Within an Inch of His Life

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


"Great God!" cried the doctor.

"What, what have I said?"

"Take care never to repeat that! The suggestion you make is so fearfully
plausible, that, if it becomes known, no one will ever believe you when
you tell the real truth."

"The truth? Then you think I am mistaken?"

"Most assuredly."

Then fixing his spectacles on his nose, Dr. Seignebos added,--

"I never could admit that the countess should have fired at her husband.
I now see that I was right. She has not committed the crime directly;
but she has done it indirectly."

"Oh!"

"She would not be the first woman who has done so. What I imagine is
this: the countess had made up her mind, and arranged her plan, before
meeting Jacques. The murderer was already at his post. If she had
succeeded in winning Jacques back, her accomplice would have put away
his gun, and quietly gone to bed. As she could not induce Jacques to
give up his marriage, she made a sign, and the fire was lighted, and the
count was shot."

The young advocate did not seem to be fully convinced.

"In that case, there would have been premeditation," he objected; "and
how, then, came the gun to be loaded with small-shot?"

"The accomplice had not sense enough to know better."

Although he saw very well the doctor's drift, M. Folgat started up,--

"What?" he said, "always Cocoleu?"

Dr. Seignebos tapped his forehead with the end of his finger, and
replied,--

"When an idea has once made its way in there, it remains fixed. Yes, the
countess has an accomplice; and that accomplice is Cocoleu; and, if he
has no sense, you see the wretched idiot at least carries his devotion
and his discretion very far."

"If what you say is true, doctor, we shall never get the key of this
affair; for Cocoleu will never confess."

"Don't swear to that. There is a way."

He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of his servant.

"Sir," said the latter, "there is a gendarme below who brings you a man
who has to be sent to the hospital at once."

"Show them up," said the doctor.

"And, while the servant was gone to do his bidding, the doctor said,--

"And here is the way. Now mind!"

A heavy step was heard shaking the stairs; and almost immediately a
gendarme appeared, who in one hand held a violin, and with the other
aided a poor creature, who seemed unable to walk alone.

"Goudar!" was on M. Folgat's lips.

It was Goudar, really, but in what a state! His clothes muddy, and torn,
pale, with haggard eyes, his beard and his lips covered with a white
foam.

"The story is this," said the gendarme. "This individual was playing
the fiddle in the court of the barrack, and we were looking out of
the window, when all of a sudden he fell on the ground, rolled about,
twisted and writhed, while he uttered fearful howls, and foamed like a
mad dog. We picked him up; and I bring him to you."

"Leave us alone with him," said the physician.

The gendarme went out; and, as soon as the door was shut, Goudar cried
with a voice full of intense disgust,--

"What a profession! Just look at me! What a disgrace if my wife should
see me in this state! Phew!"

And, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face, and drew
from his mouth a small piece of soap.

"But the point is," said the doctor, "that you have played the epileptic
so well, that the gendarmes have been taken in."

"A fine trick indeed, and very creditable."

"An excellent trick, since you can now quite safely go to the hospital.
They will put you in the same ward with Cocoleu, and I shall come and
see you every morning. You are free to act now."

"Never mind me," said the detective. "I have my plan."

Then turning to M. Folgat, he added,--

"I am a prisoner now; but I have taken my precautions. The agent whom I
have sent to England will report to you. I have, besides, to ask a favor
at your hands. I have written to my wife to send her letters to you:
you can send them to me by the doctor. And now I am ready to become
Cocoleu's companion, and I mean to earn the house in Vine Street."

Dr. Seignebos signed an order of admission. He recalled the gendarme;
and, after having praised his kindness, he asked him to take "that poor
devil" to the hospital. When he was alone once more with M. Folgat, he
said,--

"Now, my dear friend, let us consult. Shall we speak of what Martha has
told us and of Goudar's plan. I think not; for M. Galpin is watching us;
and, if a mere suspicion of what is going on reaches the prosecution,
all is lost. Let us content ourselves, then, with reporting to Jacques
your interview with the countess; and as to the rest, Silence!"



XXVI.

Like all very clever men, Dr. Seignebos made the mistake of thinking
other people as cunning as he was himself. M. Galpin was, of course,
watching him, but by no means with the energy which one would have
expected from so ambitious a man. He had, of course, been the first to
be notified that the case was to be tried in open court, and from that
moment he felt relieved of all anxiety.

As to remorse, he had none. He did not even regret any thing. He did not
think of it, that the prisoner who was thus to be tried had once been
his friend,--a friend of whom he was proud, whose hospitality he had
enjoyed, and whose favor he had eagerly sought in his matrimonial
aspirations. No. He only saw one thing,--that he had engaged in a
dangerous affair, on which his whole future was depending, and that he
was going to win triumphantly.

Evidently his responsibility was by no means gone; but his zeal in
preparing the case for trial was no longer required. He need not appear
at the trial. Whatever must be the result, he thought he should escape
the blame, which he should surely have incurred if no true bill had been
found. He did not disguise it from himself that he should be looked
at askance by all Sauveterre, that his social relations were well-nigh
broken off, and that no one would henceforth heartily shake hands with
him. But that gave him no concern. Sauveterre, a miserable little town
of five thousand inhabitants! He hoped with certainty he would not
remain there long; and a brilliant preferment would amply repay him for
his courage, and relieve him from all foolish reproaches.

Besides, once in the large city to which he would be promoted, he
could hope that distance would aid in attenuating and even effacing the
impression made by his conduct. All that would be remembered after
a time would be his reputation as one of those famous judges, who,
according to the stereotyped phrase, "sacrifice every thing to the
sacred interests of justice, who put inflexible duty high above all the
considerations that trouble and disturb the vulgar mind, and whose heart
is like a rock, against which all human passions are helplessly broken
to pieces."

With such a reputation, with his knowledge of the world, and his
eagerness to succeed, opportunities would not be wanting to put himself
forward, to make himself known, to become useful, indispensable even. He
saw himself already on the highest rungs of the official ladder. He was
a judge in Bordeaux, in Lyons, in Paris itself!

With such rose-colored dreams he fell asleep at night. The next morning,
as he crossed the streets, his carriage haughtier and stiffer than ever,
his firmly-closed lips, and the cold and severe look of his eyes, told
the curious observers that there must be something new.

"M. de Boiscoran's case must be very bad indeed," they said, "or M.
Galpin would not look so very proud."

He went first to the commonwealth attorney. The truth is, he was still
smarting under the severe reproaches of M. Daubigeon, and he thought he
would enjoy his revenge now. He found the old book-worm, as usual, among
his beloved books, and in worse humor than ever. He ignored it, handed
him a number of papers to sign; and when his business was over, and
while he was carefully replacing the documents in his bag with his
monogram on the outside, he added with an air of indifference,--

"Well, my dear sir, you have heard the decision of the court? Which of
us was right?"

M. Daubigeon shrugged his shoulders, and said angrily,--

"Of course I am nothing but an old fool, a maniac: I give it up; and I
say, like Horace's man,--

'Stultum me fateor, liceat concedere vires
Atque etiam insanum.'"

"You are joking. But what would have happened if I had listened to you?"

"I don't care to know."

"M. de Boiscoran would none the less have been sent to a jury."

"May be."

"Anybody else would have collected the proofs of his guilt just as well
as I."

"That is a question."

"And I should have injured my reputation very seriously; for they would
have called me one of those timid magistrates who are frightened at a
nothing."

"That is as good a reputation as some others," broke in the commonwealth
attorney.

He had vowed he would answer only in monosyllables; but his anger made
him forget his oath. He added in a very severe tone,--

"Another man would not have been bent exclusively upon proving that M.
de Boiscoran was guilty."

"I certainly have proved it."

"Another man would have tried to solve the mystery."

"But I have solved it, I should think."

M. Daubigeon bowed ironically, and said,--

"I congratulate you. It must be delightful to know the secret of all
things, only you may be mistaken. You are an excellent hand at such
investigations; but I am an older man than you in the profession. The
more I think in this case, the less I understand it. If you know every
thing so perfectly well, I wish you would tell me what could have been
the motive for the crime, for, after all, we do not run the risk of
losing our head without some very powerful and tangible purpose. Where
was Jacques's interest? You will tell me he hated Count Claudieuse. But
is that an answer. Come, go for a moment to your own conscience. But
stop! No one likes to do that."

M. Galpin was beginning to regret that he had ever come. He had hoped to
find M. Daubigeon quite penitent, and here he was worse than ever.

"The Court of Inquiry has felt no such scruples," he said dryly.

"No; but the jury may feel some. They are, occasionally, men of sense."

"The jury will condemn M. de Boiscoran without hesitation."

"I would not swear to that."

"You would if you knew who will plead."

"Oh!"

"The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!"

"Oh, oh!"

"You will not deny that he is a first-class man?"

The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; and
in the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness.

"God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere's eloquence. He is a
powerful speaker, and rarely misses his man. But then, you know, cases
are like books: they have their luck or ill luck. Jacques will be well
defended."

"I am not afraid of M. Magloire."

"But Mr. Folgat?"

"A young man with no weight. I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant."

"Do you know the plan of the defence?"

This was evidently the place where the shoe pinched; but M. Galpin took
care not to let it be seen, and replied,--

"I do not. But that does not matter. M. de Boiscoran's friends at first
thought of making capital out of Cocoleu; but they have given that up.
I am sure of that! The police-agent whom I have charged to keep his eyes
on the idiot tells me that Dr. Seignebos does not trouble himself about
the man any more."

M. Daubigeon smiled sarcastically, and said, much more for the purpose
of teasing his visitor than because he believed it himself,--

"Take care! do not trust appearances. You have to do with very clever
people. I always told you Cocoleu is probably the mainspring of the
whole case. The very fact that M. Gransiere will speak ought to make you
tremble. If he should not succeed, he would, of course, blame you, and
never forgive you in all his life. Now, you know he may fail. 'There is
many a slip between the cup and the lip.'

"And I am disposed to think with Villon,--

'Nothing is so certain as uncertain things.'"

M. Galpin could tell very well that he should gain nothing by prolonging
the discussion, and so he said,--

"Happen what may, I shall always know that my conscience supports me."

Then he made great haste to take leave, lest an answer should come from
M. Daubigeon. He went out; and as he descended the stairs, he said to
himself,--

"It is losing time to reason with that old fogy who sees in the events
of the day only so many opportunities for quotations."

But he struggled in vain against his own feelings; he had lost his
self-confidence. M. Daubigeon had revealed to him a new danger which he
had not foreseen. And what a danger!--the resentment of one of the most
eminent men of the French bar, one of those bitter, bilious men who
never forgive. M. Galpin had, no doubt, thought of the possibility of
failure, that is to say, of an acquittal; but he had never considered
the consequences of such a check.

Who would have to pay for it? The prosecuting attorney first and
foremost, because, in France, the prosecuting attorney makes the
accusation a personal matter, and considers himself insulted and
humiliated, if he misses his man.

Now, what would happen in such a case?

M. Gransiere, no doubt, would hold him responsible. He would say,--

"I had to draw my arguments from your part of the work. I did not obtain
a condemnation, because your work was imperfect. A man like myself ought
not to be exposed to such an humiliation, and, least of all, in a case
which is sure to create an immense sensation. You do not understand your
business."

Such words were a public disgrace. Instead of the hoped-for promotion,
they would bring him an order to go into exile, to Corsica, or to
Algiers.

M. Galpin shuddered at the idea. He saw himself buried under the ruins
of his castles in Spain. And, unluckily, he went once more over all
the papers of the investigation, analyzing the evidence he had, like a
soldier, who, on the eve of a battle, furbishes up his arms. However,
he only found one objection, the same which M. Daubigeon had made,--what
interest could Jacques have had in committing so great a crime?

"There," he said, "is evidently the weak part of the armor; and I would
do well to point it out to M. Gransiere. Jacques's counsel are capable
of making that the turning-point of their plea."

And, in spite of all he had said to M. Daubigeon, he was very much
afraid of the counsel for the defence. He knew perfectly well
the prestige which M. Magloire derived from his integrity and
disinterestedness. It was no secret to him, that a cause which M.
Magloire espoused was at once considered a good cause. They said of
him,--

"He may be mistaken; but whatever he says he believes." He could not but
have a powerful influence, therefore, not on judges who came into court
with well-established opinions, but with jurymen who are under the
influence of the moment, and may be carried off by the eloquence of a
speech. It is true, M. Magloire did not possess that burning eloquence
which thrills a crowd, but M. Folgat had it, and in an uncommon degree.
M. Galpin had made inquiries; and one of his Paris friends had written
to him,--

"Mistrust Folgat. He is a far more dangerous logician than Lachant, and
possesses the same skill in troubling the consciences of jurymen,
in moving them, drawing tears from them, and forcing them into an
acquittal. Mind, especially, any incidents that may happen during the
trial; for he has always some kind of surprise in reserve."

"These are my adversaries," thought M. Galpin. "What surprise, I wonder,
is there in store for me? Have they really given up all idea of using
Cocoleu?"

He had no reason for mistrusting his agent; and yet his apprehensions
became so serious, that he went out of his way to look in at the
hospital. The lady superior received him, as a matter of course, with
all the signs of profound respect; and, when he inquired about Cocoleu,
she added,--

"Would you like to see him?"

"I confess I should be very glad to do so."

"Come with me, then."

She took him into the garden, and there asked a gardener,--

"Where is the idiot?"

The man put his spade into the ground; and, with that affected reverence
which characterizes all persons employed in a convent, he answered,--

"The idiot is down there in the middle avenue, mother, in his usual
place, you know, which nothing will induce him to leave."

M. Galpin and the lady superior found him there. They had taken off
the rags which he wore when he was admitted, and put him into the
hospital-dress, which was a large gray coat and a cotton cap. He did not
look any more intelligent for that; but he was less repulsive. He was
seated on the ground, playing with the gravel.

"Well, my boy," asked M. Galpin, "how do you like this?"

He raised his inane face, and fixed his dull eye on the lady superior;
but he made no reply.

"Would you like to go back to Valpinson?" asked the lawyer again. He
shuddered, but did not open his lips.

"Look here," said M. Galpin, "answer me, and I'll give you a ten-cent
piece."

No: Cocoleu was at his play again.

"That is the way he is always," declared the lady superior. "Since he
is here, no one has ever gotten a word out of him. Promises, threats,
nothing has any effect. One day I thought I would try an experiment;
and, instead of letting him have his breakfast, I said to him, 'You
shall have nothing to eat till you say, "I am hungry."' At the end of
twenty-four hours I had to let him have his pittance; for he would have
starved himself sooner than utter a word."

"What does Dr. Seignebos think of him?"

"The doctor does not want to hear his name mentioned," replied the lady
superior.

And, raising her eyes to heaven, she added,--

"And that is a clear proof, that, but for the direct intervention of
Providence, the poor creature would never have denounced the crime which
he had witnessed."

Immediately, however, she returned to earthly things, and asked,--

"But will you not relieve us soon of this poor idiot, who is a heavy
charge on our hospital? Why not send him back to his village, where he
found his support before? We have quite a number of sick and poor, and
very little room."

"We must wait, sister, till M. de Boiscoran's trial is finished,"
replied the magistrate.

The lady superior looked resigned, and said,--

"That is what the mayor told me, and it is very provoking, I must say:
however, they have allowed me to turn him out of the room which they had
given him at first. I have sent him to the Insane Ward. That is the name
we give to a few little rooms, enclosed by a wall, where we keep the
poor insane, who are sent to us provisionally."

Here she was interrupted by the janitor of the hospital, who came up,
bowing.

"What do you want?" she asked.

Vaudevin, the janitor, handed her a note.

"A man brought by a gendarme," he replied. "Immediately to be admitted."

The lady superior read the note, signed by Dr. Seignebos.

"Epileptic," she said, "and somewhat idiotic: as if we wanted any more!
And a stranger into the bargain! Really Dr. Seignebos is too yielding.
Why does he not send all these people to their own parish to be taken
care of?"

And, with a very elastic step for her age, she went to the parlor,
followed by M. Galpin and the janitor. They had put the new patient in
there, and, sunk upon a bench, he looked the picture of utter idiocy.
After having looked at him for a minute, she said,--

"Put him in the Insane Ward: he can keep Cocoleu company. And let the
sister know at the drug-room. But no, I will go myself. You will excuse
me, sir."

And then she left the room. M. Galpin was much comforted.

"There is no danger here," he said to himself. "And if M. Folgat counts
upon any incident during the trial, Cocoleu, at all events, will not
furnish it to him."



XXVII.

At the same hour when the magistrate left the hospital, Dr. Seignebos
and M. Folgat parted, after a frugal breakfast,--the one to visit his
patients, the other to go to the prison. The young advocate was very
much troubled. He hung his head as he went down the street; and the
diplomatic citizens who compared his dejected appearance with the
victorious air of M. Galpin came to the conclusion that Jacques de
Boiscoran was irrevocably lost.

At that moment M. Folgat was almost of their opinion. He had to pass
through one of those attacks of discouragement, to which the most
energetic men succumb at times, when they are bent upon pursuing an
uncertain end which they ardently desire.

The declarations made by little Martha and the governess had literally
overwhelmed him. Just when he thought he had the end of the thread in
his hand, the tangle had become worse than ever. And so it had been from
the commencement. At every step he took, the problem had become more
complicated than ever. At every effort he made, the darkness, instead of
being dispelled, had become deeper. Not that he as yet doubted Jacques's
innocence. No! The suspicion which for a moment had flashed through his
mind had passed away instantly. He admitted, with Dr. Seignebos, the
possibility that there was an accomplice, and that it was Cocoleu, in
all probability, who had been charged with the execution of the crime.
But how could that fact be made useful to the defence? He saw no way.

Goudar was an able man; and the manner in which he had introduced
himself into the hospital and Cocoleu's company indicated a master. But
however cunning he was, however experienced in all the tricks of his
profession, how could he ever hope to make a man confess who intrenched
himself behind the rampart of feigned imbecility? If he had only had an
abundance of time before him! But the days were counted, and he would
have to hurry his measures.

"I feel like giving it up," thought the young lawyer.

In the meantime he had reached the prison. He felt the necessity of
concealing his anxiety. While Blangin went before him through the long
passages, rattling his keys, he endeavored to give to his features an
expression of hopeful confidence.

"At last you come!" cried Jacques.

He had evidently suffered terribly since the day before. A feverish
restlessness had disordered his features, and reddened his eyes. He was
shaking with nervous tremor. Still he waited till the jailer had shut
the door; and then he asked hoarsely,--

"What did she say?"

M. Folgat gave him a minute account of his mission, quoting the words of
the countess almost literally.

"That is just like her!" exclaimed the prisoner. "I think I can hear
her! What a woman! To defy me in this way!"

And in his anger he wrung his hands till they nearly bled.

"You see," said the young advocate, "there is no use in trying to get
outside of our circle of defence. Any new effort would be useless."

"No!" replied Jacques. "No, I shall not stop there!"

And after a few moments' reflection,--if he can be said to have been
able to reflect,--he said,--

"I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for having exposed you to such
insults. I ought to have foreseen it, or, rather, I did foresee it. I
knew that was not the way to begin the battle. But I was a coward, I
was afraid, I drew back, fool that I was! As if I had not known that we
shall at any rate have to come to the last extremity! Well, I am ready
now, and I shall do it!"

"What do you mean to do?"

"I shall go and see the Countess Claudieuse. I shall tell her"--

"Oh!"

"You do not think she will deny it to my face? When I once have her
under my eye, I shall make her confess the crime of which I am accused."

M. Folgat had promised Dr. Seignebos not to mention what Martha and her
governess had said; but he felt no longer bound to conceal it.

"And if the countess should not be guilty?" he asked.

"Who, then, could be guilty?"

"If she had an accomplice?"

"Well, she will tell me who it is. I will insist upon it, I will make
her tell. I will not be disgraced. I am innocent, I will not go to the
galleys!"

To try and make Jacques listen to reason would have been madness just
now.

"Have a care," said the young lawyer. "Our defence is difficult enough
already; do not make it still more so."

"I shall be careful."

"A scene might ruin us irrevocably."

"Be not afraid!"

M. Folgat said nothing more. He thought he could guess by what means
Jacques would try to get out of prison. But he did not ask him about
the details, because his position as his counsel made it his duty not to
know, or, at least, to seem not to know, certain things.

"Now, my dear sir," said the prisoner, "you will render me a service,
will you not?"

"What is it?"

"I want to know as accurately as possible how the house in which the
countess lives is arranged."

Without saying a word, M. Folgat took out a sheet of paper, and drew
on it a plan of the house, as far as he knew,--of the garden, the
entrance-hall, and the sitting-room.

"And the count's room," asked Jacques, "where is that?"

"In the upper story."

"You are sure he cannot get up?"

"Dr. Seignebos told me so."

The prisoner seemed to be delighted.

"Then all is right," he said, "and I have only to ask you, my dear
counsel, to tell Miss Dionysia that I must see her to-day, as soon as
possible. I wish her to come accompanied by one of her aunts only. And,
I beseech you, make haste."