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

his family physician, it is true; but, except in cases of sickness, the two never saw each other, their political opinions were so very different.

“If you see me here,” said the physician, still in the door, “it is simply because, upon my honor and my conscience, I believe M. Boiscoran is innocent.”

Dionysia would have liked to embrace the doctor for these words of his; and with the greatest eagerness she pushed a large easy-chair towards him, and said in her sweetest voice,—

“Pray sit down, my dear doctor.”

“Thanks,” he answered bruskly. “I am very much obliged to you.” Then turning to M. Folgat, he said, according to his odd notion,—

“I am convinced that M. Boiscoran is the victim of his republican opinions which he has so boldly professed; for, baron, your future son-in-law is a republican.”

Grandpapa Chandore did not move. If they had come and told him Jacques had been a member of the Commune, he would not have been any more moved. Dionysia loved Jacques. That was enough for him.

“Well,” the doctor went on, “I am a Radical, I, M.”—

“Folgat,” supplied the young lawyer.

“Yes, M. Folgat, I am a Radical; and it is my duty to defend a man whose political opinions so closely resemble mine. I come, therefore, to show you my medical report, if you can make any use of it in your defence of M. Boiscoran, or suggest to me any ideas.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the young man. “That is a very valuable service.”

“But let us understand each other,” said the physician earnestly. “If I speak of listening to your suggestions, I take it for granted that they are based upon facts. If I had a son, and he was to die on the scaffold I would not use the slightest falsehood to save him.”

He had, meanwhile, drawn the report from a pocket in his long coat, and now put in on the table with these words,—

“I shall call for it again to-morrow morning. In the meantime you can think it over. I should like, however, to point out to you the main point, the culminating point, if I may say so.”

At all events he was “saying so” with much hesitation, and looking fixedly at Dionysia as if to make her understand that he would like her to leave the room. Seeing that she did not take the hint, he added,—

“A medical and legal discussion would hardly interest the young lady.”

“Why, sir, why, should I not be deeply, passionately, interested in any thing that regards the man who is to be my husband?”

“Because ladies are generally very sensational,” said the doctor uncivilly, “very sensitive.”

“Don’t think so, doctor. For Jacques’s sake, I promise you I will show you quite masculine energy.”

The doctor knew Dionysia well enough to see that she did not mean to go: so he growled,—

“As you like it.”

Then, turning again to M. Folgat, he said,—

“You know there were two shots fired at Count Claudieuse. One, which hit him in the side, nearly missed him; the other, which struck his shoulder and his neck, hit well.”

“I know,” said the advocate.

“The difference in the effect shows that the two shots were fired from different distances, the second much nearer than the first.”

“I know, I know!”

“Excuse me. If I refer to these details, it is because they are important. When I was sent for in the middle of the night to come and see Count Claudieuse, I at once set to work extracting the particles of lead that had lodged in his flesh. While I was thus busy, M. Galpin arrived. I expected he would ask me to show him the shot: but no, he did not think of it; he was too full of his own ideas. He thought only of the culprit, of his culprit. I did not recall to him the A B C of his profession: that was none of my business. The physician has to obey the directions of justice, but not to anticipate them.”

“Well, then?”

“Then M. Galpin went off to Boiscoran, and I completed my work. I have extracted fifty-seven shot from the count’s wound in the side, and a hundred and nine from the wound on the shoulder and the neck; and, when I had done that, do you know what I found out?”

He paused, waiting to see the effect of his words; and, when everybody’s attention seemed to him fully roused, he went on,—

“I found out that the shot in the two wounds was not alike.”

M. de Chandore and M. Folgat exclaimed at one time,—

“Oh!”

“The shot that was first fired,” continued Dr. Seignebos, “and which has touched the side, is the very smallest sized ‘dust.’ That in the shoulder, on the other hand, is quite large sized, such as I think is used in shooting hares. However, I have some samples.”

And with these words, he opened a piece of white paper, in which were ten or twelve pieces of lead, stained with coagulated blood, and showing at once a considerable difference in size. M. Folgat looked puzzled.

“Could there have been two murderers?” he asked half aloud.

“I rather think,” said M. de Chandore, “that the murderer had, like many sportsmen, one barrel ready for birds, and another for hares or rabbits.”

“At all events, this fact puts all premeditation out of question. A man does not load his gun with small-shot in order to commit murder.”

Dr. Seignebos thought he had said enough about it, and was rising to take leave, when M. de Chandore asked him how Count Claudieuse was doing.

“He is not doing well,” replied the doctor. “The removal, in spite of all possible precautions, has worn him out completely; for he is here in Sauveterre since yesterday, in a house which M. Seneschal has rented for him provisionally. He has been delirious all night through; and, when I came to see him this morning, I do not think he knew me.”

“And the countess?” asked Dionysia.

“The countess, madam, is quite as sick as her husband, and, if she had listened to me, she would have gone to bed, too. But she is a woman of uncommon energy, who derives from her affection for her husband an almost incomprehensible power of resistance. As to Cocoleu,” he added, standing already near the door, “an examination of his mental condition might produce results which no one seems to expect now. But we will talk of that hereafter. And now, I must bid you all good-by.”

“Well?” asked Dionysia and M. de Chandore, as soon as they had heard the street door close behind Dr.