The judge of instruction of the tribunal at Corbeil, was M. Antoine
Domini, a remarkable man, since called to higher functions. He was forty
years of age, of a prepossessing person, and endowed with a very
expressive, but too grave physiognomy. In him seemed typified the
somewhat stiff solemnity of the magistracy. Penetrated with the dignity
of his office, he sacrificed his life to it, rejecting the most simple
distractions, and the most innocent pleasures.
He lived alone, seldom showing himself abroad; rarely received his
friends, not wishing, as he said, that the weaknesses of the man should
derogate from the sacred character of the judge. This latter reason had
deterred him from marrying, though he felt the need of a domestic
sphere.
Always and everywhere he was the magistrate--that is, the
representative, even to fanaticism, of what he thought the most august
institution on the earth. Naturally gay, he would double-lock himself in
when he wished to laugh. He was witty; but if a bright sally escaped
him, you may be sure he repented of it. Body and soul he gave to his
vocation; and no one could bring more conscientiousness to the discharge
of what he thought to be his duty. He was also inflexible. It was
monstrous, in his eyes, to discuss an article of the code. The law
spoke; it was enough; he shut his eyes, covered his ears, and obeyed.
From the day when a legal investigation commenced, he did not sleep, and
he employed every means to discover the truth. Yet he was not regarded
as a good judge of instruction; to contend by tricks with a prisoner was
repugnant to him; to lay a snare for a rogue he thought debasing; in
short, he was obstinate--obstinate to foolishness, sometimes to
absurdity; even to denying the existence of the sun at mid-day.
The mayor and Papa Plantat hastened to meet M. Domini. He bowed to them
gravely, as if he had not known them, and presenting to them a man of
some sixty years who accompanied him:
"Messieurs," said he, "this is Doctor Gendron."
Papa Plantat shook hands with the doctor; the mayor smiled graciously at
him, for Dr. Gendron was well-known in those parts; he was even
celebrated, despite the nearness of Paris. Loving his art and exercising
it with a passionate energy, he yet owed his renown less to his science
than his manners. People said: "He is an original;" they admired his
affectation of independence, of scepticism, and rudeness. He made his
visits from five to nine in the morning--all the worse for those for
whom these hours were inconvenient. After nine o'clock the doctor was
not to be had. The doctor was working for himself, the doctor was in his
laboratory, the doctor was inspecting his cellar. It was rumored that he
sought for secrets of practical chemistry, to augment still more his
twenty thousand livres of income. And he did not deny it; for in truth
he was engaged on poisons, and was perfecting an invention by which
could be discovered traces of all the alkaloids which up to that time
had escaped analysis. If his friends reproached him, even jokingly, on
sending away sick people in the afternoon, he grew red with rage.
"Parbleu!" he answered, "I find you superb! I am a doctor four hours in
the day. I am paid by hardly a quarter of my patients--that's three
hours I give daily to humanity, which I despise. Let each of you do as
much, and we shall see."
The mayor conducted the new-comers into the drawing-room, where he
installed himself to write down the results of his examination.
"What a misfortune for my town, this crime!" said he to M. Domini. "What
shame! Orcival has lost its reputation."
"I know nothing of the affair," returned the judge. "The gendarme who
went for me knew little about it."
M. Courtois recounted at length what his investigation had discovered,
not forgetting the minutest detail, dwelling especially on the excellent
precautions which he had had the sagacity to take. He told how the
conduct of the Bertauds had at first awakened his suspicions; how he had
detected them, at least in a pointblank lie; how, finally, he had
determined to arrest them. He spoke standing, his head thrown back, with
wordy emphasis. The pleasure of speaking partially rewarded him for his
recent distress.
"And now," he concluded, "I have just ordered the most exact search, so
that doubtless we shall find the count's body. Five men, detailed by me,
and all the people of the house, are searching the park. If their
efforts are not crowned with success, I have here some fishermen who
will drag the river."
M. Domini held his tongue, only nodding his head from time to time, as a
sign of approbation. He was studying, weighing the details told him,
building up in his mind a plan of proceeding.
"You have acted wisely," said he, at last. "The misfortune is a great
one, but I agree with you that we are on the track of the criminals.
These poachers, or the gardener who has disappeared, have something,
perhaps, to do with this abominable crime."
Already, for some minutes, M. Plantat had rather awkwardly concealed
some signs of impatience.
"The misfortune is," said he, "that if Guespin is guilty, he will not be
such a fool as to show himself here."
"Oh, we'll find him," returned M. Domini. "Before leaving Corbeil, I
sent a despatch to the prefecture of police at Paris, to ask for a
police agent, who will doubtless be here shortly."
"While waiting," proposed the mayor, "perhaps you would like to see the
scene of the crime?"