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

He went first to the court-house, hoping to meet the clerk there. He was not disappointed. The waiting-rooms were quite deserted yet; but Mechinet was already at work in his office, writing with the feverish haste of a man who has to pay for a piece of property that he wants to call his own.

When he saw Folgat enter, he rose, and said at once,—

“You have heard the decision of the court?”

“Yes, thanks to your kindness; and I must confess it has not surprised me. What do they think of it here?”

“Everybody expects a condemnation.”

“Well, we shall see!” said the young advocate.

And, lowering his voice, he added,—

“But I came for another purpose. The agent whom I expected has come, and he wishes to see you. He will write to you to make an appointment, and I hope you will consent.”

“Certainly, with all my heart,” replied the clerk. “And God grant that he may succeed in extricating M. de Boiscoran from his difficulties, even if it were only to take the conceit out of my master.”

“Ah! is M. Galpin so triumphant?”

“Without the slightest reserve. He sees his old friend already at the galleys. He has received another letter of congratulation from the attorney general, and came here yesterday, when the court had adjourned, to read it to any one who would listen. Everybody, of course, complimented him, except the president, who turned his back upon him, and the commonwealth attorney, who told him in Latin that he was selling the bear’s skin before he had killed him.”

In the meantime steps were heard coming down the passages; and M. Folgat said hurriedly,—

“One more suggestion. Goudar desires to remain unknown. Do not speak of him to any living soul, and especially show no surprise at the costume in which you see him.”

The noise of a door which was opened interrupted him. One of the judges entered, who, after having bowed very civilly, asked the clerk a number of questions about a case which was to come on the same day.

“Good-bye, M. Mechinet,” said the young advocate.

And his next visit was to Dr. Seignebos. When he rang the bell, a servant came to the door, and said,—

“The doctor is gone out; but he will be back directly, and has told me to beg you to wait for him in his study.”

Such an evidence of perfect trust was unheard of. No one was ever allowed to remain alone in his sanctuary. It was an immense room, quite full of most varied objects, which at a glance revealed the opinions, tastes, and predilections of the owner. The first thing to strike the visitor as he entered was an admirable bust of Bichat, flanked on either side by smaller busts of Robespierre and Rousseau. A clock of the time of Louis XIV. stood between the windows, and marked the seconds with a noise which sounded like the rattling of old iron. One whole side was filled with books of all kinds, unbound or bound, in a way which would have set M. Daubigeon laughing very heartily. A huge cupboard adapted for collections of plants bespoke a passing fancy for botany; while an electric machine recalled the time when the doctor believed in cures by electricity.

On the table in the centre of the room vast piles of books betrayed the doctor’s recent studies. All the authors who have spoken of insanity or idiocy were there, from Apostolides to Tardien. M. Folgat was still looking around when Dr. Seignebos entered, always like a bombshell, but far more cheerful than usual.

“I knew I should find you here!” he cried still in the door. “You come to ask me to meet Goudar.”

The young advocate started, and said, all amazed,—

“Who can have told you?”

“Goudar himself. I like that man. I am sure no one will suspect me of having a fancy for any thing that is connected with the police. I have had too much to do all my life with spies and that ilk. But your man might almost reconcile me with that department.”

“When did you see him?”

“This morning at seven. He was so prodigiously tired of losing his time in his garret at the Red Lamb, that it occurred to him to pretend illness, and to send for me. I went, and found a kind of street-minstrel, who seemed to me to be perfectly well. But, as soon as we were alone, he told me all about it, asking me my opinion, and telling me his ideas. M. Folgat, that man Goudar is very clever: I tell you so; and we understand each other perfectly.”

“Has he told you what he proposes to do?”

“Nearly so. But he has not authorized me to speak of it. Have patience; let him go to work, wait, and you will see if old Seignebos has a keen scent.”

Saying this with an air of sublime conceit, he took off his spectacles, and set to work wiping them industriously.

“Well, I will wait,” said the young advocate. “And, since that makes an end to my business here, I beg you will let me speak to you of another matter. M. de Boiscoran has charged me with a message to the Countess Claudieuse.”

“The deuce!”

“And to try to obtain from her the means for our discharge.”

“Do you expect she will do it?”

M. Folgat could hardly retain an impatient gesture.

“I have accepted the mission,” he said dryly, “and I mean to carry it out.”

“I understand, my dear sir. But you will not see the countess. The count is very ill. She does not leave his bedside, and does not even receive her most intimate friends.”

“And still I must see her. I must at any hazard place a note which my client has confided to me, in her own hands. And look here, doctor, I mean to be frank with you. It was exactly because I foresaw there would be difficulties, that I came to you to ask your assistance in overcoming or avoiding them.”

“To me?”

“Are you not the count’s physician?”

“Ten thousand devils!” cried Dr. Seignebos. “You do not mince matters, you lawyers!”

And then speaking in a lower tone, and replying apparently to his own objections rather than to M. Folgat, he said,—

“Certainly, I attend Count Claudieuse, whose illness, by the way, upsets all my theories, and defies all my experience: but for that very reason I can do nothing. Our profession has certain rules which cannot be infringed upon without compromising the whole