The mayor was mistaken. The drawing-room door opened suddenly, and a man
of slender form, who was struggling furiously, and with an energy which
would not have been suspected, appeared, held on one side by a gendarme,
and on the other by a domestic.
The struggle had already lasted long, and his clothes were in great
disorder. His new coat was torn, his cravat floated in strips, the
button of his collar had been wrenched off, and his open shirt left his
breast bare. In the vestibule and court were heard the frantic cries of
the servants and the curious crowd--of whom there were more than a
hundred, whom the news of the crime had collected about the gate, and
who burned to hear, and above all to see.
This enraged crowd cried:
"It is he! Death to the assassin! It is Guespin! See him!"
And the wretch, inspired by an immense fright, continued to struggle.
"Help!" shouted he hoarsely. "Leave me alone. I am innocent!"
He had posted himself against the drawing-room door, and they could not
force him forward.
"Push him," ordered the mayor, "push him."
It was easier to command than to execute. Terror lent to Guespin
enormous force. But it occurred to the doctor to open the second wing of
the door; the support failed the wretch, and he fell, or rather rolled
at the foot of the table at which the judge of instruction was seated.
He was straightway on his feet again, and his eyes sought a chance to
escape. Seeing none--for the windows and doors were crowded with the
lookers-on--he fell into a chair. The fellow appeared the image of
terror, wrought up to paroxysm. On his livid face, black and blue, were
visible the marks of the blows he had received in the struggle; his
white lips trembled, and he moved his jaws as if he sought a little
saliva for his burning tongue; his staring eyes were bloodshot, and
expressed the wildest distress; his body was bent with convulsive
spasms. So terrible was this spectacle, that the mayor thought it might
be an example of great moral force. He turned toward the crowd, and
pointing to Guespin, said in a tragic tone:
"See what crime is!"
The others exchanged surprised looks.
"If he is guilty," muttered M. Plantat, "why on earth has he returned?"
It was with difficulty that the crowd was kept back; the brigadier was
forced to call in the aid of his men. Then he returned and placed
himself beside Guespin, thinking it not prudent to leave him alone with
unarmed men.
But the man was little to be feared. The reaction came; his over-excited
energy became exhausted, his strained muscles flaccid, and his
prostration resembled the agony of brain fever. Meanwhile the brigadier
recounted what had happened.
"Some of the servants of the chateau and the neighboring houses were
chatting near the gate, about the crime, and the disappearance of
Guespin last night, when all of a sudden, someone perceived him at a
distance, staggering, and singing boisterously, as if he were drunk."
"Was he really drunk?" asked M. Domini.
"Very," returned the brigadier.
"Then we owe it to the wine that we have caught him, and thus all will
be explained."
"On perceiving this wretch," pursued the gendarme, who seemed not to
have the shadow of a doubt of Guespin's guilt, "Francois, the count's
valet de chambre, and Baptiste, the mayor's servant, who were there,
hastened to meet him, and seized him. He was so tipsy that he thought
they were fooling with him. When he saw my men, he was undeceived. Just
then one of the women cried out, 'Brigand, it was you who have this
night assassinated the count and the countess!' He immediately became
paler than death, and remained motionless and dumb. Then he began to
struggle so violently that he nearly escaped. Ah! he's strong, the
rogue, although he does not look like it."
"And he said nothing?" said Plantat.
"Not a word; his teeth were so tightly shut with rage that I'm sure he
couldn't say 'bread.' But we've got him. I've searched him, and this is
what I have found in his pockets: a handkerchief, a pruning-knife, two
small keys, a scrap of paper covered with figures, and an address of the
establishment of 'Vulcan's Forges.' But that's not all--"
The brigadier took a step, and eyed his auditors mysteriously; he was
preparing his effect.
"That's not all. While they were bringing him along in the court-yard,
he tried to get rid of his wallet. Happily I had my eyes open, and saw
the dodge. I picked up the wallet, which he had thrown among the flowers
near the door; here it is. In it are a one-hundred-franc note, three
napoleons, and seven francs in change. Yesterday the rascal hadn't a
sou--"
"How do you know that?" asked M. Domini.
"Dame! Monsieur Judge, he borrowed of the valet Francois (who told me of
it) twenty-five francs, pretending that it was to pay his share of the
wedding expenses."
"Tell Francois to come here," said the judge of instruction. "Now, sir,"
he continued, when the valet presented himself, "do you know whether
Guespin had any money yesterday?"
"He had so little, Monsieur," answered Francois promptly, "that he asked
me to lend him twenty-five francs during the day, saying that otherwise
he could not go to the wedding, not having enough even to pay his
railway fare."
"But he might have some savings--a hundred-franc note, for instance,
which he didn't like to change."
Francois shook his head with an incredulous smile.
"Guespin isn't the man to have savings," said he; "Women and cards
exhaust all his wages. No longer ago than last week, the keeper of the
Cafe du Commerce came here and made a row on account of what he owed
him, and threatened to go to the count about it."
Perceiving the effect of what he said, the valet, as if to correct
himself, hastened to add:
"I have no ill-will toward Guespin; before to-day I've always considered
him a clever fellow, though he was too much of a practical joker; he
was, perhaps, a little proud, considering his bringing up--"
"You may go," said the judge, cutting the disquisition of M. Francois
short; the valet retired.
During this colloquy, Guespin had little by little come to himself. The
judge of instruction, Plantat, and the mayor narrowly watched the play
of his countenance, which he had not the coolness to compose, while the
doctor held his pulse and counted its beating.
"Remorse, and fear of punishment," muttered the mayor.
"Innocence, and the impossibility of proving it," responded Plantat in a
low tone.
M. Domini heard both these exclamations, but did not appear to take
notice of them. His opinion was not formed, and he did not wish that
anyone should be able to foretell, by any word of his, what it would be.
"Are you better, my friend?" asked Dr. Gendron, of Guespin.
The poor fellow made an affirmative sign. Then, having looked around
with the anxious glance of a man who calculates a precipice over which
he has fallen, he passed his hand across his eyes and stammered:
"Something to drink!"
A glass of water was brought, and he drank it at a draught, with an
expression of intense satisfaction. Then he got upon his feet.
"Are you now in a fit state to answer me?" asked the judge.
Guespin staggered a little, then drew himself up. He continued erect
before the judge, supporting himself against a table. The nervous
trembling of his hands diminished, the blood returned to his cheeks, and
as he listened, he arranged the disorder of his clothes.
"You know the events of this night, don't you?" commenced the judge;
"the Count and Countess de Tremorel have been murdered. You went away
yesterday with all the servants of the chateau; you left them at the
Lyons station about nine o'clock; you have just returned, alone. Where
have you passed the night?"
Guespin hung his head and remained silent.
"That is not all," continued M. Domini; "yesterday you had no money, the
fact is well known; one of your fellow-servants has just proved it.
To-day, one hundred and sixty-seven francs are found in your wallet.
Where did you get this money?"
The unhappy creature's lip moved as if he wished to answer; a sudden
thought seemed to check him, for he did not speak.
"More yet. What is this card of a hardware establishment that has been
found in your pocket?"
Guespin made a sign of desperation, and stammered:
"I am innocent."
"I have not as yet accused you," said the judge of instruction, quickly.
"You knew, perhaps, that the count received a considerable sum
yesterday?"
A bitter smile parted Guespin's lips as he answered:
"I know well enough that everything is against me."
There was a profound silence. The doctor, the mayor, and Plantat, seized
with a keen curiosity, dared not move. Perhaps nothing in the world is
more thrilling than one of these merciless duels between justice and a
man suspected of a crime. The questions may seem insignificant, the
answers irrelevant; both questions and answers envelop terrible, hidden
meanings. The smallest gesture, the most rapid movement of physiognomy
may acquire deep significance, a fugitive light in the eye betray an
advantage gained; an imperceptible change in the voice may be
confession.
The coolness of M. Domini was disheartening.
"Let us see," said he after a pause: "where did you pass the night? How
did you get this money? And what does this address mean?"
"Eh!" cried Guespin, with the rage of powerlessness, "I should tell you
what you would not believe."
The judge was about to ask another question, but Guespin cut him short.
"No; you wouldn't believe me," he repeated, his eyes glistening with
anger. "Do men like you believe men like me? I have a past, you know, of
antecedents, as you would say. The past! They throw that in my face, as
if, the future depended on the past. Well, yes; it's true, I'm a
debauchee, a gambler, a drunkard, an idler, but what of it? It's true I
have been before the police court, and condemned for night
poaching--what does that prove? I have wasted my life, but whom have I
wronged if not myself? My past! Have I not sufficiently expiated it?"
Guespin was self-possessed, and finding in himself sensations which
awoke a sort of eloquence, he expressed himself with a savage energy
well calculated to strike his hearers.
"I have not always served others," he continued; "my father was in easy
circumstances--almost rich. He had large gardens, near Saumur, and he
passed for one of the best gardeners of that region. I was educated, and
when sixteen years old, began to study law. Four years later they
thought me a talented youth. Unhappily for me, my father died. He left
me a landed property worth a hundred thousand francs: I sold it out for
sixty thousand and went to Paris. I was a fool then. I had the fever of
pleasure-seeking, a thirst for all sorts of pastimes, perfect health,
plenty of money. I found Paris a narrow limit for my vices; it seemed to
me that the objects of my desires were wanting. I thought my sixty
thousand francs would last forever."
Guespin paused; a thousand memories of those times rushed into his
thoughts and he muttered:
"Those were good times."
"My sixty thousand francs," he resumed, "held out eight years. Then I
hadn't a sou, yet I longed to continue my way of living. You understand,
don't you? About this time, the police, one night, arrested me. I was
'detained' six months. You will find the records of the affair at the
prefecture. Do you know what it will tell you? It will tell you that on
leaving prison I fell into that shameful and abominable misery which
exists in Paris. It will tell you that I have lived among the worst and
lowest outcasts of Paris--and it is the truth."
The worthy mayor was filled with consternation.
"Good Heaven!" thought he, "what an audacious and cynical rascal! and to
think that one is liable at any time to admit such servants into his
house!"
The judge held his tongue. He knew that Guespin was in such a state
that, under the 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.