Within an Inch of His Life

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


"And the marquis?"

"My husband remained in Paris."

The old gentleman's face assumed a curious expression.

"Ah, that is just like him," he said. "Nothing can move him. His only
son is wickedly accused of a crime, arrested, thrown into prison. They
write to him; they hope he will come at once. By no means. Let his son
get out of trouble as he can. He has his _faiences_ to attend to. Oh, if
I had a son!"

"My husband," pleaded the marchioness, "thinks he can be more useful to
Jacques in Paris than here. There will be much to be done there."

"Have we not the railway?"

"Moreover," she went on, "he intrusted me to this gentleman." She
pointed out M. Folgat.

"M. Manuel Folgat, who has promised us the assistance of his experience,
his talents, and his devotion."

When thus formally introduced, M. Folgat bowed, and said,--

"I am all hope. But I think with Miss Chandore, that we must go to work
without losing a second. Before I can decide, however, upon what is to
be done, I must know all the facts."

"Unfortunately we know nothing," replied M. de Chandore,--"nothing,
except that Jacques is kept in close confinement."

"Well, then, we must try to find out. You know, no doubt, all the law
officers of Sauveterre?"

"Very few. I know the commonwealth attorney."

"And the magistrate before whom the matter has been brought."

The older of the two Misses Lavarande rose, and exclaimed,--

"That man, M. Galpin, is a monster of hypocrisy and ingratitude. He
called himself Jacques's friend; and Jacques liked him well enough
to induce us, my sister and myself, to give our consent to a marriage
between him and one of our cousins, a Lavarande. Poor child. When she
learned the sad truth, she cried, 'Great God! God be blessed that I
escaped the disgrace of becoming the wife of such a man!'"

"Yes," added the other old lady, "if all Sauveterre thinks Jacques
guilty, let them also say, 'His own friend has become his judge.'"

M. Folgat shook his head, and said,--

"I must have more minute information. The marquis mentioned to me a M.
Seneschal, mayor of Sauveterre."

M. de Chandore looked at once for his hat, and said,--

"To be sure! He is a friend of ours; and, if any one is well informed,
he is. Let us go to him. Come."

M. Seneschal was indeed a friend of the Chandores, the Lavarandes, and
also of the Boiscorans. Although he was a lawyer he had become attached
to the people whose confidential adviser he had been for more than
twenty years. Even after having retired from business, M. Seneschal had
still retained the full confidence of his former clients. They never
decided on any grave question, without consulting him first. His
successor did the business for them; but M. Seneschal directed what was
to be done.

Nor was the assistance all on one side. The example of great people
like M. de Chandore and Jacques's uncle had brought many a peasant on
business into M. Seneschal's office; and when he was, at a later period
of his life, attacked by the fever of political ambition, and offered to
"sacrifice himself for his country" by becoming mayor of Sauveterre, and
a member of the general council, their support had been of great service
to him.

Hence he was well-nigh overcome when he returned, on that fatal morning,
to Sauveterre. He looked so pale and undone, that his wife was seriously
troubled.

"Great God, Augustus! What has happened?" she asked.

"Something terrible has happened," he replied in so tragic a manner,
that his wife began to tremble.

To be sure, Mrs. Seneschal trembled very easily. She was a woman of
forty-five or fifty years, very dark, short, and fat, trying hard to
breathe in the corsets which were specially made for her by the Misses
Mechinet, the clerk's sisters. When she was young, she had been rather
pretty: now she still kept the red cheeks of her younger days, a forest
of jet black hair, and excellent teeth. But she was not happy. Her life
had been spent in wishing for children, and she had none.

She consoled herself, it is true, by constantly referring to all the
most delicate details on the subject, mentioning not to her
intimate friends only, but to any one who would listen, her constant
disappointments, the physicians she had consulted, the pilgrimages she
had undertaken, and the quantities of fish she had eaten, although she
abominated fish. All had been in vain, and as her hopes fled with her
years, she had become resigned, and indulged now in a kind of romantic
sentimentality, which she carefully kept alive by reading novels and
poems without end. She had a tear ready for every unfortunate being, and
some words of comfort for every grief. Her charity was well known. Never
had a poor woman with children appealed to her in vain. In spite of all
that, she was not easily taken in. She managed her household with her
hand as well as with her eye; and no one surpassed her in the extent of
her washings, or the excellence of her dinners.

She was quite ready, therefore, to sigh and to sob when her husband told
her what had happened during the night. When he had ended, she said,--

"That poor Dionysia is capable of dying of it. In your place, I would go
at once to M. de Chandore, and inform him in the most cautious manner of
what has happened."

"I shall take good care not to do so," replied M. Seneschal; "and I tell
you expressly not to go there yourself."

For he was by no means a philosopher; and, if he had been his own
master, he would have taken the first train, and gone off a hundred
miles, so as not to see the grief of the Misses Lavarande and Grandpapa
Chandore. He was exceedingly fond of Dionysia: he had been hard at work
for years to settle and to add to her fortune, as if she had been his
own daughter, and now to witness her grief! He shuddered at the idea.
Besides, he really did not know what to believe, and influenced by M.
Galpin's assurance, misled by public opinion, he had come to ask himself
if Jacques might not, after all, have committed the crimes with which he
was charged.

Fortunately his duties were on that day so numerous and so troublesome,
that he had no time to think. He had to provide for the recovery and
the transportation of the remains of the two unfortunate victims of the
fire; he had to receive the mother of one, and the widow and children of
the other, and to listen to their complaints, and try to console them
by promising the former a small pension, and the latter some help in the
education of their children. Then he had to give directions to have the
wounded men brought home; and, after that, he had gone out in search
of a house for Count Claudieuse and his wife, which had given him much
trouble. Finally, a large part of the afternoon had been taken up by an
angry discussion with Dr. Seignebos. The doctor, in the name of outraged
society, as he called it, and in the name of justice and humanity,
demanded the immediate arrest of Cocoleu, that wretch whose unconscious
statement formed the basis of the accusation. He demanded with a furious
oath that the epileptic idiot should be sent to the hospital, and kept
there so as to be professionally examined by experts. The mayor had
for some time refused to grant the request, which seemed to him
unreasonable; but he doctor had talked so loud and insisted so strongly,
that at last he had sent two gendarmes to Brechy with orders to bring
back Cocoleu.

They had returned several hours later with empty hands. The idiot had
disappeared; and no one in the whole district had been able to give any
information as to this whereabouts.

"And you think that is natural?" exclaimed Dr. Seignebos, whose eyes
were glaring at the mayor from under his spectacles. "To me that looks
like an absolute proof that a plot has been hatched to ruin M. de
Boiscoran."

"But can't you be quiet?" M. Seneschal said angrily. "Do you think
Cocoleu is lost? He will turn up again."

The doctor had left him without insisting any longer; but before going
home, he had dropped in at his club, and there, in the presence of
twenty people he had declared that he had positive proof of a plot
formed against M. de Boiscoran, whom the Monarchists had never forgiven
for having left them; and that the Jesuits were certainly mixed up with
the business.

This interference was more injurious than useful to Jacques; and the
consequences were soon seen. That same evening, when M. Galpin crossed
the New-Market Place, he was wantonly insulted. Very naturally he went,
almost in a fury, to call upon the mayor, to hold him responsible for
this insult offered to Justice in his person, and asking for energetic
punishment. M. Seneschal promised to take the proper measures, and
went to the commonwealth attorney to act in concert with him. There he
learned what had happened at Boiscoran, and the terrible result of the
examination.

So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques's situation,
and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter was
beginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning had
displayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say a
word to him. But even that was not all. At two o'clock precisely, the
funeral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promised
Capt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, and
accompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already given
orders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announced
visitors,--M. de Chandore and friend.

"That was all that was wanting!" he exclaimed

But, thinking it over, he added,--

"Well, it had to come sooner r later. Show them in!"

M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to prepare
himself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almost
cheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him his
companion.

"M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, who
has been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran."

"I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal," said Folgat: "I do not know the
manner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of this
country; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit many
a grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able and
experienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have both
encouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you."

"Certainly, sir, and with all my heart," replied M. Seneschal, bowing
politely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of a
great Paris lawyer.

He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting
his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven
chin with his hand.

"This is a very serious matter, gentlemen," he said at last.

"A criminal charge is always serious," replied M. Folgat.

"Upon my word," cried M. de Chandore, "you are not in doubt about
Jacques's innocence?"

M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wise
remarks made by his wife the evening before.

"How can we know," he began at last, "what may be going on in young
brains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance of
certain insults! Wrath is a dangerous counsellor."

Grandpapa Chandore refused to hear any more.

"What! do you talk to me of wrath?" he broke in; "and what do you see
of wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for my part, but
the very meanest crime, long prepared and coolly carried out."

The mayor very seriously shook his head, and said,--

"You do not know all that has happened."

"Sir," added M. Folgat, "it is precisely for the purpose of hearing what
has happened that we come to you."

"Very well," said M. Seneschal.

Thereupon he went to work to describe the events which he had witnessed
at Valpinson, and those, which, as he had learned from the commonwealth
attorney, had taken place at Boiscoran; and this he did with all the
lucidity of an experienced old lawyer who is accustomed to unravel the
mysteries of complicated suits. He wound up by saying,--

"Finally, do you know what Daubigeon said to me, whose evidence you
will certainly know how to appreciate? He said in so many words, 'Galpin
could not but order the arrest of M. de Boiscoran. Is he guilty? I do
not know what to think of it. The accusation is overwhelming. He swears
by all the gods that he is innocent; but he will not tell how he spent
the night.'"

M. de Chandore, in spite of his vigor, was near fainting, although his
face remained as crimson as ever. Nothing on earth could make him turn
pale.

"Great God!" he murmured, "what will Dionysia say?"

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

"And yet Jacques had something in his mind for that evening."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it. But for that, he would certainly have come to the
house, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said so
himself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, and
which she mentioned to you. He wrote, 'I curse from the bottom of my
heart the business which prevents me from spending the evening with you;
but I cannot possibly defer it any longer. To-morrow!'"

"You see," said M. Seneschal.

"The letter is of such a nature," continued the old gentleman, "that I
repeat, No man who premeditated such a hideous crime could possibly have
written it. Nevertheless, I confess to you, that, when I heard the
fatal news, this very allusion to some pressing business impressed me
painfully."

But the young lawyer seemed to be far from being convinced.

"It is evident," he said, "that M. de Boiscoran will on no account let
it be known where he went."

"He told a falsehood, sir," insisted M. Seneschal. "He commenced by
denying that he had gone the way on which the witnesses met him."

"Very naturally, since he desires to keep the place unknown to which he
went."

"He did not say any more when he was told that he was under arrest."

"Because he hopes he will get out of this trouble without betraying his
secret."

"If that were so, it would be very strange."

"Stranger things than that have happened."

"To allow himself to be accused of incendiarism and murder when he is
innocent!"

"To be innocent, and to allow one's self to be condemned, is still
stranger; and yet there are instances"--

The young lawyer spoke in that short, imperious tone which is, so
to say, the privilege of his profession, and with such an accent of
assurance, that M. de Chandore felt his hopes revive. M. Seneschal was
sorely troubled.

"And what do you think, sir?" he asked.

"That M. de Boiscoran must be innocent," replied the young advocate.
And, without leaving time for objections, he continued,--

"That is the opinion of a man who is not influenced by any
consideration. I come here without any preconceived notions. I do not
know Count Claudieuse any more than M. de Boiscoran. A crime has been
committed: I am told the circumstances; and I at once come to the
conclusion that the reasons which led to the arrest of the accused would
lead me to set him at liberty."

"Oh!"

"Let me explain. If M. de Boiscoran is guilty, he has shown, in the
way in which he received M. Galpin at the house, a perfectly unheard-of
self-control, and a matchless genius for comedy. Therefore, if he is
guilty, he is immensely clever"--

"But."

"Allow me to finish. If he is guilty, he has in the examination shown a
marvellous want of self-control, and, to be brief, a nameless stupidity:
therefore, if he is guilty, he is immensely stupid"--

"But."

"Allow me to finish. Can one and the same person be at once so unusually
clever and so unusually stupid? Judge yourself. But again: if M. de
Boiscoran is guilty, he ought to be sent to the insane asylum, and not
to prison; for any one else but a madman would have poured out the dirty
water in which he had washed his blackened hands, and would have buried
anywhere that famous breech-loader, of which the prosecution makes such
good use."

"Jacques is safe!" exclaimed M. de Chandore.

M. Seneschal was not so easily won over.

"That is specious pleading," he said. "Unfortunately, we want something
more than a logic conclusion to meet a jury with an abundance of
witnesses on the other side."

"We will find more on our side."

"What do you propose to do?"

"I do not know. I have just told you my first impression. Now I must
study the case, and examine the witnesses, beginning with old Anthony."

M. de Chandore had risen. He said,--

"We can reach Boiscoran in an hour. Shall I send for my carriage?"

"As quickly as possible," replied the young lawyer.

M. de Chandore's servant was back in a quarter of an hour, and announced
that the carriage was at the door. M. de Chandore and M. Folgat took
their seats; and, while they were getting in, the mayor warned the young
Paris lawyer,--

"Above all, be prudent and circumspect. The public mind is already but
too much inflamed. Politics are mixed up with the case. I am afraid of
some disturbance at the burial of the firemen; and they bring me word
that Dr. Seignebos wants to make a speech at the graveyard. Good-by and
good luck!"

The driver whipped the horse, and, as the carriage was going down
through the suburbs, M. de Chandore said,--

"I cannot understand why Anthony did not come to me immediately after
his master had been arrested. What can have happened to him?"



IV.

M. Seneschal's horse was perhaps one of the very best in the whole
province; but M. de Chandore's was still better. In less than fifty
minutes they had driven the whole distance to Boiscoran; and during this
time M. de Chandore and M. Folgat had not exchanged fifty words.

When they reached Boiscoran, the courtyard was silent and deserted.
Doors and windows were hermetically closed. On the steps of the porch
sat a stout young peasant, who, at the sight of the newcomers, rose, and
carried his hand to his cap.

"Where is Anthony?" asked M. de Chandore.

"Up stairs, sir."

The old gentleman tried to open the door: it resisted.

"O sir! Anthony has barricaded the door from the inside."

"A curious idea," said M. de Chandore, knocking with the butt-end of his
whip.

He was knocking fiercer and fiercer, when at last Anthony's voice was
heard from within,--

"Who is there?"

"It is I, Baron Chandore."

The bars were removed instantly, and the old valet showed himself in the
door. He looked pale and undone. The disordered condition of his beard,
his hair, and his dress, showed that he had not been to bed. And this
disorder was full of meaning in a man who ordinarily prided himself upon
appearing always in the dress of an English gentleman.

M. de Chandore was so struck by this, that he asked, first of all,--

"What is the matter with you, my good Anthony?"

Instead of replying, Anthony drew the baron and his companion inside;
and, when he had fastened the door again, he crossed his arms, and
said,--

"The matter is--well, I am afraid."

The old gentleman and the lawyer looked at each other. They evidently
both thought the poor man had lost his mind. Anthony saw it, and said
quickly,--

"No, I am not mad, although, certainly, there are things passing here
which could make one doubtful of one's own senses. If I am afraid, it is
for good reasons."

"You do not doubt your master?" asked M. Folgat.

The servant cast such fierce, threatening glances at the lawyer, that M.
de Chandore hastened to interfere.

"My dear Anthony," he said, "this gentleman is a friend of mine, a
lawyer, who has come down from Paris with the marchioness to defend
Jacques. You need not mistrust him, nay, more than that, you must tell
him all you know, even if"--

The trusty old servant's face brightened up, and he exclaimed,--

"Ah! If the gentleman is a lawyer. Welcome, sir. Now I can say all that
weighs on my heart. No, most assuredly I do not think Master Jacques
guilty. It is impossible he should be so: it is absurd to think of it.
But what I believe, what I am sure of, is this,--there is a plot to
charge him with all the horrors of Valpinson."

"A plot?" broke in M. Folgat, "whose? how? and what for?"

"Ah! that is more than I know. But I am not mistaken; and you would
think so too, if you had been present at the examination, as I was. It
was fearful, gentlemen, it was unbearable, so that even I was stupefied
for a moment, and thought my master was guilty, and advised him to flee.
The like has never been heard of before, I am sure. Every thing went
against him. Every answer he made sounded like a confession. A crime
had been committed at Valpinson; he had been seen going there and coming
back by side paths. A fire had been kindled; his hands bore traces of
charcoal. Shots had been fired; they found one of his cartridge-cases
close to the spot where Count Claudieuse had been wounded. There it
was I saw the plot. How could all these circumstances have agreed so
precisely if they had not been pre-arranged, and calculated beforehand?
Our poor M. Daubigeon had tears in his eyes; and even that meddlesome
fellow, Mechinet, the clerk, was quite overcome. M. Galpin was the only
one who looked pleased; but then he was the magistrate, and he put the
questions. He, my master's friend!--a man who was constantly coming
here, who ate our bread, slept in our beds, and shot our game. Then it
was, 'My dear Jacques,' and 'My dear Boiscoran' always, and no end of
compliments and caresses; so that I often thought one of these days I
should find him blackening my master's boots. Ah! he took his revenge
yesterday; and you ought to have seen with what an air he said to
master, 'We are friends no longer.' The rascal! No, we are friends no
longer; and, if God was just, you ought to have all the shot in your
body that has wounded Count Claudieuse."

M. de Chandore was growing more and more impatient. As soon, therefore,
as Anthony's breath gave out a moment, he said,--

"Why did you not come and tell me all that immediately?"

The old servant ventured to shrug his shoulders slightly, and replied,--

"How could I? When the examination was over, that man, Galpin, put the
seals everywhere,--strips of linen, fastened on with sealing-wax, as
they do with dead people. He put one on every opening, and on some
of them two. He put three on the outer door. Then he told me that he
appointed me keeper of the house, that I would be paid for it, but that
I would be sent to the galleys if any one touched the seals with the
tip of the finger. When he had handed master over to the gendarmes, that
man, Galpin, went away, leaving me here alone, dumfounded, like a man
who has been knocked in the head. Nevertheless, I should have come to
you, sir, but I had an idea, and that gave me the shivers."

Grandpapa Chandore stamped his foot, and said,--

"Come to the point, to the point!"

"It was this: you must know, gentlemen, that, in the examination, that
breech-loading gun played a prominent part. That man, Galpin looked at
it carefully, and asked master when he had last fired it off. Master
said, 'About five days ago. You hear, I say, five days.' Thereupon, that
man, Galpin, puts the gun down, without looking at the barrels."

"Well?" asked M. Folgat.

"Well, sir, I--Anthony--I had the evening before--I say the evening
before--cleaned the gun, washed it, and"--

"Upon my word," cried M. de Chandore, "why did you not say so at once?
If the barrels are clean, that is an absolute proof that Jacques is
innocent."

The old servant shook his head, and said,--

"To be sure, sir. But are they clean?"

"Oh!"

"Master may have been mistaken as to the time when he last fired the
gun, and then the barrels would be soiled; and, instead of helping him,
my evidence might ruin him definitely. Before I say any thing, I ought
to be sure."

"Yes," said Folgat, approvingly, "and you have done well to keep
silence, my good man, and I cannot urge you too earnestly not to say a
word of it to any one. That fact may become a decisive argument for the
_defence_."

"Oh! I can keep my tongue, sir. Only you may imagine how impatient it
has made me to see these accursed seals which prevent me from going to
look at the gun. Oh, if I had dared to break one of them!"

"Poor fellow!"

"I thought of doing it; but I checked myself. Then it occurred to me
that other people might think of the same thing. The rascals who have
formed this abominable plot against Master Jacques are capable of any
thing, don't you think so? Why might not they come some night, and
break the seals? I put the steward on guard in the garden, beneath the
windows. I put his son as a sentinel into the courtyard; and I have
myself stood watch before the seals with arms in my hands all the time.
Let the rascals come on; they will find somebody to receive them."

In spite of all that is said, lawyers are better than their reputation.
Lawyers, accused of being sceptics above all men, are, on the contrary,
credulous and simple-minded. Their enthusiasm is sincere; and, when we
think they play a part, they are in earnest. In the majority of cases,
they fancy their own side the just one, even though they should be
beaten. Hour by hour, ever since his arrival at Sauveterre, M. Folgat's
faith in Jacques's innocence had steadily increased. Old Anthony's
tale was not made to shake his growing conviction. He did not admit the
existence of a plot, however; but he was not disinclined to believe
in the cunning calculations of some rascal, who, availing himself of
circumstances known to him alone, tried to let all suspicion fall upon
M. de Boiscoran, instead of himself.