Within an Inch of His Life by Emile Gaboriau (good summer reads .TXT) 📖

“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