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

“I believe nothing. My reason tells me he is innocent. I feel he must be innocent; and yet I see terrible evidence rising against him.”

The attorney was overwhelmed.

“Alas!” he said, “why did you, contrary to everybody’s opinion, insist upon examining Cocoleu, a poor idiotic wretch?”

But the magistrate remonstrated—

“You do not mean to reproach me, sir, for having followed the impulses of my conscience?”

“I reproach you for nothing.”

“A horrible crime has been committed; and my duty compelled me to do all that lies in the power of man to discover the culprit.”

“Yes; and the man who is accused of the crime is your friend, and only yesterday you spoke of his friendship as your best chance of success in life.”

“Sir?”

“Are you surprised to find me so well informed? Ah, you do not know that nothing escapes the idle curiosity of a village. I know that your dearest hope was to become a member of M. de Boiscoran’s family, and that you counted upon him to back you in your efforts to obtain the hand of one of his cousins.”

“I do not deny that.”

“Unfortunately, you have been tempted by the prestige you might gain in a great and famous trial. You have laid aside all prudence; and your projects are forgotten. Whether M. de Boiscoran is innocent or guilty, his family will never forgive you your interference. If he is guilty, they will blame you for having handed him over to justice: if he is innocent, they will blame you even more for having suspected him.”

M. Galpin hung his head as if to conceal his trouble. Then he asked,—

“And what would you do in my place?”

“I would withdraw from the case, although it is rather late.”

“If I did so, I should risk my career.”

“Even that would be better for you than to engage in an affair in which you cannot feel the calmness nor the impartiality which are the first and indispensable virtues of an upright magistrate.”

The latter was becoming impatient. He exclaimed,—

“Sir, do you think I am a man to be turned aside from my duty by considerations of friendship or personal interest?”

“I said nothing of the kind.”

“Did you not see just now how I carried on the inquiry? Did you see me start when Cocoleu first mentioned M. de Boiscoran’s name? If he had denounced any one else, I should probably have let the matter rest there. But precisely because M. de Boiscoran is a friend of mine, and because I have great expectations from him, I have insisted and persisted, and I do so still.”

The commonwealth attorney shrugged his shoulders.

“That is it exactly,” he said. “Because M. de Boiscoran is a friend of yours, you are afraid of being accused of weakness; and you are going to be hard, pitiless, unjust even, against him. Because you had great expectations from him, you will insist upon finding him guilty. And you call yourself impartial?”

M. Galpin assumed all his usual rigidity, and said solemnly,—

“I am sure of myself!”

“Have a care!”

“My mind is made up, sir.”

It was time for M. Seneschal to join them again: he returned, accompanied by Capt. Parenteau.

“Well, gentlemen,” he asked, “what have you resolved?”

“We are going to Boiscoran,” replied the magistrate.

“What! Immediately?”

“Yes: I wish to find M. de Boiscoran in bed. I am so anxious about it, that I shall do without my clerk.”

Capt. Parenteau bowed, and said,—

“Your clerk is here, sir: he was but just inquiring for you.” Thereupon he called out as loud as he could,—

“Mechinet, Mechinet!”

A small gray-haired man, jovial and cheerful, came running up, and at once proceeded to tell at full length how a neighbor had told him what had happened, and how the magistrate had left town, whereupon he, also, had started on foot, and come after him as fast as he could.

“Now will you go to Boiscoran?” asked the mayor.

“I do not know yet. Mechinet will have to look for some conveyance.”

Quick like lightning, the clerk was starting off, when M. Seneschal held him back, saying,—

“Don’t go. I place my horse and my carriage at your disposal. Any one of these peasants can drive you. Capt. Parenteau and I will get into some farmer’s wagon, and thus get back to Sauveterre; for we ought to be back as soon as possible. I have just heard alarming news. There may be some disorder. The peasant-women who attend the market have brought in most exciting reports, and exaggerated the calamities of last night. They have started reports that ten or twelve men have been killed, and that the incendiary, M. de Boiscoran, has been arrested. The crowd has gone to poor Guillebault’s widow; and there have been demonstrations before the houses of several of the principal inhabitants of Sauveterre.”

In ordinary times, M. Seneschal would not have intrusted his famous horse, Caraby, for any thing in the world, to the hands of a stranger. He considered it the best horse in the province. But he was evidently terribly upset, and betrayed it in his manner, and by the very efforts he made to regain his official dignity and self-possession.

He made a sign, and his carriage was brought up, all ready. But, when he asked for somebody to drive, no one came forward. All these good people who had spent the night abroad were in great haste to return home, where their cattle required their presence. When young Ribot saw the others hesitate, he said,—

“Well, I’ll drive the justice.”

And, taking hold of the whip and the reins, he took his seat on the front-bench, while the magistrate, the commonwealth attorney, and the clerk filled the vehicle.

“Above all, take care of Caraby,” begged M. Seneschal, who at the last moment felt almost overcome with anxiety for his favorite.

“Don’t be afraid, sir,” replied the young man, as he started the horse. “If I strike too hard, M. Mechinet will stop me.”

This Mechinet, the magistrate’s clerk, was almost a power in Sauveterre; and the greatest personages there paid their court to him. His official duties were of very humble nature, and ill paid; but he knew how to eke out his income by other occupations, of which the court