Within an Inch of His Life

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


"Oh, sir," stammered Dionysia, "thanks, thanks!"

"There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmed
my conviction. As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. de Boiscoran
does! You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to remove
the seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that were
asked. I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought. He said I was
a fool. Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is. Ah! I beg your
pardon, I mean that he is mistaken. The more I see of M. de Boiscoran,
the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say to
clear up the whole matter."

Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she
well-nigh forgot why she had come.

"Then," she asked, "you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?"

"I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam," was the reply. "But
he is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mind
returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his
ingenuity and his cleverness"--

Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his
consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much
in his cups. He exclaimed,--

"Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven's sake, madam, do not
let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you
just now."

Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come. She said,--

"If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon my
discretion. You need not regret having given me by your confidence some
little comfort in my great sorrow. You need not; for"--

Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort she
could add,--

"For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, much
more."

Mechinet had turned painfully pale. He broke in vehemently,--

"Not another word, madam: your hope already is an insult to me. You
ought surely to know that by my profession, as well as by my oath, I am
bound to be as silent as the very cell in which the prisoners are kept.
If I, the clerk, were to betray the secret of a criminal prosecution"--

Dionysia trembled like an aspen-leaf; but her mind remained clear and
decided. She said,--

"You would rather let an innocent man perish."

"Madam!"

"You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word you
could remove the mistake of which he is the victim? You would say to
yourself, 'It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak'? And you would
see him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold? No, I cannot believe
that! No, that cannot be true!"

"I told you, madam, I believe in M. de Boiscoran's innocence."

"And you refuse to aid me in establishing his innocence? O God! what
ideas men form of their duty! How can I move you? How can I convince
you? Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they charge
with being an assassin? Must I tell you what horrible anguish we suffer,
we, his friends, his relatives?--how his mother weeps, how I weep, I,
his betrothed! We know he is innocent; and yet we cannot establish his
innocence for want of a friend who would aid us, who would pity us!"

In all his life the clerk had not heard such burning words. He was moved
to the bottom of his heart. At last he asked, trembling,--

"What do you want me to do, madam?"

"Oh! very little, sir, very little,--just to send M. de Boiscoran ten
lines, and to bring us his reply."

The boldness of the request seemed to stun the clerk. He said,--

"Never!"

"You will not have pity?"

"I should forfeit my honor."

"And, if you let an innocent one be condemned, what would that be?"

Mechinet was evidently suffering anguish. Amazed, overcome, he did
not know what to say, what to do. At last he thought of one reason for
refusing, and stammered out,--

"And if I were found out? I should lose my place, ruin my sisters,
destroy my career for life."

With trembling hands, Dionysia drew from her pocket the bonds which her
grandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table. She
began,--

"There are twenty thousand francs."

The clerk drew back frightened. He cried,--

"Money! You offer me money!"

"Oh, don't be offended!" began the young girl again, with a voice that
would have moved a stone. "How could I want to offend you, when I ask of
you more than my life? There are services which can never be paid. But,
if the enemies of M. de Boiscoran should find out that you have aided
us, their rage might turn against you."

Instinctively the clerk unloosed his cravat. The struggle within him, no
doubt, was terrible. He was stifled.

"Twenty thousand francs!" he said in a hoarse voice.

"Is it not enough?" asked the young girl. "Yes, you are right: it is
very little. But I have as much again for you, twice as much."

With haggard eyes, Mechinet had approached the table, and was
convulsively handling the pile of papers, while he repeated,--

"Twenty thousand francs! A thousand a year!"

"No, double that much, and moreover, our gratitude, our devoted
friendship, all the influence of the two families of Boiscoran and
Chandore; in a word, fortune, position, respect."

But by this time, thanks to a supreme effort of will, the clerk had
recovered his self-control.

"No more, madam, say no more!"

And with a determined, though still trembling voice, he went on,--

"Take your money back again, madam. If I were to do what you want me to
do, if I were to betray my duty for money, I should be the meanest of
men. If, on the other hand, I am actuated only by a sincere conviction
and an interest in the truth, I may be looked upon as a fool; but I
shall always be worthy of the esteem of honorable men. Take back that
fortune, madam, which has made an honest man waver for a moment in his
conscience. I will do what you ask, but for nothing."

If grandpapa was getting tired of walking up and down in the Square, the
sisters of Mechinet found time pass still more slowly in their workroom.
They asked each other,--

"What can Miss Dionysia have to say to brother?"

At the end of ten minutes, their curiosity, stimulated by the most
absurd suppositions, had become such martyrdom to them, that they made
up their minds to knock at the clerk's door.

"Ah, leave me alone!" he cried out, angry at being thus interrupted. But
then he considered a moment, opened hastily, and said quite gently,--

"Go back to your room, my dear sisters, and, if you wish to spare me a
very serious embarrassment, never tell anybody in this world that Miss
Chandore has had a conversation with me."

Trained to obey, the two sisters went back, but not so promptly that
they should have not seen the bonds which Dionysia had thrown upon the
table, and which were quite familiar in their appearance to them, as
they had once owned some of them themselves. Their burning desire to
know was thus combined with vague terror; and, when they got back to
their room, the younger asked,--

"Did you see?"

"Yes, those bonds," replied the other.

"There must have been five or six hundred."

"Even more, perhaps."

"That is to say, a very big sum of money."

"An enormous one."

"What can that mean, Holy Virgin! And what have we to expect?"

"And brother asking us to keep his secret!"

"He looked as pale as his shirt, and terribly distressed."

"Miss Dionysia was crying like a Magdalen."

It was so. Dionysia, as long as she had been uncertain of the result,
had felt in her heart that Jacques's safety depended on her courage and
her presence of mind. But now, assured of success, she could no longer
control her excitement; and, overcome by the effort, she had sunk down
on a chair and burst out into tears.

The clerk shut the door, and looked at her for some time; then, having
overcome his own emotions, he said to her,--

"Madame."

But, as she heard his voice, she jumped up, and taking his hands into
hers, she broke out,--

"O sir! How can I thank you! How can I ever make you aware of the depth
of my gratitude!"

"Don't speak of that," he said almost rudely, trying to conceal his deep
feeling.

"I will say nothing more," she replied very gently; "but I must tell you
that none of us will ever forget the debt of gratitude which we owe you
from this day. You say the great service which you are about to render
us is not free from danger. Whatever may happen, you must remember,
that, from this moment, you have in us devoted friends."

The interruption caused by his sisters had had the good effect of
restoring to Mechinet a good portion of his habitual self-possession. He
said,--

"I hope no harm will come of it; and yet I cannot conceal from you,
madam, that the service which I am going to try to render you presents
more difficulties than I thought."

"Great God!" murmured Dionysia.

"M. Galpin," the clerk went on saying, "is, perhaps, not exactly a
superior man; but he understands his profession; he is cunning, and
exceedingly suspicious. Only yesterday he told me that he knew the
Boiscoran family would try every thing in the world to save M. de
Boiscoran from justice. Hence he is all the time on the watch, and takes
all kinds of precautions. If he dared to it, he would have his bed put
across his cell in the prison."

"That man hates me, M. Mechinet!"

"Oh, no, madam! But he is ambitious: he thinks his success in his
profession depends upon his success in this case; and he is afraid the
accused might escape or be carried off."

Mechinet was evidently in great perplexity, and scratched his ear. Then
he added,--

"How am I to go about to let M. de Boiscoran have your note? If he knew
beforehand, it would be easy. But he is unprepared. And then he is just
as suspicious as M. Galpin. He is always afraid lest they prepare him a
trap; and he is on the lookout. If I make him a sign, I fear he will
not understand me; and, if I make him a sign, will not M. Galpin see it?
That man is lynx-eyed."

"Are you never alone with M. de Boiscoran?"

"Never for an instant, madam. I only go in with the magistrate, and
I come out with him. You will say, perhaps, that in leaving, as I am
behind, I might drop the note cleverly. But, when we leave, the jailer
is there, and he has good eyes. I should have to dread, besides, M. de
Boiscoran's own suspicions. If he saw a letter coming to him in that
way, from me, he is quite capable of handing it at once to M. Galpin."

He paused, and after a moment's meditation he went on,--

"The safest way would probably be to win the confidence of M. Blangin,
the keeper of the jail, or of some prisoner, whose duty it is to wait on
M. de Boiscoran, and to watch him."

"Trumence!" exclaimed Dionysia.

The clerk's face expressed the most startled surprise. He said,--

"What! You know his name?"

"Yes, I do; for Blangin mentioned him to me; and the name struck me the
day when M. de Boiscoran's mother and I went to the jail, not knowing
what was meant by 'close confinement.'"

The clerk was disappointed.

"Ah!" he said, "now I understand M. Galpin's great trouble. He has, no
doubt, heard of your visit, and imagined that you wanted to rob him of
his prisoner."

He murmured some words, which Dionysia could not hear; and then, coming
to some decision, apparently, he said,--

"Well, never mind! I'll see what can be done. Write your letter, madam:
here are pens and ink."

The young girl made no reply, but sat down at Mechinet's table; but, at
the moment when she was putting pen to paper she asked,--

"Has M. de Boiscoran any books in his prison?"

"Yes, madam. At his request M. Galpin himself went and selected, in M.
Daubigeon's library, some books of travels and some of Cooper's novels
for him."

Dionysia uttered a cry of delight.

"O Jacques!" she said, "how glad I am you counted upon me!" and, without
noticing how utterly Mechinet seemed to be surprised, she wrote,--

"We are sure of your innocence, Jacques, and still we are in despair.
Your mother is here, with a Paris lawyer, a M. Folgat, who is devoted
to your interests. What must we do? Give us your instructions. You can
reply without fear, as you have _our_ book.

"DIONYSIA."

"Read this," she said to the clerk, when she had finished. But he did
not avail himself of the permission. He folded the paper, and slipped it
into an envelope, which he sealed.

"Oh, you are very kind!" said the young girl, touched by his delicacy.

"Not at all, madam. I only try to do a dishonest thing in the most
honest way. To-morrow, madam, you shall have your answer."

"I will call for it."

Mechinet trembled.

"Take care not to do so," he said. "The good people of Sauveterre are
too cunning not to know that just now you are not thinking much of
dress; and your calls here would look suspicious. Leave it to me to see
to it that you get M. de Boiscoran's answer."

While Dionysia was writing, the clerk had made a parcel of the bonds
which she had brought. He handed it to her, and said,--

"Take it, madam. If I want money for Blangin, or for Trumence, I will
ask you for it. And now you must go: you need not go in to my sisters. I
will explain your visit to them."



VIII.

"What can have happened to Dionysia, that she does not come back?"
murmured Grandpapa Chandore, as he walked up and down the Square, and
looked, for the twentieth time, at his watch. For some time the fear of
displeasing his grandchild, and of receiving a scolding, kept him at
the place where she had told him to wait for her; but at last it was too
much for him, and he said,--

"Upon my word, this is too much! I'll risk it."

And, crossing the road which separates the Square from the houses, he
entered the long, narrow passage in the house of the sisters Mechinet.
He was just putting his foot on the first step of the stairs, when he
saw a light above. He distinguished the voice of his granddaughter, and
then her light step.

"At last!" he thought.

And swiftly, like a schoolboy who hears his teacher coming, and fears
to be caught in the act, he slipped back into the Square. Dionysia was
there almost at the same moment, and fell on his neck, saying,--

"Dear grandpapa, I bring you back your bonds," and then she rained a
shower of kisses upon the old gentleman's furrowed cheeks.

If any thing could astonish M. de Chandore, it was the idea that there
should exist in this world a man with a heart hard, cruel, and barbarous
enough, to resist his Dionysia's prayers and tears, especially if
they were backed by twenty thousand francs. Nevertheless, he said
mournfully,--

"Ah! I told you, my dear child, you would not succeed."

"And you were mistaken, dear grandpapa, and you are still mistaken; for
I have succeeded!"

"But--you bring back the money?"

"Because I have found an honest man, dearest grandpapa,--a most
honorable man. Poor fellow, how I must have tempted his honesty! For he
is very much embarrassed, I know it from good authority, ever since he
and his sisters bought that house. It was more than comfort, it was a
real fortune, I offered him. Ah! you ought to have seen how his eyes
brightened up, and how his hands trembled, when he took up the bonds!
Well, he refused to take them, after all; and the only reward he asks
for the very good service which he is going to render us"--

M. de Chandore expressed his assent by a gesture, and then said,--

"You are right, darling: that clerk is a good man, and he has won our
eternal gratitude."

"I ought to add," continued Dionysia, "that I was ever so brave. I
should never have thought that I could be so bold. I wish you had been
hid in some corner, grandpapa, to see me and hear me. You would not have
recognized your grandchild. I cried a little, it is true, when I had
carried my point."

"Oh, dear, dear child!" murmured the old gentleman, deeply moved.

"You see, grandpapa, I thought of nothing but of Jacques's danger, and
of the glory of proving myself worthy of him, who is so brave himself. I
hope he will be satisfied with me."

"He would be hard to please, indeed, if he were not!" exclaimed M. de
Chandore.

The grandfather and his child were standing all the while under the
trees in the great Square while they were thus talking to each other;
and already a number of people had taken the opportunity of passing
close by them, with ears wide open, and all eagerness, to find out
what was going on: it is a way people have in small towns. Dionysia
remembered the clerk's kindly warnings; and, as soon as she became aware
of it, she said to her grandfather,--

"Come, grandpapa. People are listening. I will tell you the rest as we
are going home."

And so, on their way, she told him all the little details of her
interview; and the old gentleman declared, in all earnest, that he did
not know which to admire most,--her presence of mind, or Mechinet's
disinterestedness.

"All the more reason," said the young girl, "why we should not add to
the dangers which the good man is going to run for us. I promised him
to tell nobody, and I mean to keep my promise. If you believe me, dear
grandpapa, we had better not speak of it to anybody, not even to my
aunts."

"You might just as well declare at once, little scamp, that you want to
save Jacques quite alone, without anybody's help."

"Ah, if I could do that! Unfortunately, we must take M. Folgat into our
confidence; for we cannot do without his advice."

Thus it was done. The poor aunts, and even the marchioness, had to be
content with Dionysia's not very plausible explanation of her visit.
And a few hours afterwards M. de Chandore, the young girl, and M. Folgat
held a council in the baron's study. The young lawyer was even more
surprised by Dionysia's idea, and her bold proceedings, then her
grandfather; he would never have imagined that she was capable of such a
step, she looked so timid and innocent, like a mere child. He was about
to compliment her; but she interrupted him eagerly, saying,--

"There is nothing to boast of. I ran no risk."

"A very substantial risk, madam, I assure you."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed M. de Chandore.

"To bribe an official," continued M. Folgat, "is a very grave offence.
The Criminal Code has a certain paragraph, No. 179, which does not
trifle, and punishes the man who bribes, as well as the man who is
bribed."

"Well, so much the better!" cried Dionysia. "If poor M. Mechinet has to
go to prison, I'll go with him!"

And, without noticing the dissatisfaction expressed in her grandfather's
features, she added, turning to M. Folgat,--

"After all, sir, you see that your wishes have been fulfilled. We
shall be able to communicate with M. de Boiscoran: he will give us his
instructions."

"Perhaps so, madam."

"How? Perhaps? You said yourself"--

"I told you, madam, it would be useless, perhaps even imprudent, to take
any steps before we know the truth. But will we know it? Do you think
that M. de Boiscoran, who has good reasons for being suspicious of
every thing, will at once tell us all in a letter which must needs pass
through several hands before it can reach us?"

"He will tell us all, sir, without reserve, without fear, and without
danger."

"Oh!"

"I have taken my precautions. You will see."

"Then we have only to wait."

Alas, yes! They had to wait, and that was what distressed Dionysia. She
hardly slept that night. The next day was one unbroken torment. At each
ringing of the bell, she trembled, and ran to see.

At last, towards five o'clock, when nothing had come, she said,--

"It is not to be to-day, provided, O God! that poor Mechinet has not
been caught."

And, perhaps in order to escape for a time the anguish of her fears, she
agreed to accompany Jacques's mother, who wanted to pay some visits.

Ah, if she had but known! She had not left the house ten minutes, when
one of those street-boys, who abound at all hours of the day on the
great Square, appeared, bringing a letter to her address. They took it
to M. de Chandore, who, while waiting for dinner, was walking in the
garden with M. Folgat.

"A letter for Dionysia!" exclaimed the old gentleman, as soon as the
servant had disappeared. "Here is the answer we have been waiting for!"

He boldly tore it open. Alas! It was useless. The note within the
envelope ran thus,--

"31:9, 17, 19, 23, 25, 28, 32, 101, 102, 129, 137, 504, 515--37:2, 3, 4,
5, 7, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 24, 27, 52, 54, 118, 119, 120, 200, 201--41:7,
9, 17, 21, 22, 44, 45, 46"--

And so on, for two pages.

"Look at this, and try to make it out," said M. de Chandore, handing the
letter to M. Folgat.

The young man actually tried it; but, after five minutes' useless
efforts, he said,--

"I understand now why Miss Chandore promised us that we should know
the truth. M. de Boiscoran and she have formerly corresponded with each
other in cipher."

Grandpapa Chandore raised his hands to heaven.

"Just think of these little girls! Here we are utterly helpless without
her, as she alone can translate those hieroglyphics for you."

If Dionysia had hoped, by accompanying the marchioness on her visits,
to escape from the sad presentiments that oppressed her, she was cruelly
disappointed. They went to M. Seneschal's house first; but the mayor's
wife was by no means calculated to give courage to others in an hour of
peril. She could do nothing but embrace alternately Jacques's mother and
Dionysia, and, amid a thousand sobs, tell them over and over again, that
she looked upon one as the most unfortunate of mothers, and upon the
other as the most unfortunate of betrothed maidens.

"Does the woman think Jacques is guilty?" thought Dionysia, and felt
almost angry.

And that was not all. As they returned home, and passed the house which
had been provisionally taken for Count Claudieuse and his family, they
heard a little boy calling out,--

"O mamma, come quick! Here are the murderer's mother and his
sweetheart."

Thus the poor girl came home more downcast than before. Immediately,
however, her maid, who had evidently been on the lookout for her return,
told her that her grandfather and the lawyer from Paris were waiting for
her in the baron's study. She hastened there without stopping to take
off her bonnet; and, as soon as she came in, M. de Chandore handed her
Jacques's letter, saying,--

"Here is your answer."

She could not repress a little cry of delight, and rapidly touched the
letter with her lips, repeating,--

"Now we are safe, we are safe!"

M. de Chandore smiled at the happiness of his granddaughter.

"But, Miss Hypocrite," he said, "it seems you had great secrets to
communicate to M. de Boiscoran, since you resorted to cipher, like arch
conspirators. M. Folgat and I tried to read it; but it was all Greek to
us."

Now only the young lady remembered M. Folgat's presence, and, blushing
deeply, she said,--

"Latterly Jacques and I had been discussing the various methods to which
people resort who wish to carry on a secret correspondence: this led
him to teach me one of the ways. Two correspondents choose any book they
like, and each takes a copy of the same edition. The writer looks in his
volume for the words he wants, and numbers them; his correspondent
finds them by the aid of these numbers. Thus, in Jacques's letters, the
numbers followed by a colon refer to the pages, and the others to the
order in which the words come."

"Ah, ah!" said Grandpapa Chandore, "I might have looked a long time."

"It is a very simple method," replied Dionysia, "very well known,
and still quite safe. How could an outsider guess what book the
correspondents have chosen? Then there are other means to mislead
indiscreet people. It may be agreed upon, for instance, that the numbers
shall never have their apparent value, or that they shall vary according
to the day of the month or the week. Thus, to-day is Monday, the second
day of the week. Well, I have to deduct one from each number of a page,
and add one to each number of a word."

"And you will be able to make it all out?" asked M. de Chandore.

"Certainly, dear grandpapa. Ever since Jacques explained it to me, I
have tried to learn it as a matter of course. We have chose a book which
I am very fond of, Cooper's 'Spy;' and we amused ourselves by writing
endless letters. Oh! it is very amusing, and it takes time, because one
does not always find the words that are needed, and then they have to be
spelled letter by letter."

"And M. de Boiscoran has a copy of Cooper's novels in his prison?" asked
M. Folgat.

"Yes, sir. M. Mechinet told me so. As soon as Jacques found he was to be
kept in close confinement, he asked for some of Cooper's novels, and M.
Galpin, who is so cunning, so smart, and so suspicious, went himself and
got them for him. Jacques was counting upon me."

"Then, dear child, go and read your letter, and solve the riddle," said
M. de Chandore.

When she had left, he said to his companion,--

"How she loves him! How she loves this man Jacques! Sir, if any thing
should happen to him, she would die."

M. Folgat made no reply; and nearly an hour passed, before Dionysia,
shut up in her room, had succeeded in finding all the words of which
Jacques's letter was composed. But when she had finished, and came
back to her grandfather's study, her youthful face expressed the most
profound despair.