“And yet Jacques had something in his mind for that evening.”
“Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it. But for that, he would certainly have come to the
house, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said so
himself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, and
which she mentioned to you. He wrote, ‘I curse from the bottom of my
heart the business which prevents me from spending the evening with you;
but I cannot possibly defer it any longer. To-morrow!’”
“You see,” said M. Seneschal.
“The letter is of such a nature,” continued the old gentleman, “that I
repeat, No man who premeditated such a hideous crime could possibly have
written it. Nevertheless, I confess to you, that, when I heard the
fatal news, this very allusion to some pressing business impressed me
painfully.”
But the young lawyer seemed to be far from being convinced.
“It is evident,” he said, “that M. de Boiscoran will on no account let
it be known where he went.”
“He told a falsehood, sir,” insisted M. Seneschal. “He commenced by
denying that he had gone the way on which the witnesses met him.”
“Very naturally, since he desires to keep the place unknown to which he
went.”
“He did not say any more when he was told that he was under arrest.”
“Because he hopes he will get out of this trouble without betraying his
secret.”
“If that were so, it would be very strange.”
“Stranger things than that have happened.”
“To allow himself to be accused of incendiarism and murder when he is
innocent!”
“To be innocent, and to allow one’s self to be condemned, is still
stranger; and yet there are instances”--
The young lawyer spoke in that short, imperious tone which is, so
to say, the privilege of his profession, and with such an accent of
assurance, that M. de Chandore felt his hopes revive. M. Seneschal was
sorely troubled.
“And what do you think, sir?” he asked.
“That M. de Boiscoran must be innocent,” replied the young advocate.
And, without leaving time for objections, he continued,--
“That is the opinion of a man who is not influenced by any
consideration. I come here without any preconceived notions. I do not
know Count Claudieuse any more than M. de Boiscoran. A crime has been
committed: I am told the circumstances; and I at once come to the
conclusion that the reasons which led to the arrest of the accused would
lead me to set him at liberty.”
“Oh!”
“Let me explain. If M. de Boiscoran is guilty, he has shown, in the
way in which he received M. Galpin at the house, a perfectly unheard-of
self-control, and a matchless genius for comedy. Therefore, if he is
guilty, he is immensely clever”--
“But.”
“Allow me to finish. If he is guilty, he has in the examination shown a
marvellous want of self-control, and, to be brief, a nameless stupidity:
therefore, if he is guilty, he is immensely stupid”--
“But.”
“Allow me to finish. Can one and the same person be at once so unusually
clever and so unusually stupid? Judge yourself. But again: if M. de
Boiscoran is guilty, he ought to be sent to the insane asylum, and not
to prison; for any one else but a madman would have poured out the dirty
water in which he had washed his blackened hands, and would have buried
anywhere that famous breech-loader, of which the prosecution makes such
good use.”
“Jacques is safe!” exclaimed M. de Chandore.