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

deprive himself of the pleasure of spending the evening with Miss Dionysia?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“He must also have had his reasons for taking to the marshes, on his way out, instead of going by the turnpike, and for coming back through the woods.”

Old Anthony was literally tearing his hair, as he exclaimed,—

“Ah, sir! These are the very words M. Galpin said.”

“Unfortunately every man in his senses will say so.”

“I know, sir: I know it but too well. And Master Jacques himself knew it so well that at first he tried to find some pretext; but he has never told a falsehood. And he who is such a clever man could not find a pretext that had any sense in it. He said he had gone to Brechy to see his wood-merchant”—

“And why should he not?”

Anthony shook his head, and said,—

“Because the wood-merchant at Brechy is a thief, and everybody knows that master has kicked him out of the house some three years ago. We sell all our wood at Sauveterre.”

M. Folgat had taken out a note-book, and wrote down some of Anthony’s statements, preparing thus the outline of his defence. This being done, he commenced again,—

“Now we come to Cocoleu.”

“Ah the wretch!” cried Anthony.

“You know him?”

“How could I help knowing him, when I lived all my life here at Boiscoran in the service of master’s uncle?”

“Then what kind of a man is he?”

“An idiot, sir or, as they here call it, an innocent, who has Saint Vitus dance into the bargain, and epilepsy moreover.”

“Then it is perfectly notorious that he is imbecile?”

“Yes, sir, although I have heard people insist that he is not quite so stupid as he looks, and that, as they say here, he plays the ass in order to get his oats”—

M. de Chandore interrupted him, and said,—

“On this subject Dr. Seignebos can give you all the information you may want: he kept Cocoleu for nearly two years at his own house.”

“I mean to see the doctor,” replied M. Folgat. “But first of all we must find this unfortunate idiot.”

“You heard what M. Seneschal said: he has put the gendarmes on his track.”

Anthony made a face, and said,—

“If the gendarmes should take Cocoleu, Cocoleu must have given himself up voluntarily.”

“Why so?”

“Because, gentlemen, there is no one who knows all the by-ways and out-of-the-way corners of the country so well as that idiot; for he has been hiding all his life like a savage in all the holes and hiding-places that are about here; and, as he can live perfectly well on roots and berries, he may stay away three months without being seen by any one.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed M. Folgat angrily.

“I know only one man,” continued Anthony, “who could find out Cocoleu, and that is our tenant’s son Michael,—the young man you saw down stairs.”

“Send for him,” said M. de Chandore.

Michael appeared promptly, and, when he had heard what he was expected to do, he replied,—

“The thing can be done, certainly; but it is not very easy. Cocoleu has not the sense of a man; but he has all the instincts of a brute. However, I’ll try.”

There was nothing to keep either M. de Chandore or M. Folgat any longer at Boiscoran; hence, after having warned Anthony to watch the seals well, and get a glimpse, if possible, of Jacques’s gun, when the officers should come for the different articles, they left the chateau. It was five o’clock when they drove into town again. Dionysia was waiting for them in the sitting-room. She rose as they entered, looking quite pale, with dry, brilliant eyes.

“What? You are alone here!” said M. de Chandore. “Why have they left you alone?”

“Don’t be angry, grandpapa. I have just prevailed on the marchioness, who was exhausted with fatigue to lie down for an hour or so before dinner.”

“And your aunts?”

“They have gone out, grandpapa. They are probably, by this time at M. Galpin’s.”

M. Folgat started, and said,—

“Oh!”

“But that is foolish in them!” exclaimed the old gentleman.

The young girl closed his lips by a single word. She said,—

“I asked them to go.”

V.

Yes, the step taken by the Misses Lavarande was foolish. At the point which things had reached now, their going to see M. Galpin was perhaps equivalent to furnishing him the means to crush Jacques. But whose fault was it, but M. de Chandore’s and M. Folgat’s? Had they not committed an unpardonable blunder in leaving Sauveterre without any other precaution than to send word through M. Seneschal’s servant, that they would be back for dinner, and that they need not be troubled about them?

Not be troubled? And that to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and Dionysia, to Jacques’s mother and Jacques’s betrothed.

Certainly, at first, the two wretched women preserved their self-control in a manner, trying to set each other an example of courage and confidence. But, as hour after hour passed by, their anxiety became intolerable; and gradually, as they confided their apprehensions to each other, their grief broke out openly. They thought of Jacques being innocent, and yet treated like one of the worst criminals, alone in the depth of his prison, given up to the most horrible inspirations of despair. What could have been his feelings during the twenty-four hours which had brought him no news from his friends? Must he not fancy himself despised and abandoned.

“That is an intolerable thought!” exclaimed Dionysia at lat. “We must get to him at any price.”

“How?” asked the marchioness.

“I do not know; but there must be some way. There are things which I would not have ventured upon as long as I was alone; but, with you by my side, I can risk any thing. Let us go to the prison.”

The old lady promptly put a shawl around her shoulders, and said,—

“I am ready; let us go.”

They had both heard repeatedly that Jacques was kept in close confinement;