THE AUTOPSY
In a House opposite the court-house, which stood at the corner of a
street which has long since disappeared, were two men who were earnestly
conversing.
"Doctor," said one of them, "you guarantee a success?"
"Have no fear; I have often made such experiments, and always with
success. I haven't grown gray in the service of science for nothing. I
know what I am speaking about."
"But the long time," said the other anxiously. "You know we can operate
only at night, and forty hours are sometimes an eternity."
"Before I entered upon the plan I weighed everything carefully," said
the physician earnestly, "otherwise I should not have taken the
responsibility. Have confidence in me; what my knowledge and care can do
will be done to bring everything to a good end."
The other man shook the physician's hand heartily.
"Thank you, faithful friend," he cordially said. "I wish I could stop
the uneasy beating of my heart, but I suppose it is only natural that I
am anxious."
"That's it exactly," replied the doctor; "and to quiet you I will stay
here from now on until the decisive hour. Good-by, I must go. You know
where I am to be found."
The doctor went, while the other man struck his face with his hands and
softly murmured:
"God grant that he be right. I would rather die a thousand deaths than
lose the dear boy in this way."
Hot tears ran over the man's brown cheeks, and his broad breast rose and
fell, torn by convulsive sobs.
"Shame yourself, Firejaws!" he murmured, "if any one saw you now! Let us
hope everything will be all right, and then--"
A loud knock at the door interrupted Girdel's self-conversation, and
upon a hasty "Come in," Bobichel entered the room.
"Well, Bobi, how goes it?" asked the athlete.
"She is downstairs," said the clown, with a significant gesture.
Without asking another question, Girdel hurried out, while Bobichel
looked observantly around the room, and soon found a well-filled bottle
of wine and a glass; he filled the glass and emptied it with one
swallow.
In the meantime Girdel had met Irene de Salves in the corridor of the
house.
The young lady wore a black dress, and when she saw the athlete she ran
to meet him and sobbingly cried:
"He's not dead, is he?"
"No, he is not dead," confirmed Girdel; and seeing Irene's pale face, he
said, more to himself: "I knew how the news would work, and yet it could
not be helped--as God pleases, it will all be right again."
"But where is he?" asked Irene anxiously.
"Countess," began the athlete, somewhat embarrassed, "at present he is a
corpse on a bier and whoever sees him thinks he is dead; but to-morrow
at this time he will be well and at liberty."
"Ah, if I could only believe it--"
"You can do so," cried Girdel, hastily; "if I had not thought you were
more courageous than women in general, I would have kept silent; but I
thought to myself you were in despair, and I therefore concluded to
speak."
"A thousand thanks for your confidence, but tell me everything that has
happened--I can hardly understand the whole thing."
"I believe you. If you were to accompany me to the cellar now you would
see one of the chief actors in the drama. Downstairs in a cage lies a
wild beast which we have captured. I just want to call Bobichel and give
him a message, then I will accompany you downstairs."
A low whistle from the athlete brought the clown directly to him, and
Girdel ordered him to slip into the court-house and watch what occurred
there. He then accompanied Irene into the damp cellar. Lighting a pocket
lantern and holding it aloft, he said:
"Follow me, countess; we will soon be there."
The countess followed her guide without hesitation; she had perfect
confidence in Girdel, and after a short journey they both stood in front
of a heavy iron door.
"Here we are," said the athlete, triumphantly; and taking an iron bar
which stood in a corner in his hand, he cried in stentorian tones:
"Get up, scoundrel, let us look at you!"
Low moans answered the gruff command, and Irene uttered a cry of
terror, for in the cell a human form moved.
"Step nearer, mademoiselle," said Girdel, putting on the manners of a
circus proprietor; "the wild beast is pretty tame now--we have taken out
its teeth and chained it."
"But I do not understand--" stammered Irene.
"Who this beast is? You shall know it at once; the magnificent personage
is Simon, the factotum of the Marquis Fougereuse. In his leisure hours
the miserable wretch occupies himself with poisoning experiments, and it
would not be a loss to humanity if he should never see daylight again.
Come, boy, play your tricks; the performance begins."
"Mercy," whispered Simon, for he was really the prisoner, "let me free."
"Really? Perhaps later on, but now you must obey. Quick, tell us what
brought you here."
"I am hungry," growled Simon.
"Really? Well, if you answer my questions probably you shall have food
and drink. Why did you want to poison Fanfaro?"
"I do not know," stammered the steward.
"How bad your memory is. What interest did your master, the Marquis of
Fougereuse, have in Fanfaro's death?"
Simon was silent. Girdel nudged him gently in the ribs with the iron
bar, and turning to Irene, said:
"Would you believe, mademoiselle, that this fellow was very talkative a
few days ago when he tried to bribe Fanfaro's jailer. Growl away, it is
true, anyway! You promised fabulous sums to the jailer if he would mix
a small white powder in Fanfaro's food. Fortunately I have eyes and ears
everywhere, so I immediately took my measures. With Bobichel's
assistance I captured this monster here, and then I went to the bribed
jailer and gave him, in the name of his employer, the white powder. He
took it without any objection. That I had changed the powder in the
meantime for another he was unaware of. If I only knew," he concluded
with a frown, "what object this marquis has to injure Fanfaro. This
beast won't talk, and--"
"Let me speak to him," said the countess, softly. And turning to the
grating, she urged Simon to confess his master's motives and thereby
free himself. At first Simon looked uneasily at the young girl; he made
an attempt to speak, but reconsidered it and closed his lips.
"Let us leave him alone, mademoiselle," said Girdel; "solitude will do
him good."
When Simon saw that Girdel and Irene were about to depart, he groaned
loudly, but the athlete ordered him to keep still if he did not wish to
be gagged, and this warning had the desired effect.
When Girdel and Irene reached the room, the latter sank, sobbing, upon a
chair, and "the brave athlete" tried his best to console her.
"It will be all right," he assured her; "Fanfaro has swallowed a strong
narcotic which makes him appear as if dead. To-morrow he will be buried;
we shall dig him up again, and then bring him away as soon as possible."
At this moment Bobichel breathlessly rushed into the room, and Irene
uttered a cry of terror when she saw his pale face.
"What has happened?" she cried, filled with gloomy forebodings.
"O God--he is lost!" stammered the clown.
"Who is lost?"
"Fanfaro."
"Speak clearly," cried Girdel, beside himself.
"They have brought--Fanfaro--to the--Hotel Dieu," said Bobichel,
sobbing.
"Well, that isn't such a misfortune," said the athlete, breathing more
freely. "You need not have frightened us."
"But the worst is to come--they want to hold an autopsy over him to find
out the cause of death."
"Merciful God! that must not be," cried Irene, wringing her hands. "We
must run to the hospital and tell all."
"Who is the physician that is going to undertake the autopsy?" asked
Girdel.
"Doctor Albaret, as I was informed."
"Then rely on me, countess," cried the athlete, rushing away; "either I
rescue Fanfaro or else I die with him."