The Mystery of Orcival by Émile Gaboriau (fiction book recommendations .TXT) 📕

irresistible impulse of passion, he might betray his innermost thoughts.

“But there is one thing,” continued the suspected man, “that the record will not tell you; that, disgusted with this abject life, I was tempted to suicide. It will not tell you anything of my desperate attempts, my repentance, my relapses. At last, I was able in part to reform. I got work; and after being in four situations, engaged myself here. I found myself well off. I always spent my month’s wages in advance, it’s true⁠—but what would you have? And ask if anyone has ever had to complain of me.”

It is well known that among the most intelligent criminals, those who have had a certain degree of education, and enjoyed some good fortune, are the most redoubtable. According to this, Guespin was decidedly dangerous. So thought those who heard him. Meanwhile, exhausted by his excitement, he paused and wiped his face, covered with perspiration.

M. Domini had not lost sight of his plan of attack.

“All that is very well,” said he, “we will return to your confession at the proper time and place. But just now the question is, how you spent your night, and where you got this money.”

This persistency seemed to exasperate Guespin.

“Eh!” cried he, “how do you want me to answer? The truth? You wouldn’t credit it. As well keep silent. It is a fatality.”

“I warn you for your own sake,” resumed the judge, “that if you persist in refusing to answer, the charges which weigh upon you are such that I will have you arrested as suspected of this murder.”

This menace seemed to have a remarkable effect on Guespin. Great tears filled his eyes, up to that time dry and flashing, and silently rolled down his cheeks. His energy was exhausted; he fell on his knees, crying:

“Mercy! I beg you, Monsieur, not to arrest me; I swear I am innocent, I swear it!”

“Speak, then.”

“You wish it,” said Guespin, rising. Then he suddenly changed his tone. “No, I will not speak, I cannot! One man alone could save me; it is the count; and he is dead. I am innocent; yet if the guilty are not found, I am lost. Everything is against me. I know it too well. Now, do with me as you please; I will not say another word.”

Guespin’s determination, confirmed by his look, did not surprise the judge.

“You will reflect,” said he, quietly, “only, when you have reflected, I shall not have the same confidence in what you say as I should have now. Possibly,” and the judge spoke slowly and with emphasis, “you have only had an indirect part in this crime; if so⁠—”

“Neither indirect nor direct,” interrupted Guespin; and he added, violently, “what misery! To be innocent, and not able to defend myself.”

“Since it is so,” resumed M. Domini, “you should not object to be placed before Mme. de Trémorel’s body?”

The accused did not seem affected by this menace. He was conducted into the hall whither they had fetched the countess. There, he examined the body with a cold and calm eye. He said, simply:

“She is happier than I; she is dead, she suffers no longer; and I, who am not guilty, am accused of her death.”

M. Domini made one more effort.

“Come, Guespin; if in any way you know of this crime, I conjure you, tell me. If you know the murderers, name them. Try to merit some indulgence for your frankness and repentance.”

Guespin made a gesture as if resigned to persecution. “By all that is most sacred,” he answered, “I am innocent. Yet I see clearly that if the murderer is not found, I am lost.”

Little by little M. Domini’s conviction was formed and confirmed. An inquest of this sort is not so difficult as may be imagined. The difficulty is to seize at the beginning; in the entangled skein, the main thread, which must lead to the truth through all the mazes, the ruses, silence, falsehoods of the guilty. M. Domini was certain that he held this precious thread. Having one of the assassins, he knew well that he would secure the others. Our prisons, where good soup is eaten, and good beds are provided, have tongues, as well as the dungeons of the medieval ages.

The judge ordered the brigadier to arrest Guespin, and told him not to lose sight of him. He then sent for old Bertaud. This worthy personage was not one of the people who worry themselves. He had had so many affairs with the men of law, that one inquisition the more disturbed him little.

“This man has a bad reputation in my commune,” whispered the mayor to M. Domini.

Bertaud heard it, however, and smiled.

Questioned by the judge of instruction, he recounted very clearly and exactly what had happened in the morning, his resistance, and his son’s determination. He explained the reason for the falsehood they told; and here again the chapter of antecedents came up.

“Look here; I’m better than my reputation, after all,” said he. “There are many folks who can’t say as much. You see many things when you go about at night⁠—enough.”

He was urged to explain his allusions, but in vain.

When he was asked where and how he had passed the night, he answered, that having left the cabaret at ten o’clock, he went to put down some traps in Mauprévoir wood; and had gone home and to bed about one o’clock.

“By the by,” added he, “there ought to be some game in those traps by this time.”

“Can you bring a witness to prove that you went home at one?” asked the mayor, who bethought him of the count’s clock, stopped at twenty minutes past three.

“Don’t know, I’m sure,” carelessly responded the poacher, “it’s quite likely that my son didn’t wake up when I went to bed.”

He added, seeing the judge reflect:

“I suspect that you are going to imprison me until the murderers are discovered. If it was winter, I wouldn’t complain much; a fellow is well off in prison then, for it’s warm there. But just at the