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

undiscovered secret. The truth! Ah! do you think M. Galpin has looked for it? If he did, why did he not summon Cocoleu? But no, as long as he can produce a criminal, who may be responsible for the crime, he is quite content. The truth! Which of us knows the real truth? Your case, M. de Boiscoran, is one of those in which neither the prosecution, nor the defence, nor the accused himself, knows the truth of the matter.”

There followed a long silence, so deep a silence, that the step of the sentinel could be heard, who was walking up and down under the prison-windows. M. Folgat had said all he thought proper to say: he feared, in saying more, to assume too great a responsibility. It was, after all, Jacques’s life and Jacques’s honor which were at stake. He alone, therefore, ought to decide the nature of his defence. If his judgment was too forcibly controlled by his counsel, he would have had a right hereafter to say, “Why did you not leave me free to choose? I should not have been condemned.”

To show this very clearly, M. Folgat went on,—

“The advice I give you, my dear client, is, in my eyes, the best; it is the advice I would give my own brother. But, unfortunately, I cannot say it is infallible. You must decide yourself. Whatever you may resolve, I am still at your service.”

Jacques made no reply. His elbows resting on the table, his face in his hands, he remained motionless, like a statue, absorbed in his thoughts. What should he do? Should he follow his first impulse, tear the veil aside, and proclaim the truth? That was a doubtful policy, but also, what a triumph if he succeeded!

Should he adopt the views of his counsel, employ subterfuges and falsehoods? That was more certain of success; but to be successful in this way—was that a real victory?

Jacques was in a terrible perplexity. He felt it but too clearly. The decision he must form now would decide his fate. Suddenly he raised his head, and said,—

“What is your advice, M. Magloire?”

The great advocate of Sauveterre frowned angrily; and said, in a somewhat rough tone of voice,—

“I have had the honor to place before your mother all that my young colleague has just told you. M. Folgat has but one fault,—he is too cautious. The physician must not ask what his patient thinks of his remedies: he must prescribe them. It may be that our prescriptions do not meet with success; but, if you do not follow them, you are most assuredly lost.”

Jacques hesitated for some minutes longer. These prescriptions, as M. Magloire called them, were painfully repugnant to his chivalrous and open character.

“Would it be worth while,” he murmured, “to be acquitted on such terms? Would I really be exculpated by such proceedings? Would not my whole life thereafter be disgraced by suspicions? I should not come out from the trial with a clear acquittal: I should have escaped by a mere chance.”

“That would still better than to go, by a clear judgment, to the galleys,” said M. Magloire brutally.

This word, “the galleys,” made Jacques bound. He rose, walked up and down a few times in his room, and then, placing himself in front of his counsel, said,—

“I put myself in your hands, gentlemen. Tell me what I must do.”

Jacques had at least this merit, if he once formed a resolution, he was sure to adhere to it. Calm now, and self-possessed, he sat down, and said, with a melancholy smile,—

“Let us hear the plan of battle.”

This plan had been for a month now the one great thought of M. Folgat. All his intelligence, all his sagacity and knowledge of the world, had been brought to bear upon this case, which he had made his own, so to say, by his almost passionate interest. He knew the tactics of the prosecution as well as M. Galpin himself, and he knew its weak and its strong side even better than M. Galpin.

“We shall go on, therefore,” he began, “as if there was no such person as the Countess Claudieuse. We know nothing of her. We shall say nothing of the meeting at Valpinson, nor of the burned letters.”

“That is settled.”

“That being so, we must next look, not for the manner in which we spent our time, but for our purpose in going out the evening of the crime. Ah! If we could suggest a plausible, a very probable purpose, I should almost guarantee our success; for we need not hesitate to say there is the turning-point of the whole case, on which all the discussions will turn.”

Jacques did not seem to be fully convinced of this view. He said,—

“You think that possible?”

“Unfortunately, it is but too certain; and, if I say unfortunately, it is because here we have to meet a terrible charge, the most decisive, by all means, that has been raised, one on which M. Galpin has not insisted (he is much too clever for that), but one which, in the hands of the prosecution, may become a terrible weapon.”

“I must confess,” said Jacques, “I do not very well see”—

“Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening of the crime?” broke in M. Magloire.

Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel.

“What,” he said, “that letter?”

“Overwhelms us, my dear client,” said M. Folgat. “Don’t you remember it? You told your betrothed in that note, that you would be prevented from enjoying the evening with her by some business of the greatest importance, and which could not be delayed? Thus, you see, you had determined beforehand, and after mature consideration, to spend that evening in doing a certain thing. What was it? ‘The murder of Count Claudieuse,’ says the prosecution. What can we say?”

“But, I beg your pardon—that letter. Miss Dionysia surely has not handed it over to them?”

“No; but the prosecution is aware of its existence. M. de Chandore and M. Seneschal have spoken of it in the hope of exculpating you, and have even mentioned the contents. And M. Galpin knows it so well, that he had repeatedly mentioned it to you, and you have confessed all that he could desire.”

The young advocate looked among his papers; and soon he had found what he wanted.

“Look here,” he said, “in your third examination, I find this,—”

“‘QUESTION.—You were shortly to marry Miss Chandore?

ANSWER.—Yes.

Q—For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?

A.—Yes, all.

Q.—Except the one of the crime?

A.—Unfortunately.

Q.—Then