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

daughter. ‘Well, doctor,’ said the little girl, ‘no sooner had the gentleman gone into the house than I saw one of the statues under the trees there come down from its pedestal, move on, and glide very quietly along the avenue of lime-trees.’”

M. Folgat trembled.

“Do you remember, doctor,” he said, “the day we were questioning little Martha, she said she was terribly frightened by the statutes in the garden?”

“Yes, indeed!” replied the doctor. “But wait a while. The countess promptly interrupted her daughter, saying to me, ‘But, dear doctor, you ought to forbid the child to have such notions in her head. At Valpinson she never was afraid, and even at night, quite alone, and without a light, all over the house. But here she is frightened at every thing; and, as soon as night comes, she fancies the garden is full of ghosts. You are too big now, Martha, to think that statues, which are made of stone, can come to life, and walk about.’ The child was shuddering.

“‘The other times, mamma,’ she said, ‘I was not quite sure; but this time I am sure. I wanted to go away from the window, and I could not do it. It was too strong for me: so that I saw it all, saw it perfectly. I saw the statue, the ghost, come up the avenue slowly and cautiously, and then place itself behind the last tree, the one that is nearest to the parlor window. Then I heard a loud cry, then nothing more. The ghost remained all the time behind the tree, and I saw all it did: it turned to the left and the right; it drew itself up; and it crouched down. Then, all of a sudden, two terrible cries; but, O mamma, such cries! Then the ghost raised one arm, this way, and all of a sudden it was gone; but almost the same moment another one came out, and then disappeared, too.’”

M. Folgat was utterly overcome with amazement.

“Oh, these ghosts!” he said.

“You suspect them, do you? I suspected them at once. Still I pretended to turn Martha’s whole story into a joke, and tried to explain to her how the darkness made us liable to have all kinds of optical illusions; so that when I left, and a servant was sent with a candle to light me on my way, the countess was quite sure that I had no suspicion. I had none; but I had more than that. As soon as I entered the garden, therefore, I dropped a piece of money which I had kept in my hand for the purpose. Of course I set to work looking for it at the foot of the tree nearest to the parlor-window, while the servant helped with his candle. Well, M. Folgat, I can assure you that it was not a ghost that had been walking about under the trees; and, if the footmarks which I found there were made by a statue, that statue must have enormous feet, and wear huge iron-shod shoes.”

The young advocate was prepared for this. He said,—

“There is no doubt: the scene had a witness.”

XXX.

“What scene? What witness? That is what I wanted to hear from you, and why I was waiting so impatiently for you,” said Dr. Seignebos to M. Folgat. “I have seen and stated the results: now it is for you to give me the cause.”

Nevertheless, he did not seem to be in the least surprised by what the young advocate told him of Jacques’s desperate enterprise, and of the tragic result. As soon as he had heard it all, he exclaimed,—

“I thought so: yes, upon my word! By racking my brains all night long, I had very nearly guessed the whole story. And who, in Jacques’s place, would not have been desirous to make one last effort? But certainly fate is against him.”

“Who knows?” said M. Folgat. And, without giving the doctor time to reply, he went on,—

“In what are our chances worse than they were before? In no way. We can to-day, just as well as we could yesterday, lay our hands upon those proofs which we know do exist, and which would save us. Who tells us that at this moment Sir Francis Burnett and Suky Wood may not have been found? Is your confidence in Goudar shaken?”

“Oh, as to that, not at all! I saw him this morning at the hospital, when I paid my usual visit; and he found an opportunity to tell me that he was almost certain of success.”

“Well?”

“I am persuaded Cocoleu will speak. But will he speak in time? That is the question. Ah, if we had but a month’s time, I should say Jacques is safe. But our hours are counted, you know. The court will be held next week. I am told the presiding judge has already arrived, and M. Gransiere has engaged rooms at the hotel. What do you mean to do if nothing new occurs in the meantime?”

“M. Magloire and I will obstinately adhere to our plan of defence.”

“And if Count Claudieuse keeps his promise, and declares that he recognized Jacques in the act of firing at him?”

“We shall say he is mistaken.”

“And Jacques will be condemned.”

“Well,” said the young advocate.

And lowering his voice, as if he did not wish to be overheard, he added,—

“Only the sentence will not be a fatal sentence. Ah, do not interrupt me, doctor, and upon your life, upon Jacques’s life, do not say a word of what I am going to tell you. A suspicion which should cross M. Galpin’s mind would destroy my last hope; for it would give him an opportunity of correcting a blunder which he has committed, and which justifies me in saying to you, ‘Even if the count should give evidence, even if sentence should be passed, nothing would be lost yet.’”

He had become animated; and his accent and his gestures made you feel that he was sure of himself.

“No,” he repeated, “nothing would be lost; and then we should have time before us, while waiting for a second trial, to hunt up our witnesses, and to force Cocoleu to tell the truth. Let the count say what he chooses, I like it all the better: I shall thus be relieved of my last scruples. It seemed to me odious to betray the countess, because I thought the most cruelly punished would be the count. But, if the count attacks us, we are on the defence; and public opinion will be on our side. More than that, they will admire us for having sacrificed our honor to a woman’s honor, and for having allowed ourselves to be condemned rather than to give up the name of her who has given herself to us.”

The physician did not seem to be convinced; but the young advocate paid no attention. He went on,—

“No, our success in a second trial would be almost certain. The scene in Mautrec Street has been seen by a witness: his iron-shod shoes have left, as you say, their marks under the linden-trees nearest to the parlor-window, and little Martha has watched his movements. Who can this witness be unless it is Trumence? Well, we