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

but simply surprised, as one is apt to be when suddenly meeting a man where no one is expected. And, if I was surprised, young Ribot was not less so.

P.—You see that you hoped to meet no one?

A.—Pardon me, I did not say so. To expect is not the same as to hope.

P.—Why, then did you take such pains to explain your being there?

A.—I gave no explanations. Young Ribot first told me, laughingly, where he was going, and then I told him that I was going to Brechy.

P.—You told him, also, that you were going through the marshes to shoot birds, and, at the same time you showed him your gun?

A.—That may be. But is that any proof against me? I think just the contrary. If I had had such criminal intentions as the prosecution suggests, I should certainly have gone back after meeting people, knowing that I was exposed to great danger. But I was only going to see my friend, the priest.

P.—And for such a visit you took your gun?

A.—My land lies in the woods and marshes, and there was not a day when I did not bag a rabbit or a waterfowl. Everybody in the neighborhood will tell you that I never went out without a gun.

P.—And on your return, why did you go through the forest of Rochepommier?

A.—Because, from the place where I was on the road, it was probably the shortest way to Boiscoran. I say probably, because just then I did not think much about that. A man who is taking a walk would be very much embarrassed, in the majority of cases, if he had to give a precise account why he took one road rather than another.

P.—You were seen in the forest by a woodcutter, called Gaudry?

A.—So I was told by the magistrate.

P.—That witness deposes that you were in a state of great excitement. You were tearing leaves from the branches, you were talking loud.

A.—I certainly was very much vexed at having lost my evening, and particularly vexed at having relied on the little peasant-girl. It is quite likely that I might have exclaimed, as I walked along, “Plague upon my friend, the priest, who goes and dines in town!” or some such words.

There was a smile in the assembly, but not such as to attract the president’s attention.

P.—You know that the priest of Brechy was dining out that day?

M. Magloire rose, and said,—

“It is through us, sir, that the accused has found out this fact. When he told us how he had spent the evening, we went to see the priest at Brechy, who told us how it came about that neither he nor his old servant was at the parsonage. At our request the priest has been summoned. We shall also produce another priest, who at that time passed the Marshalls’ Cross-roads, and was the one whom the little girl had seen.”

Having made a sign to counsel to sit down again, the president once more turns to the accused.

P.—The woman Courtois who met you deposes that you looked very curious. You did not speak to her: you were in great haste to escape from her.

A.—The night was much too dark for the woman to see my face. She asked me to render her a slight service, and I did so. I did not speak to her, because I had nothing to say to her. I did not leave her suddenly, but only got ahead of her, because her ass walked very slowly.

At a sign from the president, the ushers raise the red cloth which cover the objects on the table.

Great curiosity is manifested by the whole audience; and all rise, and stretch their necks to see better. On the table are displayed clothes, a pair of velveteen trousers, a shooting-jacket of maroon-colored velveteen, an old straw hat, and a pair of dun-colored leather boots. By their side lie a double-barrelled gun, packages of cartridges, two bowls filled with small-shot, and, finally, a large china basin, with a dark sediment at the bottom.

P.—(Showing these objects to the accused.) Are those the clothes which you wore the evening of the crime?

A.—Yes, sir.

P.—A curious costume in which to visit a venerable ecclesiastic, and to perform religious duties.

A.—The priest at Brechy was my friend. Our intimacy will explain, even if it does not justify, the liberty I took.

P.—Do you also recognize this basin? The water has been allowed to evaporate, and the residue alone remains there on the bottom.

A.—It is true, that, when the magistrate appeared at my house, he found there the basin full of dark water, which was thick with half-burnt debris. He asked me about this water, and I did not hesitate a moment to tell him that I had washed my hands in it the evening before, after my return home.

Is it not evident, that if I had been guilty, my first effort would have been to put every evidence of my crime out of the way? And yet this circumstance is looked upon as the strongest evidence of my guilt, and the prosecution produces it as the most serious charge against me.

P.—It is very strong and serious indeed.

A.—Well, nothing can be more easily explained than that. I am a great smoker. When I left home the evening of the crime, I took cigars in abundance; but, when I was about to light one, I found that I had no matches.

M. Magloire rises, and says,—

“And I wish to point out that this is not one of those explanations which are invented, after the fact, to meet the necessities of a doubtful case. We have absolute and overwhelming proof of it. M. de Boiscoran did not have the little match-box which he usually carries about him, at that time, because he had left it at M. de Chandore’s house, on the mantelpiece, where I have seen it, and where it still is.”

P.—That is sufficient, M. Magloire. Let the defendant go on.

A.—I wanted to smoke; and so I resorted to the usual expedient, which all sportsmen know. I tore open one of my cartridges, put, instead of the lead, a piece of paper inside, and set it on fire.

P.—And thus you get a light?

A.—Not always, but certainly in one case out of three.

P.—And the operation blackens the hands?

A.—Not the operation itself. But, when I had lit my cigar, I could not throw away the burning paper as it was: I might have kindled a regular fire.

P.—In the marshes?

A.—But, sir, I smoked five or six cigars during the evening, which means that I