Within an Inch of His Life by Emile Gaboriau (latest novels to read txt) 📕

my thoughts, Jacques. When I thought you guilty, and felt sure that you accused the Countess Claudieuse falsely, I told you so with almost brutal candor. I have since found out my error, and am now convinced of the truth of your statement: so I come and tell you as frankly, Jacques, I was wrong to have had more faith in the reputation of a woman than in the words of a friend. Will you give me your hand?”

The prisoner grasped his hand with a profusion of joy, and cried,—

“Since you believe in my innocence, others may believe in me too, and my salvation is drawing near.”

The melancholy faces of the two advocates told him that he was rejoicing too soon. His features expressed his grief; but he said with a firm voice,—

“Well, I see that the struggle will be a hard one, and that the result is still uncertain. Never mind. You may be sure I will not give way.”

In the meantime M. Folgat had spread out on the table all the papers he had brought with him,—copies furnished by Mechinet, and notes taken during his rapid journey.

“First of all, my dear client,” he said, “I must inform you of what has been done.”

And when he had stated every thing, down to the minutest details of what Goudar and he had done, he said,—

“Let us sum up. We are able to prove three things: 1. That the house in Vine Street belongs to you, and that Sir Francis Burnett, who is known there, and you are one; 2. That you were visited in this house by a lady, who, from all the precautions she took, had powerful reasons to remain unknown; 3. That the visits of this lady took place at certain epochs every year, which coincided precisely with the journeys which the Countess Claudieuse yearly made to Paris.”

The great advocate of Sauveterre expressed his assent.

“Yes,” he said, “all this is fully established.”

“For ourselves, we have another certainty,—that Suky Wood, the servant of the false Sir Francis Burnett, has watched the mysterious lady; that she has seen her, and consequently would know her again.”

“True, that appears from the deposition of the girl’s friend.”

“Consequently, if we discover Suky Wood, the Countess Claudieuse is unmasked.”

“If we discover her,” said M. Magloire. “And here, unfortunately, we enter into the region of suppositions.”

“Suppositions!” said M. Folgat. “Well, call them so; but they are based upon positive facts, and supported by a hundred precedents. Why should we not find this Suky Wood, whose birthplace and family we know, and who has no reason for concealment? Goudar has found very different people; and Goudar is on our side. And you may be sure he will not be asleep. I have held out to him a certain hope which will make him do miracles,—the hope of receiving as a reward, if he succeeds, the house in Vine Street. The stakes are too magnificent: he must win the game,—he who has won so many already. Who knows what he may not have discovered since we left him? Has he not done wonders already?”

“It is marvellous!” cried Jacques, amazed at these results.

Older than M. Folgat and Jacques, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre was less ready to feel such enthusiasm.

“Yes,” he said, “it is marvellous; and, if we had time, I would say as you do, ‘We shall carry the day!’ But there is no time for Goudar’s investigations: the sessions are on hand, and it seems to me it would be very difficult to obtain a postponement.”

“Besides, I do not wish it to be postponed,” said Jacques.

“But”—

“On no account, Magloire, never! What? I should endure three months more of this anguish which tortures me? I could not do it: my strength is exhausted. This uncertainty has been too much for me. I could bear no more suspense.”

M. Folgat interrupted him, saying,—

“Do not trouble yourself about that: a postponement is out of the question. On what pretext could we ask for it? The only way would be to introduce an entirely new element in the case. We should have to summon the Countess Claudieuse.”

The greatest surprise appeared on Jacques’s face.

“Will we not summon her anyhow?” he asked.

“That depends.”

“I do not understand you.”

“It is very simple, however. If Goudar should succeed, before the trial, in collecting sufficient evidence against her, I should summon her certainly; and then the case would naturally change entirely; the whole proceeding would begin anew; and you would probably appear only as a witness. If, on the contrary, we obtain, before the trial begins, no other proof but what we have now, I shall not mention her name even; for that would, in my opinion, and in M. Magloire’s opinion, ruin your cause irrevocably.”

“Yes,” said the great advocate, “that is my opinion.”

Jacques’s amazement was boundless.

“Still,” he said, “in self-defence, I must, if I am brought up in court, speak of my relations to the Countess Claudieuse.”

“No.”

“But that is my only explanation.”

“If it were credited.”

“And you think you can defend me, you think you can save me, without telling the truth?”

M. Folgat shook his head, and said,—

“In court the truth is the last thing to be thought of.”

“Oh!”

“Do you think the jury would credit allegations which M. Magloire did not credit? No. Well, then, we had better not speak of them any more, and try to find some explanation which will meet the charges brought against you. Do you think we should be the first to act thus? By no means. There are very few cases in which the prosecution says all it knows, and still fewer in which the defence calls for every thing it might call for. Out of ten criminal trials, there are at least three in which side-issues are raised. What will be the charge in court against you? The substance of the romance which the magistrate has invented in order to prove your guilt. You must meet him with another romance which proves your innocence.”

“But the truth.”

“Is dependent on probability, my dear client. Ask M. Magloire. The prosecution only asks for probability: hence probability is all the defence has to care for. Human justice is feeble, and limited in its means; it cannot go down to the very bottom of things; it cannot judge of motives, and fathom consciences. It can only judge from appearances, and decide by plausibility; there is hardly a case which has not some unexplored mystery, some