“Then the priest at Brechy was your friend?”
“An intimate friend. He sometimes came to dine with me quite
unceremoniously, and I never passed him without shaking hands with him.”
The young lawyer’s joy was growing perceptibly.
“Well,” he said, “my explanation is becoming quite plausible. Just hear
what I have positively ascertained to be the fact. In the time from nine
to eleven o’clock, on the night of the crime, there was not a soul at
the parsonage in Brechy. The priest was dining with M. Besson, at his
house; and his servant had gone out to meet him with a lantern.”
“I understand,” said M. Magloire.
“Why should you not have gone to see the priest at Brechy, my dear
client? In the first place, you had to arrange the details of the
ceremony with him; then, as he is your friend, and a man of experience,
and a priest, you wanted to ask him for his advice before taking so
grave a step, and, finally, you intended to fulfil that religious duty
of which he spoke, and which you were rather reluctant to comply with.”
“Well said!” approved the eminent lawyer of Sauveterre,--“very well
said!”
“So, you see, my dear client, it was for the purpose of consulting the
priest at Brechy that you deprived yourself of the pleasure of spending
the evening with your betrothed. Now let us see how that answers
the allegations of the prosecution. They ask you why you took to the
marshes. Why? Because it was the shortest way, and you were afraid of
finding the priest in bed. Nothing more natural; for it is well known
that the excellent man is in the habit of going to bed at nine o’clock.
Still you had put yourself out in vain; for, when you knocked at the
door of the parsonage, nobody came to open.”