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

Mechinet, and run and ask M. Folgat to come here. I will wait for him here.”

III.

When Dionysia, after leaving the Countess Claudieuse, came back to Jacques’s parents and his friends, she said, radiant with hope,—

“Now victory is on our side!”

Her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran urged her to explain; but she refused to say any thing, and only later, towards evening, she confessed to M. Folgat what she had done with the countess, and that it was more than probable that the count would, before he died, retract his evidence.

“That alone would save Jacques,” said the young advocate.

But his hope only encouraged him to make still greater efforts; and, all overcome as he was by his labors and emotions of the trial, he spent the night in Grandpapa Chandore’s study, preparing with M. Magloire the application they proposed to make for a new trial.

They finished only when it was already broad daylight: so he did not care to go to bed, and installed himself in a large easy-chair for the purpose of getting a few hours’ rest.

He had, however, not slept more than an hour, when old Anthony roused him to tell him that there was an unknown man down stairs who asked to see him instantly.

M. Folgat rubbed his eyes, and at once went down: in the passage he found himself face to face with a man of some fifty years, of rather suspicious appearance, who wore his mustache and his chin-beard, and was dressed in a tight coat and large trousers, such as old soldiers affect.

“You are M. Folgat?” asked this man.

“Yes.”

“Well, I—I am the agent whom friend Goudar sent to England.”

The young lawyer started, and asked,—

“Since when are you here?”

“Since this morning, by express. Twenty-four hours too late, I know; for I bought a newspaper at the station. M. de Boiscoran has been found guilty. And yet I swear I did not lose a minute; and I have well earned the gratuity which I was promised in case of success.”

“You have been successful, have you?”

“Of course. Did I not tell you in my letter from Jersey that I was sure of success?”

“You have found Suky?”

“Twenty-four hours after I wrote to you,—in a public-house at Bonly Bay. She would not come, the wretch!”

“You have brought her, however?”

“Of course. She is at the Hotel de France, where I have left her till I could come and see you.”

“Does she know any thing?”

“Every thing.”

“Make haste and bring her here.”

From the time when M. Folgat first hoped for this recovery of the servant-girl, he had made up his mind to make the most of her evidence.

He had slipped a portrait of the Countess Claudieuse into an album of Dionysia’s, amidst some thirty photographs. He now went for this album, and had just put it upon the centre-table in the parlor when the agent came back with his captive.

She was a tall, stout woman of some forty years, with hard features, masculine manners, and dressed, as all common English-women are, with great pretensions to fashion.

When M. Folgat questioned her, she answered in very fair, intelligible French, which was only marred by her strong English accent,—

“I stayed four years at the house in Vine Street; and I should be there still, but for the war. As soon as I entered upon my duties, I became aware that I was put in charge of a house in which two lovers had their meetings. I was not exactly pleased, because, you know, we have our self-respect; but it was a good place. I had very little to do, and so I staid. However, my master mistrusted me: I saw that very clearly. When a meeting was to take place, my master sent me on some errand to Versailles, to Saint Germain, or even to Orleans. This hurt me so much, that I determined I would find out what they tried so hard to conceal from me. It was not very difficult; and the very next week I knew that my master was no more Sir Francis Burnett than I was; and that he had borrowed the name from a friend of his.”

“How did you go about to find it out?”

“Oh! very simply. One day, when my master went away on foot, I followed him, and saw him go into a house in University Street. Before the house opposite, some servants were standing and talking. I asked them who the gentleman was; and they told me it was the son of the Marquis de Boiscoran.”

“So much for the master; but the lady.”

Suky Wood smiled.

“As for the lady,” she replied, “I did the same thing to find her out. It cost me, however, a great deal more time and a great deal more patience, because she took the very greatest precautions; and I lost more than one afternoon in watching her. But, the more she tried to hide, the more I was curious to know, as a matter of course. At last, one evening when she left the house in her carriage, I took a cab and followed her. I traced her thus to her house; and next morning I talked to the servants there, and they told me that she was a lady who lived in the province, but came every year to Paris to spend a month with her parents, and that her name was Countess Claudieuse.”

And Jacques had imagined and strongly maintained that Suky would not know any thing, in fact, could not know any thing!

“But did you ever see this lady?” asked M. Folgat.

“As well as I see you.”

“Would you recognize her?”

“Among thousands.”

“And if you saw her portrait?”

“I should know it at once.”

M. Folgat handed her the album.

“Well, look for her,” he said.

She had found the likeness in a moment.

“Here she is!” cried Suky, putting her finger on the photograph.

There was no doubt any longer.

“But now, Miss Suky,” said the young advocate, “you will have to repeat all that before a magistrate.”

“I will do so with pleasure. It is the truth.”

“If that is so, they will send for you at your lodgings, and you