Within an Inch of His Life

by Emile Gaboriau

  XXV.

  Count Claudieuse and his wife had installed themselves, the day afterthe fire, in Mautrec Street. The house which the mayor had taken forthem had been for more than a century in the possession of the greatJulias family, and is still considered one of the finest and mostmagnificent mansions in Sauveterre.

  In less than ten minutes Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat had reached thehouse. From the street, nothing was visible but a tall wall, as old asthe castle, according to the claims of archaeologists, and coveredall over with a mass of wild flowers. In this wall there is a hugeentrance-gate with folding-doors. During the day one-half is opened, anda light, low open-work railing put in, which rings a bell as soon as itis pushed open.

  You then cross a large garden, in which a dozen statues, covered withgreen moss, are falling to pieces on their pedestals, overshadowed bymagnificent old linden-trees. The house has only two stories. A largehall extends from end to end of the lower story; and at the end a widestaircase with stone steps and a superb iron railing leads up stairs.When they entered the hall, Dr. Seignebos opened a door on the righthand.

  "Step in here and wait," he said to M. Folgat. "I will go up stairs andsee the count, whose room is in the second story, and I will send youthe countess."

  The young advocate did as he was bid, and found himself in a largeroom, brilliantly lighted up by three tall windows that went down to theground, and looked out upon the garden. This room must have been superbformerly. The walls were wainscoted with arabesques and lines in gold.The ceiling was painted, and represented a number of fat little angelssporting in a sky full of golden stars.

  But time had passed its destroying hand over all this splendor of thepast age, had half effaced the paintings, tarnished the gold of thearabesques, and faded the blue of the ceiling and the rosy little loves.Nor was the furniture calculated to make compensation for this decay.The windows had no curtains. On the mantelpiece stood a worn-out clockand half-broken candelabra; then, here and there, pieces of furniturethat would not match, such as had been rescued from the fire atValpinson,--chairs, sofas, arm-chairs, and a round table, all batteredand blackened by the flames.

  But M. Folgat paid little attention to these details. He only thought ofthe grave step on which he was venturing, and which he now only lookedat in its full strangeness and extreme boldness. Perhaps he would havefled at the last moment if he could have done so; and he was only ableby a supreme effort to control his excitement.

  At last he heard a rapid, light step in the hall; and almost immediatelythe Countess Claudieuse appeared. He recognized her at once, such asJacques had described her to him, calm, serious, and serene, as if hersoul were soaring high above all human passions. Far from diminishingher exquisite beauty, the terrible events of the last months had onlysurrounded her, as it were, with a divine halo. She had fallen offa little, however. And the dark semicircle under her eyes, and thedisorder of her hair, betrayed the fatigue and the anxiety of the longnights which she had spent by her husband's bedside.

  As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked,--

  "You are M. de Boiscoran's counsel?"

  "Yes, madam," replied the young advocate.

  "The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me."

  "Yes, madam."

  With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself,she said,--

  "I hear, sir."

  M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice,--

  "I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client's trueposition."

  "That is useless, sir. I know."

  "You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may becondemned?"

  She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly,--

  "I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a mostinfamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unlessGod works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my childrenwithout a father."

  "But M. de Boiscoran is innocent, madam."

  The features of the countess assumed an expression of profound surprise;and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said,--

  "And who, then, is the murderer?"

  Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips fromuttering the fatal word, "You," prompted by his indignant conscience.But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying,he said,--

  "To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, anadvocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add thatthe counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secretswhich have been confided to him."

  "I do not understand, sir."

  "My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence.He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honorrather than to betray the honor of another person."

  The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying,--

  "My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?"

  But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go.

  "I am desired by M. de Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter."

  The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise.

  "To me?" she said. "On what ground?"

  Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques's letter from hisportfolio, and handed it to her.

  "Here it is!" he said.

  She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But,as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in herface, and said with flaming eyes,--

  "Do you know, sir, what this letter contains?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you know that M. de Boiscoran dares call me by my first name,Genevieve, as my husband does, and my father?"

  The decisive moment had come, and M. Folgat had all his self-possession.

  "M. de Boiscoran, madame, claims that he used to call you so in formerdays,--in Vine Street,--in days when you called him Jacques."

  The countess seemed to be utterly bewildered.

  "But that is sheer infamy, sir," she stammered. "What! M. de Boiscoranshould have dared tell you that I, the countess Claudieuse, have beenhis--mistress?"

  "He certainly said so, madam; and he affirms, that a few momentsbefore the fire broke out, he was near you, and that, if his hands wereblackened, it was because he had burned your letters and his."

  She rose at these words, and said in a penetrating voice,--

  "And you could believe that,--you? Ah! M. de Boiscoran's other crimesare nothing in comparison with this! He is not satisfied with havingburnt our house, and ruined us: he means to dishonor us. He is notsatisfied with having murdered my husband: he must ruin the honor of hiswife also."

  She spoke so loud, that her voice must have been distinctly heard in thevestibule.

  "Lower, madam, I pray you speak lower," said M. Folgat.

  She cast upon him a crushing glance; and, raising her voice stillhigher, she went on,--

  "Yes, I understand very well that you are afraid of being heard. ButI--what have I to fear? I could wish the whole world to hear us, and tojudge between us. Lower, you say? Why should I speak less loud? Do youthink that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letterwould not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon havesatisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! Ihave never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lostalready, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, withoutfriends."

  "But, madam, M. de Boiscoran pledges himself to the most perfectsecrecy."

  "Secrecy in what? In your cowardly insults, your abominable plots, ofwhich this, no doubt, is but a beginning?"

  M. Folgat turned livid under this insult.

  "Ah, take care, madam," he said in a hoarse voice: "we have proof,absolute, overwhelming proof."

  The countess stopped him by an imperious gesture, and with thehaughtiest disdain, grief, and wrath, she said,--

  "Well, then,
produce your proof. Go, hasten, act as you like. We shallsee if the vile calumnies of an incendiary can stain the pure reputationof an honest woman. We shall see if a single speck of this mud in whichyou wallow can reach up to me."

  And, throwing Jacques's letter at M. Folgat's feet, she went to thedoor.

  "Madam," said M. Folgat once more,--"madam!"

  She did not even condescend to turn round: she disappeared, leaving himstanding in the middle of the room, so overcome with amazement, that hecould not collect his thoughts. Fortunately Dr. Seignebos came in.

  "Upon my word!" he said, "I never thought the countess would take mytreachery so coolly. When she came out from you just now, she asked me,in the same tone as every day, how I had found her husband, and what wasto be done. I told her"--

  But the rest of the sentence remained unspoken: the doctor had becomeaware of M. Folgat's utter consternation.

  "Why, what on earth is the matter?" he asked.

  The young advocate looked at him with an utterly bewildered air.

  "This is the matter: I ask myself whether I am awake or dreaming. Thisis the matter: that, if this woman is guilty, she possesses an audacitybeyond all belief."

  "How, if? Have you changed your mind about her guilt?"

  M. Folgat looked altogether disheartened.

  "Ah!" he said, "I hardly know myself. Do you not see that I have lost myhead, that I do not know what to think, and what to believe?"

  "Oh!"

  "Yes, indeed! And yet, doctor, I am not a simpleton. I have now beenpleading five years in criminal courts: I have had to dive down intothe lowest depths of society; I have seen strange things, and met withexceptional specimens, and heard fabulous stories"--

  It was the doctor's turn, now, to be amazed; and he actually forgot totrouble his gold spectacles.

  "Why? What did the countess say?" he asked.

  "I might tell you every word," replied M. Folgat, "and you would be nonethe wiser. You ought to have been here, and seen her, and heard her!What a woman! Not a muscle in her face was moving; her eye remainedlimpid and clear; no emotion was felt in her voice. And with what an airshe defied me! But come, doctor, let us be gone!"

  They went out, and had already gone about a third down the long avenuein the garden, when they saw the oldest daughter of the countess comingtowards them, on her way to the house, accompanied by her governess.Dr. Seignebos stopped, and pressing the arm of the young advocate, andbending over to him, he whispered into his ear,--

  "Mind!" he said. "You know the truth is in the lips of children."

  "What do you expect?" murmured M. Folgat.

  "To settle a doubtful point. Hush! Let me manage it."

  By this time the little girl had come up to them. It was a very gracefulgirl of eight or nine years, light haired, with large blue eyes, tallfor her age, and displaying all the intelligence of a young girl,without her timidity.

  "How are you, little Martha?" said the doctor to her in his gentlestvoice, which was very soft when he chose.

  "Good-morning, gentlemen!" she replied with a nice little courtesy.

  Dr. Seignebos bent down to kiss her rosy cheeks, and them, looking ather, he said,--

  "You look sad, Martha?"

  "Yes, because papa and little sister are sick," she replied with a deepsigh.

  "And also because you miss Valpinson?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  "Still it is very pretty here, and you have a large garden to play in."

  She shook her head, and, lowering her voice, she said,--

  "It is certainly very pretty here; but--I am afraid."

  "And of what, little one?"

  She pointed to the statues, and all shuddering, she said,--

  "In the evening, when it grows dark, I fancy they are moving. I thinkI see people hiding behind the trees, like the man who wanted to killpapa."

  "You ought to drive away those ugly notions, Miss Martha," said M.Folgat.

  But Dr. Seignebos did not allow him to go on.

  "What, Martha? I did not know you were so timid. I thought, on thecontrary, you were very brave. Your papa told me the night of the fireyou were not afraid of any thing."

  "Papa was right."

  "And yet, when you were aroused by the flames, it must have beenterrible."

  "Oh! it was not the flames which waked me, doctor."

  "Still the fire had broken out."

  "I was not asleep at that time, doctor. I had been roused by theslamming of the door, which mamma had closed very noisily when she camein."

  One and the same presentiment made M. Folgat tremble and the doctor.

  "You must be mistaken, Martha," the doctor went on. "Your mamma had notcome back at the time of the fire."

  "Oh, yes, sir!"

  "No, you are mistaken."

  The little girl drew herself up with that solemn air which children areapt to assume when their statements are doubted. She said,--

  "I am quite sure of what I say, and I remember every thing perfectly.I had been put to bed at the usual hour, and, as I was very tired withplaying, I had fallen asleep at once. While I was asleep, mamma had goneout; but her coming back waked me up. As soon as she came in, she bentover little sister's bed, and looked at her for a moment so sadly, thatI thought I should cry. Then she went, and sat down by the window; andfrom my bed, where I lay silently watching her, I saw the tears runningdown her cheeks, when all of a sudden a shot was fired."

  M. Folgat and Dr. Seignebos looked anxiously at each other.

  "Then, my little one," insisted Dr. Seignebos, "you are quite sure yourmamma was in your room when the first shot was fired?"

  "Certainly, doctor. And mamma, when she heard it, rose up straight, andlowered her head, like one who listens. Almost immediately, the secondshot was fired. Mamma raised her hands to heaven, and cried out, 'GreatGod!' And then she went out, running fast."

  Never was a smile more false than that which Dr. Seignebos forcedhimself to retain on his lips while the little girl was telling herstory.

  "You have dreamed all that, Martha," he said.

  The governess here interposed, saying,--

  "The young lady has not dreamed it, sir. I, also, heard the shots fired;and I had just opened the door of my room to hear what was going on,when I saw madame cross the landing swiftly, and rush down stairs.

  "Oh! I do not doubt it," said the doctor, in the most indifferent tonehe could command: "the circumstance is very trifling."

  But the little girl was bent on finishing her story.

  "When mamma had left," she went on, "I became frightened, and raisedmyself on my bed to listen. Soon I heard a noise which I did notknow,--cracking and snapping of wood, and then cries at a distance. Igot more frightened, jumped down, and ran to open the door. But I nearlyfell down, there was such a cloud of smoke and sparks. Still I didnot lose my head. I waked my little sister, and tried to get on thestaircase, when Cocoleu rushed in like a madman, and took us both out."

  "Martha," called a voice from the house, "Martha!"

  The child cut short her story, and said,--

  "Mamma is calling me."

  And, dropping again her nice little courtesy, she said,--

  "Good-by, gentlemen!"

  Martha had disappeared; and Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat, still standingon the same spot, looked at each other in utter distress.

  "We have nothing more to do here," said M. Folgat.

  "No, indeed! Let us go back and make haste; for perhaps they are waitingfor me. You must breakfast with me."

  They went away very much disheartened, and so absorbed in their defeat,that they forgot to return the salutations with which they were greetedin the street,--a circumstance carefully noticed by several watchfulobservers.

  When the doctor reached home, he said to his servant,--

  "This gentleman will breakfast with me. Give us a bottle of medis."

  And, when he had shown the advocate into his study, he asked,--

  "And now what do you th
ink of your adventure?"

  M. Folgat looked completely undone.

  "I cannot understand it," he murmured.

  "Could it be possible that the countess should have tutored the child tosay what she told us?"

  "No."

  "And her governess?"

  "Still less. A woman of that character trusts nobody. She struggles; shetriumphs or succumbs alone."

  "Then the child and the governess have told us the truth?"

  "I am convinced of that."

  "So am I. Then she had no share in the murder of her husband?"

  "Alas!"

  M. Folgat did not notice that his "Alas!" was received by Dr. Seigneboswith an air of triumph. He had taken off his spectacles, and, wipingthem vigorously, he said,--

  "If the countess is innocent, Jacques must be guilty, you think? Jacquesmust have deceived us all, then?"

  M. Folgat shook his head.

  "I pray you, doctor, do not press me just now. Give me time to collectmy thoughts. I am bewildered by all these conjectures. No, I am sureM. de Boiscoran has not told a falsehood, and the countess has been hismistress. No, he has not deceived us; and on the night of the crime hereally had an interview with the countess. Did not Martha tell us thather mother had gone out? And where could she have gone, except to meetM. de Boiscoran?"

  He paused a moment.

  "Oh, come, come!" said the physician, "you need not be afraid of me."

  "Well, it might possibly be, that, after the countess had left M. deBoiscoran, Fate might have stepped in. Jacques has told us how theletters which he was burning had suddenly blazed up, and with suchviolence that he was frightened. Who can tell whether some burningfragments may not have set a straw-rick on fire? You can judge yourself.On the point of leaving the place, M. de Boiscoran sees this beginningof a fire. He hastens to put it out. His efforts are unsuccessful.The fire increases step by step: it lights up the whole front of thechateau. At that moment Count Claudieuse comes out. Jacques thinks hehas been watched and detected; he sees his marriage broken off, his liferuined, his happiness destroyed; he loses his head, aims, fires, andflees instantly. And thus you explain his missing the count, and alsothis fact which seemed to preclude the idea of premeditated murder, thatthe gun was loaded with small-shot."

  "Great God!" cried the doctor.

  "What, what have I said?"

  "Take care never to repeat that! The suggestion you make is so fearfullyplausible, that, if it becomes known, no one will ever believe you whenyou 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 isthis: the countess had made up her mind, and arranged her plan, beforemeeting Jacques. The murderer was already at his post. If she hadsucceeded in winning Jacques back, her accomplice would have put awayhis gun, and quietly gone to bed. As she could not induce Jacques togive up his marriage, she made a sign, and the fire was lighted, and thecount was shot."

  The young advocate did not seem to be fully convinced.

  "In that case, there would have been premeditation," he objected; "andhow, 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, andreplied,--

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

  "If what you say is true, doctor, we shall never get the key of thisaffair; 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 manwho 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 agendarme appeared, who in one hand held a violin, and with the otheraided 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 whitefoam.

  "The story is this," said the gendarme. "This individual was playingthe fiddle in the court of the barrack, and we were looking out ofthe window, when all of a sudden he fell on the ground, rolled about,twisted and writhed, while he uttered fearful howls, and foamed like amad 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 criedwith a voice full of intense disgust,--

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

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

  "But the point is," said the doctor, "that you have played the epilepticso 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 andsee 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 Ihave sent to England will report to you. I have, besides, to ask a favorat 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 becomeCocoleu'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 poordevil" to the hospital. When he was alone once more with M. Folgat, hesaid,--

  "Now, my dear friend, let us consult. Shall we speak of what Martha hastold 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 Jacquesyour interview with the countess; and as to the rest, Silence!"