Within an Inch of His Life

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


"Don't be afraid, Cocoleu. We want to do you no harm; only you must
answer our questions. Do you recollect what happened the other night at
Valpinson?"

Cocoleu laughed,--the laugh of an idiot,--but he made no reply. And
then, for a whole hour, begging, threatening, and promising by turns,
the magistrate tried in vain to obtain one word from him. Not even
the name of the Countess Claudieuse had the slightest effect. At last,
utterly out of patience, he said,--

"Let us go. The wretch is worse than a brute."

"Was he any better," asked the doctor, "when he denounced M. de
Boiscoran?"

But the magistrate pretended not to hear; and, when they were about to
leave the room, he said to the doctor,--

"You know that I expect your report, doctor?"

"In forty-eight hours I shall have the honor to hand it to you," replied
the latter.

But as he went off, he said half aloud,--

"And that report is going to give you some trouble, my good man."

The report was ready then, and his reason for not giving it in, was
that he thought, the longer he could delay it, the more chance he would
probably have to defeat the plan of the prosecution.

"As I mean to keep it two days longer," he thought on his way home, "why
should I not show it to this Paris lawyer who has dome down with the
marchioness? Nothing can prevent me, as far as I see, since that poor
Galpin, in his utter confusion, has forgotten to put me under oath."

But he paused. According to the laws of medical jurisprudence, had he
the right, or not, to communicate a paper belonging to the case to the
counsel of the accused? This question troubled him; for, although
he boasted that he did not believe in God, he believed firmly in
professional duty, and would have allowed himself to be cut in pieces
rather than break its laws.

"But I have clearly the right to do so," he growled. "I can only be
bound by my oath. The authorities are clear on that subject. I have in
my favor the decisions of the Court of Appeals of 27 November, and 27
December, 1828; those of the 13th June, 1835; of the 3d May, 1844; of
the 26th June, 1866."

The result of this mediation was, that, as soon as he had breakfasted,
he put his report in his pocket, and went by side streets to M. de
Chandore's house. The marchioness and the two aunts were still at
church, where they had thought it best to show themselves; and there was
no one in the sitting-room but Dionysia, the old baron, and M. Folgat.
The old gentleman was very much surprised to see the doctor. The latter
was his family physician, it is true; but, except in cases of sickness,
the two never saw each other, their political opinions were so very
different.

"If you see me here," said the physician, still in the door, "it is
simply because, upon my honor and my conscience, I believe M. Boiscoran
is innocent."

Dionysia would have liked to embrace the doctor for these words of his;
and with the greatest eagerness she pushed a large easy-chair towards
him, and said in her sweetest voice,--

"Pray sit down, my dear doctor."

"Thanks," he answered bruskly. "I am very much obliged to you." Then
turning to M. Folgat, he said, according to his odd notion,--

"I am convinced that M. Boiscoran is the victim of his republican
opinions which he has so boldly professed; for, baron, your future
son-in-law is a republican."

Grandpapa Chandore did not move. If they had come and told him Jacques
had been a member of the Commune, he would not have been any more moved.
Dionysia loved Jacques. That was enough for him.

"Well," the doctor went on, "I am a Radical, I, M."--

"Folgat," supplied the young lawyer.

"Yes, M. Folgat, I am a Radical; and it is my duty to defend a man whose
political opinions so closely resemble mine. I come, therefore, to show
you my medical report, if you can make any use of it in your defence of
M. Boiscoran, or suggest to me any ideas."

"Ah!" exclaimed the young man. "That is a very valuable service."

"But let us understand each other," said the physician earnestly. "If I
speak of listening to your suggestions, I take it for granted that they
are based upon facts. If I had a son, and he was to die on the scaffold
I would not use the slightest falsehood to save him."

He had, meanwhile, drawn the report from a pocket in his long coat, and
now put in on the table with these words,--

"I shall call for it again to-morrow morning. In the meantime you can
think it over. I should like, however, to point out to you the main
point, the culminating point, if I may say so."

At all events he was "saying so" with much hesitation, and looking
fixedly at Dionysia as if to make her understand that he would like her
to leave the room. Seeing that she did not take the hint, he added,--

"A medical and legal discussion would hardly interest the young lady."

"Why, sir, why, should I not be deeply, passionately, interested in any
thing that regards the man who is to be my husband?"

"Because ladies are generally very sensational," said the doctor
uncivilly, "very sensitive."

"Don't think so, doctor. For Jacques's sake, I promise you I will show
you quite masculine energy."

The doctor knew Dionysia well enough to see that she did not mean to go:
so he growled,--

"As you like it."

Then, turning again to M. Folgat, he said,--

"You know there were two shots fired at Count Claudieuse. One, which hit
him in the side, nearly missed him; the other, which struck his shoulder
and his neck, hit well."

"I know," said the advocate.

"The difference in the effect shows that the two shots were fired from
different distances, the second much nearer than the first."

"I know, I know!"

"Excuse me. If I refer to these details, it is because they are
important. When I was sent for in the middle of the night to come and
see Count Claudieuse, I at once set to work extracting the particles
of lead that had lodged in his flesh. While I was thus busy, M. Galpin
arrived. I expected he would ask me to show him the shot: but no, he did
not think of it; he was too full of his own ideas. He thought only of
the culprit, of _his_ culprit. I did not recall to him the A B C of his
profession: that was none of my business. The physician has to obey the
directions of justice, but not to anticipate them."

"Well, then?"

"Then M. Galpin went off to Boiscoran, and I completed my work. I have
extracted fifty-seven shot from the count's wound in the side, and a
hundred and nine from the wound on the shoulder and the neck; and, when
I had done that, do you know what I found out?"

He paused, waiting to see the effect of his words; and, when everybody's
attention seemed to him fully roused, he went on,--

"I found out that the shot in the two wounds was not alike."

M. de Chandore and M. Folgat exclaimed at one time,--

"Oh!"

"The shot that was first fired," continued Dr. Seignebos, "and which
has touched the side, is the very smallest sized 'dust.' That in the
shoulder, on the other hand, is quite large sized, such as I think is
used in shooting hares. However, I have some samples."

And with these words, he opened a piece of white paper, in which were
ten or twelve pieces of lead, stained with coagulated blood, and showing
at once a considerable difference in size. M. Folgat looked puzzled.

"Could there have been two murderers?" he asked half aloud.

"I rather think," said M. de Chandore, "that the murderer had, like
many sportsmen, one barrel ready for birds, and another for hares or
rabbits."

"At all events, this fact puts all premeditation out of question. A man
does not load his gun with small-shot in order to commit murder."

Dr. Seignebos thought he had said enough about it, and was rising to
take leave, when M. de Chandore asked him how Count Claudieuse was
doing.

"He is not doing well," replied the doctor. "The removal, in spite of
all possible precautions, has worn him out completely; for he is here in
Sauveterre since yesterday, in a house which M. Seneschal has rented for
him provisionally. He has been delirious all night through; and, when I
came to see him this morning, I do not think he knew me."

"And the countess?" asked Dionysia.

"The countess, madam, is quite as sick as her husband, and, if she had
listened to me, she would have gone to bed, too. But she is a woman
of uncommon energy, who derives from her affection for her husband an
almost incomprehensible power of resistance. As to Cocoleu," he added,
standing already near the door, "an examination of his mental condition
might produce results which no one seems to expect now. But we will talk
of that hereafter. And now, I must bid you all good-by."

"Well?" asked Dionysia and M. de Chandore, as soon as they had heard the
street door close behind Dr. Seignebos.

But M. Folgat's enthusiasm had cooled off very rapidly.

"Before giving an opinion," he said cautiously, "I must study the report
of this estimable doctor."

Unfortunately, the report contained nothing that the doctor had not
mentioned. In vain did the young advocate try all the afternoon to
find something in it that might be useful for the defence. There were
arguments in it, to be sure, which might be very valuable when the trial
should come on, but nothing that could be used to make the prosecution
give up the case.

The whole house was, therefore, cruelly disappointed and dejected, when,
about five o'clock, old Anthony came in from Boiscoran. He looked very
sad, and said,--

"I have been relieved of my duties. At two o'clock M. Galpin came
to take off the seals. He was accompanied by his clerk Mechinet, and
brought Master Jacques with him, who was guarded by two gendarmes in
citizen's clothes. When the room was opened, that unlucky man Galpin
asked Master Jacques if those were the clothes which he wore the night
of the fire, his boots, his gun, and the water in which he washed his
hands. When he had acknowledged every thing, the water was carefully
poured into a bottle, which they sealed, and handed to one of the
gendarmes. Then they put master's clothes in a large trunk, his gun,
several parcels of cartridge, and some other articles, which the
magistrate said were needed for the trial. That trunk was sealed like
the bottle, and put on the carriage; then that man Galpin went off, and
told me that I was free."

"And Jacques," Dionysia asked eagerly,--"how did he look?"

"Master, madam, laughed contemptuously."

"Did you speak to him?" asked M. Folgat.

"Oh, no, sir! M. Galpin would not allow me."

"And did you have time to look at the gun?"

"I could but just glance at the lock."

"And what did you see?"

The brow of the old servant grew still darker, as he replied sadly,--

"I saw that I had done well to keep silent. The lock is black. Master
must have used his gun since I cleaned it."

Grandpapa Chandore and M. Folgat exchanged looks of distress. One more
hope was lost.

"Now," said the young lawyer, "tell me how M. de Boiscoran usually
charged his gun."

"He used cartridges, sir, of course. They sent him, I think, two
thousand with the gun,--some for balls, some with large shot, and others
with shot of every size. At this season, when hunting is prohibited,
master could shoot nothing but rabbits, or those little birds, you know,
which come to our marshes: so he always loaded one barrel with tolerably
large shot, and the other with small-shot."

But he stopped suddenly, shocked at the impression which his statement
seemed to produce. Dionysia cried,--

"That is terrible! Every thing is against us!"

M. Folgat did not give her time to say any more. He asked,--

"My dear Anthony, did M. Galpin take all of your master's cartridges
away with him?"

"Oh, no! certainly not."

"Well, you must instantly go back to Boiscoran, and bring me three or
four cartridges of every number of shot."

"All right," said the old man. "I'll be back in a short time."

He started immediately; and, thanks to his great promptness, he
reappeared at seven o'clock, at the moment when the family got up from
dinner, and put a large package of cartridges on the table.

M. de Chandore and M. Folgat had quickly opened some of them; and,
after a few failures, they found two numbers of shot which seemed to
correspond exactly to the samples left them by the doctor.

"There is an incomprehensible fatality in all this," said the old
gentleman in an undertone.

The young lawyer, also, looked discouraged.

"It is madness," he said, "to try to establish M. de Boiscoran's
innocence without having first communicated with him."

"And if you could do so to-morrow?" asked Dionysia.

"Then, madam, he might give us the key to this mystery, which we are in
vain trying to solve; or, at least, he might tell us the way to find it
all out. But that is not to be thought of. M. de Boiscoran is held in
close confinement, and you may rest assured M. Galpin will see to it
that no communication is held with his prisoner."

"Who knows?" said the young girl.

And immediately she drew M. de Chandore aside into one of the little
card-rooms adjoining the parlor, and asked him,--

"Grandpapa, am I rich?"

Never in her life had she thought of that, and she was to a certain
extent utterly ignorant of the value of money.

"Yes, you are rich, my child," replied the old gentleman.

"How much do I have?"

"You have in your own right, as coming to you from your poor father and
from your mother, twenty-five thousand francs a year, or a capital of
about five hundred and fifty thousand francs."

"And is that a good deal?"

"It is so much, that you are one of the richest heiresses of the
district; but you have, besides, considerable expectations."

Dionysia was so preoccupied, that she did not even protest. She went on
asking,--

"What do they call here to be well off?"

"That depends, my child. If you will tell me"--

She interrupted him, putting down her foot impatiently, saying,--

"Nothing. Please answer me!"

"Well, in our little town, an income of eight hundred or a thousand
francs makes anybody very well off."

"Let us say a thousand."

"Well, a thousand would make a man very comfortable."

"And what capital would produce such an income?"

"At five per cent, it would take twenty thousand francs."

"That is to say, about the income of a year."

"Exactly."

"Never mind. I presume that is quite a large sum, and it would be rather
difficult for you, grandpapa, to get it together by to-morrow morning?"

"Not at all. I have that much in railway coupon-bonds; and they are just
as good as current money."

"Ah! Do you mean to say, that, if I gave anybody twenty thousand francs
in such bonds, it would be just the same to him as if I gave him twenty
thousand francs in bank-notes?"

"Just so."

Dionysia smiled. She thought she saw light. Then she went on,--

"If that is so, I must beg you, grandpapa, to give me twenty thousand
francs in coupon-bonds."

The old gentleman started.

"You are joking," he said. "What do you want with so much money? You are
surely joking."

"Not at all. I have never in my life been more serious," replied the
young girl in a tone of voice which could not be mistaken. "I beseech
you, grandpapa, if you love me, give me these twenty thousand francs
this evening, right now. You hesitate? O God! You may kill me if you
refuse."

No, M. de Chandore was hesitating no longer.

"Since you will have it so," he said, "I am going up stairs to get it."

She clapped her hands with joy.

"That's it," she said. "Make haste and dress; for I have to go out, and
you must go with me."

Then going up to her aunts and the marchioness, she said to them,--

"I hope you will excuse me, if I leave you; but I must go out."

"At this hour?" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "Where are you going?"

"To my dressmakers, the Misses Mechinet. I want a dress."

"Great God!" cried Aunt Adelaide, "the child is losing her mind!"

"I assure you I am not, aunt."

"Then let me go with you."

"Thank you, no. I shall go alone; that is to say, alone with dear
grandpapa."

And as M. de Chandore came back, his pockets full of bonds, his hat on
his head, and his cane in his hand, she carried him off, saying,--

"Come, quick, dear grandpapa, we are in a great hurry."



VII.

Although M. de Chandore was literally worshipping his grandchild on his
knees, and had transferred all his hopes and his affections to her who
alone survived of his large family, he had still had his thoughts when
he went up stairs to take from his money-box so large a sum of money. As
soon, therefore, as they were outside of the house, he said,--

"Now that we are alone, my dear child, will you tell me what you mean to
do with all this money?"

"That is my secret," she replied.

"And you have not confidence enough in your old grandfather to tell him
what it is, darling?"

He stopped a moment; but she drew him on, saying,--

"You shall know it all, and in less than an hour. But, oh! You must not
be angry, grandpapa. I have a plan, which is no doubt very foolish. If I
told you, I am afraid you would stop me; and if you succeeded, and then
something happened to Jacques, I should not survive the misery. And
think of it, what you would feel, if you were to think afterwards, 'If I
had only let her have her way!'"

"Dionysia, you are cruel!"

"On the other hand, if you did not induce me to give up my project, you
would certainly take away all my courage; and I need it all, I tell you,
grandpapa, for what I am going to risk."

"You see, my dear child, and you must pardon me for repeating it once
more, twenty thousand francs are a big sum of money; and there are many
excellent and clever people who work hard, and deny themselves every
thing, a whole life long, without laying up that much."

"Ah, so much the better!" cried the young girl. "So much the better. I
do hope there will be enough so as to meet with no refusal!"

Grandpapa Chandore began to comprehend.

"After all," he said, "you have not told me where we are going."

"To my dressmakers."

"To the Misses Mechinet?"

"Yes."

M. de Chandore was sure now.

"We shall not find them at home," he said. "This is Sunday; and they are
no doubt at church."

"We shall find them, grandpapa; for they always take tea at half-past
seven, for their brother's, the clerk's sake. But we must make haste."

The old gentleman did make haste; but it is a long way from the
New-Market Place to Hill Street; for the sisters Mechinet lived on the
Square, and, if you please, in a house of their own,--a house which was
to be the delight of their days, and which had become the trouble of
their nights.

They bought the house the year before the war, upon their brother's
advice, and going halves with him, paying a sum of forty-seven thousand
francs, every thing included. It was a capital bargain; for they rented
out the basement and the first story to the first grocer in Sauveterre.
The sisters did not think they were imprudent in paying down ten
thousand francs in cash, and in binding themselves to pay the rest in
three yearly instalments. The first year all went well; but then came
the war and numerous disasters. The income of the sisters and of the
brother was much reduced, and they had nothing to live upon but his pay
as clerk; so that they had to use the utmost economy, and even contract
some debts, in order to pay the second instalment. When peace came,
their income increased again, and no one doubted in Sauveterre but that
they would manage to get out of their difficulties, as the brother was
one of the hardest working men, and the sisters were patronized by "the
most distinguished" ladies of the whole country.

"Grandpapa, they are at home," said Dionysia, when they reached the
Square.

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure. I see light in their windows."

M. de Chandore stopped.

"What am I to do next?" he asked.

"You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here,
walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet. I would
ask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you.
Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much as
long as it concerned only a little girl."

The old gentleman's last doubts began to vanish.

"You won't succeed, my poor girl," he said.

"O God!" she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, "why will you
discourage me?"

He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his
pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into
her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, she
said,--

"Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won't be long."

And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her
dressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their
supper, which consisted of a small piece of port and a light salad, with
an abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore
they all started up.

"You, miss," cried the elder of the two,--"you!"

Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple "you" meant. It
meant, with the help of the tone of voice, "What? your betrothed is
charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against
him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be
tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned--and you are here?"

But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.

"Yes," she replied, "it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; and
I come to ask you to show me some samples."

The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother's advice, had made
an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received
samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they
sold.

"I will do so with pleasure," said the older sister. "Just allow me to
light a lamp. It is almost dark."

While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her
brother,--

"Are you not going to the Orpheon?"

"Not to-night," he replied.

"Are you not expected to be there?"

"No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates
for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court."

While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a
candle.

"Good-night!" he said to his sisters. "I won't see you again to-night,"
and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his
hand.

"Where is your brother going?" Dionysia asked eagerly.

"To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of the
staircase."

Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunity
slip,--an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering up
all her courage, she said,--

"But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my
dear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment." And
she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with
open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the
poor lady of reason.

The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key
of his room.

"I want to speak to you instantly," said Dionysia.

Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word. He made
a movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girl
said,--

"No, in your room. We must not be overheard. Open sir, please. Open,
somebody might come."

The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half a
minute to find the keyhole, and put the key in. At last, when the door
was opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass: but she said, "No, go
in!"

He obeyed. She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, she
shut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed. Mechinet
the clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness. Dionysia was
timidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remaining
speechless for some time. At this moment, however, it was certainly not
the young girl who was embarrassed.

"Sit down, M. Mechinet," she said, "and listen to me."

He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down.

"You know me, don't you?" asked Dionysia.

"Certainly I do, madam."

"You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. de Boiscoran?"

The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat his
forehead furiously with his hand, and said,--

"Ah, what a fool I was! Now I see."

"Yes, you are right," replied the girl. "I come to talk to you abut M.
de Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband."

She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained there
face to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he asking
himself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far she
might venture.

"You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M.
de Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of all
crimes!"

"Oh, surely, I do!" replied Mechinet.

And, carried away by his emotion, he added,--

"But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at all
the examinations, and who have no small experience in criminal
matters,--that I believe M. de Boiscoran innocent. I know M. Galpin does
not think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, nor
the town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction. You see, I was there
when they fell upon M. de Boiscoran, asleep in his bed. Well, the very
tone of his voice, as he cried out, 'Oh, my dear Galpin!' told me that
the man is not guilty."