“You think that possible?”
“Unfortunately, it is but too certain; and, if I say unfortunately, it
is because here we have to meet a terrible charge, the most decisive, by
all means, that has been raised, one on which M. Galpin has not insisted
(he is much too clever for that), but one which, in the hands of the
prosecution, may become a terrible weapon.”
“I must confess,” said Jacques, “I do not very well see”--
“Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening of
the crime?” broke in M. Magloire.
Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel.
“What,” he said, “that letter?”
“Overwhelms us, my dear client,” said M. Folgat. “Don’t you remember it?
You told your betrothed in that note, that you would be prevented
from enjoying the evening with her by some business of the greatest
importance, and which could not be delayed? Thus, you see, you had
determined beforehand, and after mature consideration, to spend that
evening in doing a certain thing. What was it? ‘The murder of Count
Claudieuse,’ says the prosecution. What can we say?”
“But, I beg your pardon--that letter. Miss Dionysia surely has not
handed it over to them?”
“No; but the prosecution is aware of its existence. M. de Chandore and
M. Seneschal have spoken of it in the hope of exculpating you, and have
even mentioned the contents. And M. Galpin knows it so well, that he had
repeatedly mentioned it to you, and you have confessed all that he could
desire.”
The young advocate looked among his papers; and soon he had found what
he wanted.
“Look here,” he said, “in your third examination, I find this,--”
“‘QUESTION.--You were shortly to marry Miss Chandore?
ANSWER.--Yes.
Q--For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?
A.--Yes, all.
Q.--Except the one of the crime?
A.--Unfortunately.
Q.--Then your betrothed must have wondered at your absence?
A.--No: I had written to her.’”
“Do you hear, Jacques?” cried M. Magloire. “Notice that M. Galpin takes
care not to insist. He does not wish to rouse your suspicions. He has
got you to confess, and that is enough for him.”
But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper.
“In your sixth examination,” he went on, “I have noticed this,--
“‘Q.--You left your house with your gun on your shoulder, without any
definite aim?
A.--I shall explain that when I have consulted with counsel.
Q.--You need no consultation to tell the truth.
A.--I shall not change my resolution.
Q.--Then you will not tell me where you were between eight and midnight?
A.--I shall answer that question at the same time with the other.
Q.--You must have had very strong reasons to keep you out, as you were
expected by your betrothed, Miss Chandore?
A.--I had written to her not to expect me.’”
“Ah! M. Galpin is a clever fellow,” growled M. Magloire.
“Finally,” said M. Folgat, “here is a passage from your last but one
examination,--
“‘Q.--When you wanted to send anybody to Sauveterre, whom did you
usually employ?
A.--The son of one of my tenants, Michael.
Q.--It was he, I suppose, who, on the evening of the crime, carried the
letter to Miss Chandore, in which you told her not to expect you?
A.--Yes.
Q.--You pretended you would be kept by some important business?
A.--That is the usual pretext.
Q.--But in your case it was no pretext. Where had you to go? and where
did you go?
A.--As long as I have not seen counsel I shall say nothing.
Q.--Have a care: the system of negation and concealment is dangerous.
A.--I know it, and I accept the consequences.’”
Jacques was dumfounded. And necessarily every accused person is equally
surprised when he hears what he has stated in the examination. There is
not one who does not exclaim,--
“What, I said that? Never!”
He has said it, and there is no denying it; for there it is written, and
signed by himself. How could he ever say so?
Ah! that is the point. However clever a man may be, he cannot for many
months keep all his faculties on the stretch, and all his energy up to
its full power. He has his hours of prostration and his hours of hope,
his attacks of despair and his moments of courage; and the impassive
magistrate takes advantage of them all. Innocent or guilty, no prisoner
can cope with him. However powerful his memory may be, how can he
recall an answer which he may have given weeks and weeks before? The
magistrate, however, remembers it; and twenty times, if need be,
he brings it up again. And as the small snowflake may become an
irresistible avalanche, so an insignificant word, uttered at haphazard,
forgotten, then recalled, commented upon, and enlarged may become
crushing evidence.
Jacques now experienced this. These questions had been put to him so
skilfully, and at such long intervals of time, that he had totally
forgotten them; and yet now, when he recalled his answers, he had to
acknowledge that he had confessed his purpose to devote that evening to
some business of great importance.
“That is fearful!” he cried.
And, overcome by the terrible reality of M. Folgat’s apprehension, he
added,--
“How can we get out of that?”
“I told you,” replied M. Folgat, “we must find some plausible
explanation.”
“I am sure I am incapable of that.”