Within an Inch of His Life

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


These varied talents had drawn upon him the hostility of all the other
teachers and public servants of the community, especially that of the
mayor's clerk, and the clerks of the bank and great institutions of
Sauveterre. But all these enemies he had gradually conquered by the
unmistakable superiority of his ability; so that they fell in with the
universal habit, and, when any thing special happened, said to each
other,--

"Let us go and consult Mechinet."

He himself concealed, under an appearance of imperturbable good nature,
the ambition by which he was devoured: he wanted to become rich, and to
rise in the world. In fact, Mechinet was a diplomat, working in secret,
but as cunning as Talleyrand. He had succeeded already in making himself
the one great personage of Sauveterre. The town was full of him; nothing
was done without him; and yet he had not an enemy in the place.

The fact is, people were afraid of him, and dreaded his terrible tongue.
Not that he had ever injured anybody, he was too wise for that; but
they knew the harm he might do, if he chose, as he was master of every
important secret in Sauveterre, and the best informed man in town as
regarded all their little intrigues, their private foibles, and their
dark antecedents.

This gave him quite an exceptional position. As he was unmarried,
he lived with his sisters, the Misses Mechinet, who were the best
dressmakers in town, and, moreover, devout members of all kinds of
religious societies. Through them he heard all that was going on in
society, and was able to compare the current gossip with what he heard
in court, or at the newspaper office. Thus he could say pleasantly,--

"How could any thing escape me, when I have the church and the press,
the court and the theatre, to keep me informed?"

Such a man would have considered himself disgraced if he had not known
every detail of M. de Boiscoran's private affairs. He did not hesitate,
therefore, while the carriage was rolling along on an excellent road, in
the fresh spring morning, to explain to his companions the "case," as he
called it, of the accused nobleman.

M. de Boiscoran, called Jacques by his friends, was rarely on his
estate, and then only staid a month or so there. He was living in Paris,
where his family owned a comfortable house in University Street. His
parents were still alive.

His father, the Marquis de Boiscoran, the owner of a large landed
estate, a deputy under Louis Philippe, a representative in 1848, had
withdrawn from public life when the Second Empire was established,
and spent, since that time, all his money, and all his energies, in
collecting rare old books, and especially costly porcelain, on which he
had written a monograph.

His mother, a Chalusse by birth, had enjoyed the reputation of being one
of the most beautiful and most gifted ladies at the court of the Citizen
King. At a certain period in her life, unfortunately, slander had
attacked her; and about 1845 or 1846, it was reported that she had had
a remarkable affair with a young lawyer of distinction, who had since
become one of the austerest and most renowned judges. As she grew old,
the marchioness devoted herself more and more to politics, as other
women become pious. While her husband boasted that he had not read
a newspaper for ten years, she had made her _salon_ a kind of
parliamentary centre, which had its influence on political affairs.

Although Jacques de Boiscoran's parents were still alive, he possessed
a considerable fortune of his own--five or six thousand dollars a year.
This fortune, which consisted of the Chateau of Boiscoran, the farms,
meadows, and forests belonging to it, had been left to him by one of his
uncles, the oldest brother of his father, who had died a widower, and
childless, in 1868. M. de Boiscoran was at this moment about twenty-six
or twenty-seven years old, dark complexion, tall, strong, well made, not
exactly a handsome man, but having, what was worth more, one of those
frank, intelligent faces which prepossess one at first sight.

His character was less well known at Sauveterre than his person. Those
who had had any business with him described him as an honorable, upright
man: his companions spoke of him as cheerful and gay, fond of pleasure,
and always in good humor. At the time of the Prussian invasion, he had
been made a captain of one of the volunteer companies of the district.
He had led his men bravely under fire, and conducted himself so well on
the battlefield, that Gen. Chanzy had rewarded him, when wounded, with
the cross of the legion of honor.

"And such a man should have committed such a crime at Valpinson," said
M. Daubigeon to the magistrate. "No, it is impossible! And no doubt he
will very easily scatter all our doubts to the four winds."

"And that will be done at once," said young Ribot; "for here we are."

In many of the provinces of France the name of _chateau_ is given to
almost any little country-house with a weathercock on its pointed roof.
But Boiscoran was a real chateau. It had been built towards the end
of the seventeenth century, in wretched taste, but massively, like a
fortress. Its position is superb. It is surrounded on all sides by woods
and forests; and at the foot of the sloping garden flows a little river,
merrily splashing over its pebbly bed, and called the Magpie on account
of its perpetual babbling.



VII.

It was seven o'clock when the carriage containing the justice drove into
the courtyard at Boiscoran,--a vast court, planted with lime-trees, and
surrounded by farm buildings. The chateau was wide awake. Before her
house-door, the farmer's wife was cleaning the huge caldron in which she
had prepared the morning soup; the maids were going and coming; and at
the stable a groom was rubbing down with great energy a thorough-bred
horse.

On the front-steps stood Master Anthony, M. de Boiscoran's own man,
smoking his cigar in the bright sunlight, and overlooking the farm
operations. He was a man of nearly fifty, still very active, who had
been bequeathed to his new master by his uncle, together with his
possessions. He was a widower now; and his daughter was in the
marchioness' service.

As he had been born in the family, and never left it afterwards, he
looked upon himself as one of them, and saw no difference between his
own interests and those of his master. In fact, he was treated less like
a servant than like a friend; and he fancied he knew every thing about
M. de Boiscoran's affairs.

When he saw the magistrate and the commonwealth attorney come up to the
door, he threw away his cigar, came down quickly, and, bowing deeply,
said to them with his most engaging smile,--

"Ah, gentlemen! What a pleasant surprise! My master will be delighted."

With strangers, Anthony would not have allowed himself such familiarity,
for he was very formal; but he had seen M. Daubigeon more than once at
the chateau; and he knew the plans that had been discussed between
M. Galpin and his master. Hence he was not a little amazed at the
embarrassed stiffness of the two gentlemen, and at the tone of voice in
which the magistrate asked him,--

"Has M. de Boiscoran gotten up yet?"

"Not yet," he replied; "and I have orders not to wake him. He came home
late last night, and wanted to make up this morning."

Instinctively the magistrate and the attorney looked away, each fearing
to meet the other's eyes.

"Ah! M. de Boiscoran came home late last night?" repeated M. Galpin.

"Towards midnight, rather after midnight than before."

"And when had he gone out?"

"He left here about eight."

"How was he dressed?"

"As usually. He had light gray trousers, a shooting-jacket of brown
velveteen, and a large straw hat."

"Did he take his gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know where he went?"

But for the respect which he felt for his master's friends, Anthony
would not have answered these questions, which he thought were extremely
impertinent. But this last question seemed to him to go beyond all fair
limits. He replied, therefore, in a tone of injured self-respect,--

"I am not in the habit of asking my master where he goes when he leaves
the house, nor where he has been when he comes back."

M. Daubigeon understood perfectly well the honorable feelings
which actuated the faithful servant. He said to him with an air of
unmistakable kindness,--

"Do not imagine, my friend, that I ask you these questions from idle
curiosity. Tell me what you know; for your frankness may be more useful
to your master than you imagine."

Anthony looked with an air of perfect stupefaction, by turns at the
magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, at Mechinet, and finally at
Ribot, who had taken the lines, and tied Caraby to a tree.

"I assure you, gentlemen, I do not know where M. de Boiscoran has spent
the evening."

"You have no suspicion?"

"No."

"Perhaps he went to Brechy to see a friend?"

"I do not know that he has any friends in Brechy."

"What did he do after he came home?"

The old servant showed evident signs of embarrassment.

"Let me think," he said. "My master went up to his bedroom, and remained
there four or five minutes. Then he came down, ate a piece of a pie, and
drank a glass of wine. Then he lit a cigar, and told me to go to bed,
adding that he would take a little walk, and undress without my help."

"And then you went to bed?"

"Of course."

"So that you do not know what your master may have done?"

"I beg your pardon. I heard him open the garden door."

"He did not appear to you different from usual?"

"No: he was as he always is,--quite cheerful: he was singing."

"Can you show me the gun he took with him?"

"No. My master probably took it to his room."

M. Daubigeon was about to make a remark, when the magistrate stopped him
by a gesture, and eagerly asked,--

"How long is it since your master and Count Claudieuse have ceased
seeing each other?"

Anthony trembled, as if a dark presentiment had entered his mind. He
replied,--

"A long time: at least I think so."

"You are aware that they are on bad terms?"

"Oh!"

"They have had great difficulties between them?"

"Something unpleasant has happened, I know; but it was not much. As they
do not visit each other, they cannot well hate each other. Besides,
I have heard master say a hundred times, that he looked upon Count
Claudieuse as one of the best and most honorable men; that he respected
him highly, and"--

For a minute or so M. Galpin kept silent, thinking whether he had
forgotten any thing. Then he asked suddenly,--

"How far is it from here to Valpinson?"

"Three miles, sir," replied Anthony.

"If you were going there, what road would you take?"

"The high road which passes Brechy."

"You would not go across the marsh?"

"Certainly not."

"Why not?"

"Because the Seille is out of its banks, and the ditches are full of
water."

"Is not the way much shorter through the forest?"

"Yes, the way is shorter; but it would take more time. The paths are
very indistinct, and overgrown with briers."

The commonwealth attorney could hardly conceal his disappointment.
Anthony's answers seemed to become worse and worse.

"Now," said the magistrate again, "if fire should break out at
Valpinson, would you see it from here?"

"I think not, sir. There are hills and tall woods between."

"Can you hear the Brechy bells from here?"

"When the wind is north, yes, sir."

"And last night, how was it?"

"The wind was from the west, as it always is when we have a storm."

"So that you have heard nothing? You do not know what a terrible
calamity"--

"A calamity? I do not understand you, sir."

This conversation had taken place in the court-yard: and at this moment
there appeared two gendarmes on horseback, whom M. Galpin had sent for
just before he left Valpinson.

When old Anthony saw them, he exclaimed,--

"Great God! what is the meaning of this? I must wake master."

The magistrate stopped him, saying harshly,--

"Not a step! Don't say a word!"

And pointing out Ribot to the gendarmes, he said,--

"Keep that lad under your eyes, and let him have no communication with
anybody."

Then, turning again to Anthony, he said,--

"Now show us to M. de Boiscoran's bedroom."



VIII.

In spite of its grand feudal air, the chateau at Boiscoran was, after
all, little more than a bachelor's modest home, and in a very bad state
of preservation. Of the eighty or a hundred rooms which it contained,
hardly more than eight or ten were furnished, and this only in the
simplest possible manner,--a sitting-room, a dining-room, a few
guest-chambers: this was all M. de Boiscoran required during his rare
visits to the place. He himself used in the second story a small room,
the door of which opened upon the great staircase.

When they reached this door, guided by old Anthony, the magistrate said
to the servant,--

"Knock!"

The man obeyed: and immediately a youthful, hearty voice replied from
within,--

"Who is there?"

"It is I," said the faithful servant. "I should like"--

"Go to the devil!" broke in the voice.

"But, sir"--

"Let me sleep, rascal. I have not been able to close an eye till now."
The magistrate, becoming impatient, pushed the servant aside, and,
seizing the door-knob tried to open it; it was locked inside. But he
lost no time in saying,--

"It is I, M. de Boiscoran: open, if you please!"

"Ah, dear M. Galpin!" replied the voice cheerfully.

"I must speak to you."

"And I am at your service, illustrious jurist. Just give me time to veil
my Apollonian form in a pair of trousers, and I appear."

Almost immediately, the door opened; and M. de Boiscoran presented
himself, his hair dishevelled, his eyes heavy with sleep, but looking
bright in his youth and full health, with smiling lips and open hands.

"Upon my word!" he said. "That was a happy inspiration you had, my dear
Galpin. You come to join me at breakfast?"

And, bowing to M. Daubigeon, he added,--

"Not to say how much I thank you for bringing our excellent commonwealth
attorney with you. This is a veritable judicial visit"--

But he paused, chilled as he was by M. Daubigeon's icy face, and amazed
at M. Galpin's refusal to take his proffered hand.

"Why," he said, "what is the matter, my dear friend?"

The magistrate had never been stiffer in his life, when he replied,--

"We shall have to forget our relations, sir. It is not as a friend I
come to-day, but as a magistrate."

M. de Boiscoran looked confounded; but not a shadow of trouble appeared
on his frank and open face.

"I'll be hanged," he said, "if I understand"--

"Let us go in," said M. Galpin.

They went in; and, as they passed the door, Mechinet whispered into the
attorney's ear,--

"Sir, that man is certainly innocent. A guilty man would never have
received us thus."

"Silence, sir!" said the commonwealth attorney, however much he was
probably of his clerk's opinion. "Silence!"

And grave and sad he went and stood in one of the window embrasures. M.
Galpin remained standing in the centre of the room, trying to see every
thing in it, and to fix it in his memory, down to the smallest details.
The prevailing disorder showed clearly how hastily M. de Boiscoran had
gone to bed the night before. His clothes, his boots, his shirt, his
waistcoat, and his straw hat lay scattered about on the chairs and
on the floor. He wore those light gray trousers, which had been
succcessively seen and recognized by Cocoleu, by Ribot, by Gaudry, and
by Mrs. Courtois.

"Now, sir," began M. de Boiscoran, with that slight angry tone of voice
which shows that a man thinks a joke has been carried far enough, "will
you please tell me what procures for me the honor of this early visit?"

Not a muscle in M. Galpin's face was moving. As if the question had been
addressed to some one else, he said coldly,--

"Will you please show us your hands, sir?"

M. de Boiscoran's cheeks turned crimson; and his eyes assumed an
expression of strange perplexity.

"If this is a joke," he said, "it has perhaps lasted long enough."

He was evidently getting angry. M. Daubigeon thought it better to
interfere, and thus he said,--

"Unfortunately, sir, the question is a most serious one. Do what the
magistrate desires."

More and more amazed, M. de Boiscoran looked rapidly around him. In the
door stood Anthony, his faithful old servant, with anguish on his face.
Near the fireplace, the clerk had improvised a table, and put his paper,
his pens, and his horn inkstand in readiness. Then with a shrug of his
shoulders, which showed that he failed to understand, M. de Boiscoran
showed his hands.

They were perfectly clean and white: the long nails were carefully
cleaned also.

"When did you last wash your hands?" asked M. Galpin, after having
examined them minutely.

At this question, M. de Boiscoran's face brightened up; and, breaking
out into a hearty laugh, he said,--

"Upon my word! I confess you nearly caught me. I was on the point of
getting angry. I almost feared"--

"And there was good reason for fear," said M. Galpin; "for a terrible
charge has been brought against you. And it may be, that on your answer
to my question, ridiculous as it seems to you, your honor may depend,
and perhaps your liberty."

This time there was no mistake possible. M. de Boiscoran felt that kind
of terror which the law inspires even in the best of men, when they find
themselves suddenly accused of a crime. He turned pale, and then he said
in a troubled voice,--

"What! A charge has been brought against me, and you, M. Galpin, come to
my house to examine me?"

"I am a magistrate, sir."

"But you were also my friend. If anyone should have dared in my presence
to accuse you of a crime, of a mean act, of something infamous, I should
have defended you, sir, with all my energy, without hesitation, and
without a doubt. I should have defended you till absolute, undeniable
evidence should have been brought forward of your culpability; and even
then I should have pitied you, remembering that I had esteemed you so
highly as to favor your alliance with my family. But you--I am accused,
I do not know of what, falsely, wrongly; and at once you hasten hither,
you believe the charge, and consent to become my judge. Well, let it be
so! I washed my hands last night after coming home."

M. Galpin had not boasted too much in praising his self-possession and
his perfect control over himself. He did not move when the terrible
words fell upon his ear; and he asked again in the same calm tone,--

"What has become of the water you used for that purpose?"

"It is probably still there, in my dressing-room."

The magistrate at once went in. On the marble table stood a basin full
of water. That water was black and dirty. At the bottom lay particles
of charcoal. On the top, mixed with the soapsuds, were swimming some
extremely slight but unmistakable fragments of charred paper. With
infinite care the magistrate carried the basin to the table at
which Mechinet had taken a sea; and, pointing at it, he asked M. de
Boiscoran,--

"Is that the water in which you washed your hands last night after
coming home?"

"Yes," replied the other with an air of careless indifference.

"You had been handling charcoal, or some inflammable material."

"Don't you see?"

Standing face to face, the commonwealth attorney and clerk exchanged
rapid glances. They had had the same feeling at that moment. If M.
de Boiscoran was innocent, he was certainly a marvellously cool and
energetic man, or he was carrying out a long-premeditated plan of
action; for every one of his answers seemed to tighten the net in which
he was taken. The magistrate himself seemed to be struck by this; but it
was only for a moment, and then, turning to the clerk, he said,--

"Write that down!"

He dictated to him the whole evidence, most minutely and accurately,
correcting himself every now and then to substitute a better word, or to
improve his style. When he had read it over he said,--

"Let us go on, sir. You were out last night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Having left the house at eight, you returned only around midnight."

"After midnight."

"You took your gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is it?"

With an air of indifference, M. de Boiscoran pointed at it in the corner
of the fireplace, and said,--

"There it is!"

M. Galpin took it up quickly. It was a superb weapon, double-barrelled,
of unusually fine make, and very elegant. On the beautifully carved
woodwork the manufacturer's name, Clebb, was engraven.

"When did you last fire this gun?" asked the magistrate.

"Some four or five days ago."

"What for?"

"To shoot some rabbits who infested my woods."

M. Galpin raised and lowered the cock with all possible care: he noticed
that it was the Remington patent. Then he opened the chamber, and found
that the gun was loaded. Each barrel had a cartridge in it. Then he
put the gun back in its place, and, pulling from his pocket the leaden
cartridge-case which Pitard had found, he showed it to M. de Boiscoran,
and asked him,--

"Do you recognize this?"

"Perfectly!" replied the other. "It is a case of one of the cartridges
which I have probably thrown away as useless."

"Do you think you are the only one in this country who has a gun by this
maker?"

"I do not think it: I am quite sure of it."

"So that you must, as a matter of course, have been at a spot where such
a cartridge-case as this has been found?"

"Not necessarily. I have often seen children pick up these things, and
play with them."

The clerk, while he made his pen fly across his paper, could not resist
the temptation of making all kinds of faces. He was too well acquainted
with lawyers' tactics not to understand M. Galpin's policy perfectly
well, and to see how cunningly it was devised to make every fact
strengthen the suspicion against M. de Boiscoran.

"It is a close game," he said to himself.

The magistrate had taken a seat.

"If that is so," he began again, "I beg you will give me an account of
how you spent the evening after eight o'clock: do not hurry, consider,
take your time; for your answers are of the utmost importance."

M. de Boiscoran had so far remained quite cool; but his calmness
betrayed one of those terrible storms within, which may break forth, no
one knows when. This warning, and, even more so, the tone in which it
was given, revolted him as a most hideous hypocrisy. And, breaking out
all of a sudden, he cried,--

"After all, sir, what do you want of me? What am I accused of?"

M. Galpin did not stir. He replied,--

"You will hear it at the proper time. First answer my question, and
believe me in your own interest. Answer frankly. What did you do last
night?"

"How do I know? I walked about."

"That is no answer."

"Still it is so. I went out with no specific purpose: I walked at
haphazard."

"Your gun on your shoulder?"

"I always take my gun: my servant can tell you so."

"Did you cross the Seille marshes?"

"No."

The magistrate shook his head gravely. He said,--

"You are not telling the truth."

"Sir!"

"Your boots there at the foot of the bed speak against you. Where does
the mud come from with which they are covered?"

"The meadows around Boiscoran are very wet."

"Do not attempt to deny it. You have been seen there."

"But"--

"Young Ribot met you at the moment when you were crossing the canal."

M. de Boiscoran made no reply.

"Where were you going?" asked the magistrate.

For the first time a real embarrassment appeared in the features of the
accused,--the embarrassment of a man who suddenly sees an abyss opening
before him. He hesitated; and, seeing that it was useless to deny, he
said,--

"I was going to Brechy."

"To whom?"

"To my wood-merchant, who has bought all this year's wood. I did not
find him at home, and came back on the high road."

M. Galpin stopped him by a gesture.

"That is not so," he said severely.

"Oh!"

"You never went to Brechy."

"I beg your pardon."

"And the proof is, that, about eleven o'clock, you were hurriedly
crossing the forest of Rochepommier."

"I?"

"Yes, you! And do not say No; for there are your trousers torn to pieces
by the thorns and briers through which you must have made your way."

"There are briers elsewhere as well as in the forest."

"To be sure; but you were seen there."

"By whom?"

"By Gaudry the poacher. And he saw so much of you, that he could tell
us in what a bad humor you were. You were very angry. You were talking
loud, and pulling the leaves from the trees."

As he said so, the magistrate got up and took the shooting-jacket, which
was lying on a chair not far from him. He searched the pockets, and
pulled out of one a handful of leaves.

"Look here! you see, Gaudry has told the truth."

"There are leaves everywhere," said M. de Boiscoran half aloud.

"Yes; but a woman, Mrs. Courtois, saw you come out of the forest of
Rochepommier. You helped her to put a sack of flour on her ass, which
she could not lift alone. Do you deny it? No, you are right; for, look
here! on the sleeve of your coat I see something white, which, no doubt,
is flour from her bag."

M. de Boiscoran hung his head. The magistrate went on,--