the right, is used
by the janitor, a fine-looking old man, who formerly was beadle at the
cathedral, and who loves to think of the happy days when he added to the
splendor of the church by his magnificent presence, his red uniform, his
gold bandelaire, his halbert, and his gold-headed cane.

This janitor was, on Sunday morning, a little before eight o'clock,
smoking his pipe in the yard, when he saw Dr. Seignebos coming in. The
doctor was walking faster than usual, his hat over his face, and his
hands thrust deep into his pockets, evident signs of a storm. Instead of
coming, as he did every day before making the rounds, into the office
of the sister-druggist, he went straight up to the room of the lady
superior. There, after the usual salutations, he said,--

"They have no doubt brought you, my sister, last night, a patient, an
idiot, called Cocoleu?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Where has he been put?"

"The mayor saw him himself put into the little room opposite the linen
room."

"And how did he behave?"

"Perfectly well: the sister who kept the watch did not hear him stir."

"Thanks, my sister!" said Dr. Seignebos.

He was already in the door, when the lady superior recalled him.

"Are you going to see the poor man, doctor?" she asked.

"Yes, my sister; why?"

"Because you cannot see him."

"I cannot?"

"No. The commonwealth attorney has sent us orders not to let any one,
except the sister who nurses him, come near Cocoleu,--no one, doctor,
not even the physician, a case of urgency, of course, excepted."

Dr. Seignebos smiled ironically. Then he said, laughing scornfully,--

"Ah, these are your orders, are they? Well, I tell you that I do not
mind them in the least. Who can prevent me from seeing my patient?
Tell me that! Let the commonwealth attorney give his orders in his
court-house as much as he chooses: that is all right. But in my
hospital! My sister, I am going to Cocoleu's room."

"Doctor, you cannot go there. There is a gendarme at the door."

"A gendarme?"

"Yes, he came this morning with the strictest orders."

For a moment the doctor was overcome. Then he suddenly broke out with
unusual violence, and a voice that made the windows shake,--

"This is unheard of! This is an abominable abuse of power! I'll have my
rights, and justice shall be done me, if I have to go to Thiers!"

Then he rushed out without ceremony, crossed the yard, and disappeared
like an arrow, in the direction of the court-house. At that very moment
M. Daubigeon was getting up, feeling badly because he had had a bad,
sleepless night, thanks to this unfortunate affair of M. de Boiscoran,
which troubled him sorely; for he was almost of M. Galpin's opinion. In
vain he recalled Jacques's noble character, his well-known uprightness,
his keen sense of honor, the evidence was so strong, so overwhelming!
He wanted to doubt; but experience told him that a man's past is
no guarantee for his future. And, besides, like many great criminal
lawyers, he thought, what he would never have ventured to say openly,
that some great criminals act while they are under the influence of a
kind of vertigo, and that this explains the stupidity of certain crimes
committed by men of superior intelligence.

Since his return from Boiscoran, he had kept close in his house; and he
had just made up his mind not to leave the house that day, when some one
rang his bell furiously. A moment later Dr. Seignebos fell into the room
like a bombshell.

"I know what brings you, doctor," said M. Daubigeon. "You come about
that order I have given concerning Cocoleu."

"Yes, indeed, sir! That order is an insult."

"I have been asked to give it as a matter of necessity, by M. Galpin."

"And why did you not refuse? You alone are responsible for it in my
eyes. You are commonwealth attorney, consequently the head of the bar,
and superior to M. Galpin."

M. Daubigeon shook his head and said,--

"There you are mistaken, doctor. The magistrate in such a case is
independent of myself and of the court. He is not even bound to obey the
attorney-general, who can make suggestions to him, but cannot give him
orders. M. Galpin, in his capacity as examining magistrate, has his
independent jurisdiction, and is armed with almost unlimited power. No
one in the world can say so well as an examining magistrate what the
poet calls,--

"'Such is my will, such are my orders, and my will is sufficient.'

"'Hoc volo, hoc jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas.'"

For once Dr. Seignebos seemed to be convinced by M. Daubigeon's words.
He said,--

"Then, M. Galpin has even the right to deprive a sick man of his
physician's assistance."

"If he assumes the responsibility, yes. But he does not mean to go so
far. He was, on the contrary, about to ask you, although it is Sunday,
to come and be present at a second examination of Cocoleu. I am
surprised that you have not received his note, and that you did not meet
him at the hospital."

"Well, I am going at once."

And he went back hurriedly, and was glad he had done so; for at the door
of the hospital he came face to face against M. Galpin, who was just
coming in, accompanied by his faithful clerk, Mechinet.

"You came just in time, doctor," began the magistrate, with his usual
solemnity.

But, short and rapid as the doctor's walk had been, it had given
him time to reflect, and to grow cool. Instead of breaking out into
recriminations, he replied in a tone of mock politeness,--

"Yes, I know. It is that poor devil to whom you have given a gendarme
for a nurse. Let us go up: I am at your service."

The room in which Cocoleu had been put was large, whitewashed, and
empty, except that a bed, a table and two chairs, stood about. The bed
was no doubt a good one; but the idiot had taken off the mattress and
the blankets, and lain down in his clothes on the straw bed. Thus the
magistrate and the physician found him as they entered. He rose at their
appearance; but, when he saw the gendarme, he uttered a cry, and tried
to hide under the bed. M. Galpin ordered the gendarme to pull him out
again. Then he walked up to him, and said,--