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

“Yes. Then we carried him to the court-house, and I came for orders.”

“Run and say that I am coming to see him!” cried M. Daubigeon. “Make haste! I am coming after you.”

But the gendarme, a model of obedience, had not waited so long: he was already down stairs.

“I must leave you, Galpin,” said M. Daubigeon, very much excited. “You heard what the man said. We must know what that means at once.”

But the magistrate was not less excited.

“You permit me to accompany you, I hope?” he asked.

He had a right to do so.

“Certainly,” replied the commonwealth attorney. “But make haste!”

The recommendation was not needed. M. Galpin had already put on his boots. He now slipped his overcoat over his home dress, as he was; and off they went.

Mechinet followed the two gentlemen as they hastened down the street; and the good people of Sauveterre, always on the lookout, were not a little scandalized at seeing their well-known magistrate, M. Galpin, in his home costume,—he who generally was most scrupulously precise in his dress.

Standing on their door-steps, they said to each other,—

“Something very important must have happened. Just look at these gentlemen!”

The fact was, they were walking so fast, that people might well wonder; and they did not say a word all the way.

But, ere they reached the court-house, they were forced to stop; for some four or five hundred people were filling the court, crowding on the steps, and actually pressing against the doors.

Immediately all became silent; hats were raised; the crowd parted; and a passage was opened.

On the porch appeared the priest from Brechy, and two other priests.

Behind them came attendants from the hospital, who bore a bier covered with black cloth; and beneath the cloth the outlines of a human body could be seen.

The women began to cry; and those who had room enough knelt down.

“Poor countess!” murmured one of them. “Here is her husband dead, and they say one of her daughters is dying at home.”

But M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and Mechinet were too preoccupied with their own interests to think of stopping for more reliable news. The way was open: they went in, and hastened to the clerk’s office, where the gendarmes had taken Trumence, and now were guarding him.

He rose as soon as he recognized the gentlemen, and respectfully took off his cap. It was really Trumence; but the good-for-nothing vagrant did not present his usual careless appearance. He looked pale, and was evidently very much excited.

“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “so you have allowed yourself to be retaken?”

“Beg pardon, judge,” replied the poor fellow, “I was not retaken. I came of my own accord.”

“Involuntarily, you mean?”

“Quite by my own free will! Just ask the sergeant.”

The sergeant stepped forward, touched his cap, and reported,—

“That is the naked truth. Trumence came himself to our barrack, and said, ‘I surrender as a prisoner. I wish to speak to the commonwealth attorney, and give importance evidence.’”

The vagabond drew himself up proudly,—

“You see, sir, that I did not lie. While these gentlemen were galloping all over the country in search of me, I was snugly ensconced in a garret at the Red Lamb, and did not think of coming out from there till I should be entirely forgotten.”

“Yes; but people who lodge at the Red Lamb have to pay, and you had no money.”

Trumence very quietly drew from his pocket a handful of Napoleons, and of five-and-twenty-franc notes, and showed them.

“You see that I had the wherewithal to pay for my room,” he said. “But I surrendered, because, after all, I am an honest man, and I would rather suffer some trouble myself than see an innocent gentleman go to the galleys.”

“M. de Boiscoran?”

“Yes. He is innocent! I know it; I am sure of it; and I can prove it. And, if he will not tell, I will tell,—tell every thing!”

M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin were utterly astounded.

“Explain yourself,” they both said in the same breath.

But the vagrant shook his head, pointing at the gendarmes; and, as a man who is quite cognizant of all the formalities of the law, he replied,—

“But it is a great secret; and, when one confesses, one does not like anybody else to hear it but the priest. Besides, I should like my deposition to be taken down in writing.”

Upon a sign made by M. Galpin, the gendarmes withdrew; and Mechinet took his seat at a table, with a blank sheet of paper before him.

“Now we can talk,” said Trumence: “that’s the way I like it. I was not thinking myself of running away. I was pretty well off in jail; winter is coming, I had not a cent; and I knew, that, if I were retaken, I should fare rather badly. But M. Jacques de Boiscoran had a notion to spend a night outside.”

“Mind what you are saying,” M. Galpin broke in severely. “You cannot play with the law, and go off unpunished.”

“May I die if I do not tell the truth!” cried Trumence. “M. Jacques has spent a whole night out of jail.”

The magistrate trembled.

“What a story that is!” he said again.

“I have my proof,” replied Trumence coldly, “and you shall hear. Well, as he wanted to leave, M. Jacques came to me, and we agreed, that in consideration of a certain sum of money which he has paid me, and of which you have seen just now all that is left, I should make a hole in the wall, and that I should run off altogether, while he was to come back when he had done his business.”

“And the jailer?” asked M. Daubigeon.

Like a true peasant of his promise, Trumence was far too cunning to expose Blangin unnecessarily. Assuming, therefore, the whole responsibility of the evasion, he replied,—

“The jailer saw nothing. We had no use for him. Was not I, so to say, under-jailer? Had not I been charged by you yourself, M. Galpin, with keeping watch over M. Jacques? Was it not I who opened and locked his door, who took him to the parlor, and brought him back again?”

That was the