Within an Inch of His Life

by Emile Gaboriau

  XII.

  The famous night of the fire at Valpinson had been a godsend to thegood people of Sauveterre. They had henceforth an inexhaustible topicof discussion, ever new and ever rich in unexpected conjectures,--theBoiscoran case. When people met in the streets, they simply asked,--

  "What are they doing now?"

  Whenever, therefore, M. Galpin went from the court-house to the prison,or came striding up National Street with his stiff, slow step, twentygood housewives peeped from behind their curtains to read in his facesome of the secrets of the trial. They saw, however, nothing there buttraces of intense anxiety, and a pallor which became daily more marked.They said to each other,--

  "You will see poor M. Galpin will catch the jaundice from it."

  The expression was commonplace; but it conveyed exactly the feelings ofthe ambitious lawyer. This Boiscoran case had become like a festeringwound to him, which irritated him incessantly and intolerably.

  "I have lost my sleep by it," he told the commonwealth attorney.Excellent M. Daubigeon, who had great trouble in moderating his zeal,did not pity him particularly. He would say in reply,--

  "Whose fault is it? But you want to rise in the world; and increasingfortune is always followed by increasing care.

  "Ah!" said the magistrate. "I have only done my duty, and, if I had tobegin again, I would do just the same."

  Still every day he saw more clearly that he was in a false position.Public opinion, strongly arrayed against M. de Boiscoran, was not, onthat account, very favorable to him. Everybody believed Jacques guilty,and wanted him to be punished with all the rigor of the law; but, on theother hand, everybody was astonished that M. Galpin should choose toact as magistrate in such a case. There was a touch of treachery in thisproceeding against a former friend, in looking everywhere for evidenceagainst him, in driving him into court, that is to say, towards thegalleys or the scaffold; and this revolted people's consciences.

  The very way in which people returned his greeting, or avoided himaltogether, made the magistrate aware of the feelings they entertainedfor him. This only increased his wrath against Jacques, and, with it histrouble. He had been congratulated, it is true, by the attorney-general;but there is no certainty in a trial, as long as the accused refuses toconfess. The charges against Jacques, to be sure, were so overwhelming,that his being sent before the court was out of question. But by theside of the court there is still the jury.

  "And in fine, my dear," said the commonwealth attorney, "you have nota single eye-witness. And from time immemorial an eye-witness has beenlooked upon as worth a hundred hearsays."

  "I have Cocoleu," said M. Galpin, who was rather impatient of all theseobjections.

  "Have the doctors decided that he is not an idiot?"

  "No: Dr. Seignebos alone maintains that doctrine."

  "Well, at least Cocoleu is willing to repeat his evidence?"

  "No."

  "Why, then you have virtually no witness!"

  Yes, M. Galpin understood it but too well, and hence his anxiety. Themore he studied _his_ accused, the more he found him in an enigmatic andthreatening position, which was ominous of evil.

  "Can he have an _alibi_?" he thought. "Or does he hold in reserve one ofthose unforeseen revelations, which at the last moment destroy the wholeedifice of the prosecution, and cover the prosecuting attorney withridicule?"

  Whenever these thoughts occurred to him, they made big drops ofperspiration run down his temples; and then he treated his poor clerkMechinet like a slave. And that was not all. Although he lived moreretired than ever, since this case had begun, many a report reached himfrom the Chandore family.

  To be sure, he was a thousand miles from imagining that they hadactually opened communications with the prisoner, and, what is more,that this intercourse was carried on by Mechinet, his own clerk. Hewould have laughed if one had come and told him that Dionysia had spenta night in prison, and paid Jacques a visit. But he heard continuallyof the hopes and the plans of the friends and relations of his prisoner;and he remembered, not without secret fear and trembling that they wererich and powerful, supported by relations in high places, beloved andesteemed by everybody. He knew that Dionysia was surrounded by devotedand intelligent men, by M. de Chandore, M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, M.Magloire, and, finally, that advocate whom the Marchioness de Boiscoranhad brought down with her from Paris, M. Folgat.

  "And Heaven knows what they would not try," he thought, "to rescue theguilty man from the hands of justice!"

  It may well be said, therefore, that never was prosecution carried onwith as much passionate zeal or as much minute assiduity. Every one ofthe points upon which the prosecution relied became, for M. Galpin,a subject of special study. In less than a fortnight he examinedsixty-seven witnesses in his office. He summoned the fourth part of thepopulation of Brechy. He would have summoned the whole country, if hehad dared.

  But all his efforts were fruitless. After weeks of furiousinvestigations, the inquiry was still at the same point, the mystery wasstill impenetrable. The prisoner had not refuted any of the chargesmade against him; but the magistrate had, also, not obtained a singleadditional piece of evidence after those he had secured on the firstday.

  There must be an end of this, however.

  One warm afternoon in July, the good ladies in National Street thoughtthey noticed that M. Galpin looked even more anxious than usual. Theywere right. After a long conference with the commonwealth attorneyand the presiding judge, the magistrate had made up his mind. When hereached the prison, he went to Jacques's cell and there, concealing hisembarrassment under the greatest stiffness, he said,--

  "My painful duty draws to an end, sir: the inquiry with which I havebeen charged will be closed. To-morrow the papers, with a list of theobjects to be used as evidence, will be sent to the attorney-general, tobe submitted to the court."

  Jacques de Boiscoran did not move.

  "Well," he said simply.

  "Have you nothing to add, sir?" asked M. Galpin.

  "Nothing, except that I am innocent."

  M. Galpin found it difficult to repress his impatience. He said,--

  "Well, then, prove it. Refute the charges which have been broughtagainst you, which overwhelm you, which induce me, the court, andeverybody else, to consider you guilty. Speak, and explain yourconduct."

  Jacques kept obstinately silent.

  "Your resolution is fixed," said the magistrate once more, "you refuseto say any thing?"

  "I am innocent."

  M. Galpin saw clearly that it was useless to insist any longer.

  "From this moment," he said, "you are no longer in close confinement.You can receive the visits of your family in the prison parlor. Theadvocate whom you will choose will be admitted to your cell to consultwith you."

  "At last!" exclaimed Jacques with explosive delight; and then headded,--

  "Am I at liberty to write to M. de Chandore?"

  "Yes," replied M. Galpin, "and, if you choose to write at once, my clerkwill be happy to carry your letter this evening to its destination."

  Jacques de Boiscoran availed himself on the spot of this permission;and he had done very soon, for the note which he wrote, and handed to M.Mechinet, contained only the few words,--

  "I shall expect M. Magloire to-morrow morning at nine.

  "J."

  Ever since the day on which they had come to the conclusion that a falsestep might have the most fatal consequences, Jacques de Boiscoran'sfriends had abstained from doing anything. Besides, what would have beenthe use of any efforts? Dr. Seignebos's request, though unsupported, hadbeen at least partially granted; and the court had summoned a physicianfrom Paris, a great authority on insanity, to determine Cocoleu's mentalcondition. It was on a Saturday that Dr. Seignebos came triumphantlyto announce the good news. It was the following Tuesday that he had toreport his discomfiture. In a furious passion he said,--

  "There are asses in Paris as well as elsewhere! Or, rather, in thesedays of trembling e
gotism and eager servility, an independent man isas difficult to find in Paris as in the provinces. I was looking fora _savant_ who would be inaccessible to petty considerations; and theysend me a trifling fellow, who does not dare to be disagreeable to thegentlemen of the bar. Ah, it was a cruel disappointment!"

  And all the time worrying his spectacles, he went on,--

  "I had been informed of the arrival of my learned brother; and I wentto receive him myself at the railway station. The train comes in; andat once I make out my man in the crowd: a fine head, well set in grizzlyhair, a noble eye, eloquent lips. 'There he is!' I say to myself. 'Hm!'He looked rather dandyish, to be sure, a lot of decorations in hisbuttonhole, whiskers trimmed as carefully as the box in my garden,and, instead of honest spectacles, a pair of eye-glasses. But no man isperfect. I go up to him, I give him my name, we shake hands, I ask himto breakfast, he accepts; and here we are at table, he doing justice tomy Bordeaux, and I explaining to him the case systematically. When wehave done, he wishes to see Cocoleu. We go to the hospital; and there,after merely glancing at the creature, he says, 'That man is simply themost complete idiot I have ever seen in my life!' I was a little takenaback, and tried to explain the matter to him; but he refuses to listento me. I beseech him to see Cocoleu once more: he laughs at me. I feelhurt, and ask him how he explains the evidence which this idiot gaveon the night of the fire. He laughs again, and replies that he doesnot explain it. I begin to discuss the question; and he marches off tocourt. And do you know where he dined that day? At the hotel with myother learned brother of the commission; and there they drew up a reportwhich makes of Cocoleu the most perfect imbecile that was ever dreamedof."

  He was walking up and down in the room with long strides, and, unwillingto listen, he went on,--

  "But Master Galpin need not think of crowing over us yet. The end is notyet; they will not get rid of Dr. Seignebos so easily. I have said thatCocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, andI shall prove it. Boiscoran can count upon me."

  He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added,--

  "And I say M. de Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons.I have formed very singular suspicions, sir,--very singular."

  M. Folgat, Dionysia, and the marchioness urged him to explain; but hedeclared that the moment had not come yet, that he was not perfectlysure yet.

  And he left again, vowing that he was overworked, that he had forsakenhis patients for forty-eight hours, and that the Countess Claudieuse waswaiting for him, as her husband was getting worse and worse.

  "What can the old man suspect?" Grandpapa Chandore asked again, an hourafter the doctor had left.

  M. Folgat might have replied that these probable suspicions were nodoubt his own suspicions, only better founded, and more fully developed.But why should he say so, since all inquiry was prohibited, and a singleimprudent word might ruin every thing? Why, also, should he excite newhopes, when they must needs wait patiently till it should seem good toM. Galpin to make an end to this melancholy suspense?

  They heard very little nowadays of Jacques de Boiscoran. Theexaminations took place only at long intervals; and it was sometimesfour or five days before Mechinet brought another letter.

  "This is intolerable agony," repeated the marchioness over and overagain.

  The end was, however, approaching.

  Dionysia was alone one afternoon in the sitting-room, when she thoughtshe heard the clerk's voice in the hall. She went out at once and foundhim there.

  "Ah!" she cried, "the investigation is ended!" For she knew very wellthat nothing less would have emboldened Mechinet to show himself openlyat their house.

  "Yes, indeed, madam!" replied the good man; "and upon M. Galpin's ownorder I bring you this letter from M. de Boiscoran."

  She took it, read it at a single glance, and forgetting every thing,half delirious with joy, she ran to her grandfather and M. Folgat,calling upon a servant at the same time to run and fetch M. Magloire.

  In less than an hour, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre arrived;and when Jacques's letter had been handed to him, he said with someembarrassment,--

  "I have promised M. de Boiscoran my assistance, and he shall certainlyhave it. I shall be at the prison to-morrow morning as soon as the doorsopen, and I will tell you the result of our interview."

  He would say nothing more. It was very evident that he did not believein the innocence of his client, and, as soon as he had left, M. deChandore exclaimed,--

  "Jacques is mad to intrust his defence to a man who doubts him."

  "M. Magloire is an honorable man, papa," said Dionysia; "and, if hethought he could compromise Jacques, he would resign."

  Yes, indeed, M. Magloire was an honorable man, and quite accessibleto tender sentiments; for he felt very reluctant to go and see theprisoner, charged as he was with an odious crime, and, as he thought,justly charged,--a man who had been his friend, and whom, in spite ofall, he could not help loving still.

  He could not sleep for it that night; and noticed his anxious air ashe crossed the street next morning on his way to the jail. Blangin thekeeper was on the lookout for him, and cried,--

  "Ah, come quick, sir! The accused is devoured with impatience."

  Slowly, and his heart beating furiously, the famous advocate went up thenarrow stairs. He crossed the long passage; Blangin opened a door; hewas in Jacques de Boiscoran's cell.

  "At last you are coming," exclaimed the unhappy young man, throwinghimself on the lawyer's neck. "At last I see an honest face, and holda trusty hand. Ah! I have suffered cruelly, so cruelly, that I amsurprised my mind has not given way. But now you are here, you are by myside, I am safe."

  The lawyer could not speak. He was terrified by the havoc which griefhad made of the noble and intelligent face of his friend. He was shockedat the distortion of his features, the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes,and the convulsive laugh on his lips.

  "Poor man!" he murmured at last.

  Jacques misunderstood him: he stepped back, as white as the walls of hiscell.

  "You do not think me guilty?" he exclaimed.

  An inexpressibly sad expression convulsed his features.

  "To be sure," he went on with his terrible convulsive laughter, "thecharges must be overwhelming indeed, if they have convinced my bestfriends. Alas! why did I refuse to speak that first day? My honor!--whata phantom! And still, victimized as I am by an infamous conspiracy, Ishould still refuse to speak, if my life alone were at stake. But myhonor is at stake. Dionysia's honor, the honor of the Boiscorans. Ishall speak. You, M. Magloire, shall know the truth, you shall see myinnocence in a word."

  And, seizing M. Magloire's hand, he pressed it almost painfully, as headded in a hoarse voice,--

  "One word will explain the whole thing to you: I was the lover of theCountess Claudieuse!"