“Well, then, you can go home now, my friends. Let the law have free
course.”
The law, represented by the magistrate, was a prey at that moment to the
most cruel perplexity. M. Galpin was utterly overcome by consternation.
He sat at the little table, on which he had been writing, his head
resting on his hands, thinking, apparently, how he could find a way out
of this labyrinth.
All of a sudden he rose, and forgetting, for a moment, his customary
rigidity, he let his mask of icy impassiveness drop off his face, and
said,--
“Well?” as if, in his despair, he had hoped for some help or advice in
his troubles,--“well?”
No answer came.
All the others were as much troubled as he was. They all tried to shake
off the overwhelming impression made by this accumulation of evidence;
but in vain. At last, after a moment’s silence, the magistrate said with
strange bitterness,--
“You see, gentlemen, I was right in examining Cocoleu. Oh! don’t attempt
to deny it: you share my doubts and my suspicions, I see it. Is there
one among you who would dare assert that the terrible excitement of this
poor man has not restored to him for a time the use of his reason? When
he told you that he had witnessed the crime, and when he gave the name
of the criminal, you looked incredulous. But then other witnesses
came; and their united evidence, corresponding without a missing link,
constitutes a terrible presumption.”
He became animated again. Professional habits, stronger than every thing
else, obtained once more the mastery.
“M. de Boiscoran was at Valpinson to-night: that is clearly established.
Well, how did he get here? By concealing himself. Between his own house
and Valpinson there are two public roads,--one by Brechy, and another
around the swamps. Does M. de Boiscoran take either of the two? No.
He cuts straight across the marshes, at the risk of sinking in, or of
getting wet from head to foot. On his return he chooses, in spite of the
darkness, the forest of Rochepommier, unmindful of the danger he runs to
lose his way, and to wander about in it till daybreak. What was he doing
this for? Evidently, in order not to be seen. And, in fact, whom does
he meet?--a loose fellow, Ribot, who is himself in hiding on account
of some love-intrigue; a wood-stealer, Gaudry, whose only anxiety is to
avoid the gendarmes; an old woman, finally, Mrs. Courtois, who has
been belated by an accident. All his precautions were well chosen; but
Providence was watching.”
“O Providence!” growled Dr. Seignebos,--“Providence!”
But M. Galpin did not even hear the interruption. Speaking faster and
faster, he went on,--
“Would it at least be possible to plead in behalf of M. de Boiscoran a
difference in time? No. At what time was he seen to come to this
place? At nightfall. ‘It was half-past eight,’ says Ribot, ‘when M. de
Boiscoran crossed the canal at the Seille swamps.’ He might, therefore,
have easily reached Valpinson at half-past nine. At that hour the crime
had not yet been committed. When was he seen returning home? Gaudry and
the woman Courtois have told you the hour,--after eleven o’clock. At
that time Count Claudieuse had been shot, and Valpinson was on fire. Do
we know any thing of M. de Boiscoran’s temper at that time? Yes, we do.
When he came this way he was quite cool. He is very much surprised at
meeting Ribot; but he explains to him very fully how he happens to be at
that place, and also why he has a gun.
“He says he is on his way to meet somebody at Brechy, and he thought he
would shoot some birds. Is that admissible? Is it even likely? However,
let us look at him on his way back. Gaudry says he was walking very
fast: he seemed to be furious, and was pulling handfuls of leaves from
the branches. What does Mrs. Courtois say? Nothing. When she calls him,
he does not venture to run; that would have been a confession, but he is
in a great hurry to help her. And then? His way for a quarter of an hour
is the same as the woman’s: does he keep her company? No. He leaves her
hastily. He goes ahead, and hurries home; for he thinks Count Claudieuse
is dead; he knows Valpinson is in flames; and he fears he will hear the
bells ring, and see the fire raging.”
It is not often that magistrates allow themselves such familiarity; for
judges, and even lawyers, generally fancy they are too high above common
mortals, on such occasions, to explain their views, to state their
impressions, and to ask, as it were, for advice. Still, when the inquiry
is only begun, there are, properly speaking, no fixed rules prescribed.
As soon as a crime has been reported to a French magistrate, he is at
liberty to do any thing he chooses in order to discover the guilty one.
Absolutely master of the case, responsible only to his conscience, and
endowed with extraordinary powers, he proceeds as he thinks best. But,
in this affair at Valpinson, M. Galpin had been carried away by the
rapidity of the events themselves. Since the first question addressed to
Cocoleu, up to the present moment, he had not had time to consider.
And his proceedings had been public; thus he felt naturally tempted to
explain them.
“And you call this a legal inquiry?” asked Dr. Seignebos.
He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.
“An inquiry founded upon what?” he went on with such vehemence that no
one dared interrupt him,--“founded upon the evidence of an unfortunate
creature, whom I, a physician, testify to be not responsible for what he
says. Reason does not go out and become lighted again, like the gas in
a street-lamp. A man is an idiot, or he is not an idiot. He has always
been one; and he always will be one. But you say the other statements
are conclusive. Say, rather, that you think they are. Why? Because you
are prejudiced by Cocoleu’s accusation. But for it, you would never
have troubled yourselves about what M. De Boiscoran did, or did not. He
walked about the whole evening. He has a right to do so. He crossed the
marsh. What hindered him? He went through the woods. Why should he not?
He is met with by people. Is not that quite natural? But no: an idiot
accuses him, and forthwith all he does looks suspicious. He talks. It is
the insolence of a hardened criminal. He is silent. It is the remorse
of a guilty man trembling with fear. Instead of naming M. de Boiscoran,
Cocoleu might just as well have named me, Dr. Seignebos. At once, all
my doings would have appeared suspicious; and I am quite sure a thousand
evidences of my guilt would have been discovered. It would have been an
easy matter. Are not my opinions more radical even than those of M. de
Boiscoran? For there is the key to the whole matter. M. de Boiscoran is
a Republican; M. de Boiscoran acknowledges no sovereignty but that of
the people”--
“Doctor,” broke in the commonwealth attorney,--“doctor, you are not
thinking of what you say.”
“I do think of it, I assure you”--
But he was once more interrupted, and this time by Count Claudieuse, who
said,--
“For my part, I admit all the arguments brought up by the magistrate.
But, above all probabilities, I put a fact,--the character of the
accused. M. de Boiscoran is a man of honor and an excellent man. He is
incapable of committing a mean and odious crime.”