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

“Go on!” said M. Galpin harshly.

“Well,” said Trumence, “every thing was done as agreed upon. One evening, about nine o’clock, I make my hole in the wall, and here we are, M. Jacques and I, on the ramparts. There he slips a package of banknotes into my hand, and tells me to run for it, while he goes about his business. I thought he was innocent then; but you see I should not exactly have gone through the fire for him as yet. I said to myself, that perhaps he was making fun of me, and that, once on the wing, he would not be such a fool as to go back into the cage. This made me curious, as he was going off, to see which way he was going,—and there I was, following him close upon his heels!”

The magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, accustomed as they both were, by the nature of their profession, to conceal their feelings, could hardly restrain now,—one, the hope trembling within him, and the other, the vague apprehensions which began to fill his heart.

Mechinet, who knew already all that was coming, laughed in his sleeve while his pen was flying rapidly over the paper.

“He was afraid he might be recognized,” continued the vagrant, “and so M. Jacques had been running ever so fast, keeping close to the wall, and choosing the narrowest lanes. Fortunately, I have a pair of very good legs. He goes through Sauveterre like a race-horse; and, when he reaches Mautrec Street, he begins to ring the bell at a large gate.”

“At Count Claudieuse’s house!”

“I know now what house it was; but I did not know then. Well, he rings. A servant comes and opens. He speaks to her, and immediately she invites him in, and that so eagerly, that she forgets to close the gate again.”

M. Daubigeon stopped him by a gesture.

“Wait!” he said.

And, taking up a blank form, he filled it up, rang the bell, and said to an usher of the court who had hastened in, giving him the printed paper,—

“I want this to be taken immediately. Make haste; and not a word!”

Then Trumence was directed to go on; and he said,—

“There I was, standing in the middle of the street, feeling like a fool. I thought I had nothing left me but to go and use my legs: that was safest for me. But that wretched, half-open gate attracted me. I said to myself, ‘If you go in, and they catch you, they will think you have come to steal, and you’ll have to pay for it.’ That was true; but the temptation was too strong for me. My curiosity broke my heart, so to say, and, ‘Come what may, I’ll risk it,’ I said. I push the huge gate just wide enough to let me in, and here I am in a large garden. It was pitch dark; but, quite at the bottom of the garden, three windows in the lower story of the house were lighted up. I had ventured too far now to go back. So I went on, creeping along stealthily, until I reached a tree, against which I pressed closely, about the length of my arm from one of the windows, which belonged to a beautiful parlor. I look—and I see whom? M. de Boiscoran. As there were no curtains to the windows, I could see as well as I can see you. His face looked terrible. I was asking myself for whom he could be waiting there, when I saw him hiding behind the open door of the room, like a man who is lying in wait for somebody, with evil intentions. This troubled me very much; but the next moment a lady came in. Instantly M. Jacques shuts the door behind her; the lady turns round, sees him, and wants to run, uttering at the same time a loud cry. That lady was the Countess Claudieuse!”

He looked as if he wished to pause to watch the effect of his revelation. But Mechinet was so impatient, that he forgot the modest character of his duty, and said hastily,—

“Go on; go on!”

“One of the windows was half open,” continued the vagrant, “and thus I could hear almost as well as I saw. I crouched down on all-fours and kept my head on a level with the ground, so as not to lose a word. Oh, it was fearful! At the first word I understood it all: M. Jacques and the Countess Claudieuse had been lovers.”

“This is madness!” cried M. Galpin.

“Well, I tell you I was amazed. The Countess Claudieuse—such a pious lady! But I have ears; don’t you think I have? M. Jacques reminded her of the night of the crime, how they had been together a few minutes before the fire broke out, as they had agreed some days before to meet near Valpinson at that very time. At this meeting they had burnt their love-letters, and M. Jacques had blackened his fingers badly in burning them.”

“Did you really hear that?” asked M. Daubigeon.

“As I hear you, sir.”

“Write it down, Mechinet,” said the commonwealth attorney with great eagerness,—“write that down carefully.”

The clerk was sure to do it.

“What surprised me most,” continued Trumence, “was, that the countess seemed to consider M. Jacques guilty, and he thought she was. Each accused the other of the crime. She said, ‘You attempted the life of my husband, because you were afraid of him!’ And he said, ‘You wanted to kill him, so as to be free, and to prevent my marriage!’”

M. Galpin had sunk into a chair: he stammered,—

“Did anybody ever hear such a thing?”

“However, they explained; and at last they found out that they were both of them innocent. Then M. Jacques entreated the countess to save him; and she replied that she would certainly not save him at the expense of her reputation, and so enable him, as soon as he was free once more, to marry Miss Chandore. Then he said to her, ‘Well, then I must tell all;’ and she, ‘You will not be believed. I shall deny it all, and you have no proof!’ In his despair, he reproached her bitterly, and said she had never loved him at all. Then she swore she loved him more than ever; and that, as he was free now, she was ready to abandon every thing, and to escape with him to some foreign country. And she conjured him to flee, in a voice which moved my heart, with loving words such as I have never heard before in my life, and with looks which seemed to be burning fire. What a woman! I did not think he could possibly resist. And yet he did resist; and, perfectly beside himself with anger, he cried, ‘Rather the galleys!’ Then she laughed, mocking him, and saying, ‘Very well, you shall go to the galleys!’”

Although Trumence entered into many details, it was quite evident that he kept back many things.

Still M. Daubigeon did not dare question him, for fear of breaking the thread of his account.

“But that was nothing at all,” said the vagrant. “While M. Jacques and the countess were quarrelling in this way, I saw the door