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

he is only at the other end of the world, the transatlantic cable enables us to question him, and to be answered in a week.

“I should, at the same time, have sent detectives after that English maid-servant who attended to the house in Vine Street. M. de Boiscoran declares that she has never even caught a glimpse of the countess. I do not believe it. It is out of question that a servant should not wish for the means, and find them, of seeing the face of the woman who comes to see her master.

“And that is not all. There were other people who came to the house in Vine Street. I should examine them one by one,—the gardener and his help, the water-carrier, the upholsterer, the errand-boys of all the merchants. Who can say whether one of them is not in possession of this truth which we are seeking?

“Finally, when a woman has spent so many days in a house, it is almost impossible that she should not have left some traces of her passage behind her. Since then, you will say, there has been the war, and then the commune. Nevertheless, I should examine the ruins, every tree in the garden, every pane in the windows: I should compel the very mirrors that have escaped destruction to give me back the image which they have so often reflected.”

“Ah, I call that speaking!” cried the doctor, full of enthusiasm.

The others trembled with excitement. They felt that the struggle was commencing. But, unmindful of the impression he had produced, M. Folgat went on,—

“Here in Sauveterre, the task would be more difficult; but, in case of success, the result, also, would be more decided. I should bring down from Paris one of those keen, subtle detectives who have made an art of their profession, and I should know how to stimulate his vanity. He, of course, would have to know every thing, even the names; but there would be no danger in that. His desire to succeed, the splendor of the reward, even his professional habits, would be our security. He would come down secretly, concealed under whatever disguise would appear to him most useful for his purpose; and he would begin once more, for the benefit of the defence, the investigation carried on by M. Galpin for the benefit of the prosecution. Would he find out any thing? We can but hope so. I know detectives, who, by the aid of smaller material, have unravelled far deeper mysteries.”

Grandpapa Chandore, excellent M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, and even M. Magloire, were literally drinking in the words of the Paris lawyer.

“Is that all, gentlemen?” he continued. “By no means! Thanks to his great experience, Dr. Seignebos had, on the very first day, instinctively guessed who was the most important personage of this mysterious drama.”

“Cocoleu!”

“Exactly, Cocoleu. Whether he be actor, confident, or eye-witness, Cocoleu has evidently the key to this mystery. This key we must make every effort to obtain from him. Medical experts have just declared him idiotic; nevertheless, we protest. We claim that the imbecility of this wretch is partly assumed. We maintain that his obstinate silence is a vile imposture. What! he should have intelligence enough to testify against us, and yet not have left enough of it now to explain, or even to repeat his evidence? That is inadmissible. We maintain that he keeps silent now just as he spoke that night,—by order. If his silence was less profitable for the prosecution, they would soon find means to break it. We demand that such means should be employed. We demand that the person who has before been able to loosen his tongue should be sent for, and ordered to try the experiment over again. We call for a new examination by experts: we cannot judge all of a sudden, and in forty-eight hours, what is the true mental condition of a man, especially when that man is suspected of being an impostor. And we require, above all, that these new experts should be qualified by knowledge and experience.”

Dr. Seignebos was quivering with excitement. He heard all his own ideas repeated in a concise, energetic manner.

“Yes,” he cried, “that is the way to do it! Let me have full power, and in less than a fortnight Cocoleu is unmasked.”

Less expansive, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre simply shook hands with M. Folgat, and said,—

“You see, M. de Boiscoran’s case ought to be put in your hands.”

The young lawyer made no effort to protest. When he began to speak, his determination was already formed.

“Whatever can humanly be done,” he replied, “I will do. If I accept the task, I shall devote myself body and soul to it. But I insist upon it, it is understood, and must be publicly announced, that M. Magloire does not withdraw from the case, and that I act only as his junior.”

“Agreed,” said the old advocate.

“Well. When shall we go and see M. de Boiscoran?”

“To-morrow morning.”

“I can, of course, take no steps till I have seen him.”

“Yes, but you cannot be admitted, except by a special permission from M. Galpin; and I doubt if we can procure that to-day.”

“That is provoking.”

“No, since we have our work all cut out for to-day. We have to go over all the papers of the proceedings, which the magistrate has placed in my hands.”

Dr. Seignebos was boiling over with impatience. He broke in,—

“Oh, what words! Go to work, Mr. Advocate, to work, I say. Come, shall we go?”

They were leaving the room when M. de Chandore called them back by a gesture. He said,—

“So far, gentlemen, we have thought of Jacques alone. And Dionysia?”

The others looked at him, full of surprise.

“What am I to say if she asks me what the result of M. Magloire’s interview with Jacques has been, and why you would say nothing in her presence?”

Dr. Seignebos had confessed it more than once: he was no friend of concealment.

“You will tell her the truth,” was his advice.

“What? How can I tell her that Jacques has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse?”

“She will hear of it sooner or later. Miss Dionysia is a sensible, energetic girl.”

“Yes; but Miss Dionysia is as ignorant as a holy angel,” broke in M. Folgat eagerly, “and she loves M. de Boiscoran. Why should we trouble the purity of her thoughts and her happiness? Is she not unhappy enough? M. de Boiscoran is no longer kept in close confinement. He will see his betrothed, and, if he thinks proper, he can tell her. He alone has the right to do so. I shall, however, dissuade him. From what I know of Miss Chandore’s character, it would be impossible for her to control herself, if she should meet the Countess Claudieuse.”