Within an Inch of His Life (Murder Mystery). Emile Gaboriau
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said at last.
“M. de. Boiscoran has set Valpinson on fire?”
“Yes.”
“How did he do it?”
Cocoleu’s restless eyes wandered incessantly from the count, who looked indignant, to the countess, who seemed to listen with painful surprise. The magistrate repeated,—
“Speak!”
After another moment’s hesitation, the idiot began to explain what he had seen; and it took him many minutes to state, amid countless contortions, and painful efforts to speak, that he had seen M. de Boiscoran pull out some papers from his pocket, light them with a match, put them under a rick of straw near by, and push the burning mass towards two enormous piles of wood which were in close contact with a vat full of spirits.
“This is sheer nonsense!” cried the doctor, thus giving words to what they all seemed to feel.
But M. Galpin had mastered his excitement. He said solemnly,—
“At the first sign of applause or of displeasure, I shall send for the gendarmes, and have the room cleared.”
Then, turning once more to Cocoleu, he said,—
“Since you saw M. de Boiscoran so distinctly, tell us how he was dressed.”
“He had light trousers on,” replied the idiot, stammering still most painfully, “a dark-brown shooting-jacket, and a big straw hat. His trousers were stuffed into his boots.”
Two or three peasants looked at each other, as if they had at last hit upon a suspicious fact. The costume which Cocoleu had so accurately described was well known to them all.
“And when he had kindled the fire,” said the magistrate again, “what did he do next?”
“He hid behind the woodpile.”
“And then?”
“He loaded his gun, and, when master came out, he fired.”
Count Claudieuse was so indignant that he forgot the pain which his wounds caused him, and raised himself on his bed.
“It is monstrous,” he exclaimed, “to allow an idiot to charge an honorable man with such a crime! If he really saw M. de Boiscoran set the house on fire, and hide himself in order to murder me, why did he not come and warn me?”
Mr. Galpin repeated the question submissively, to the great amazement of the mayor and M. Daubigeon.
“Why did you not give warning?” he asked Cocoleu.
But the efforts which the unfortunate man had made during the last half-hour had exhausted his little strength. He broke out into stupid laughter; and almost instantly one of his fearful nervous attacks overcame him: he fell down yelling, and had to be carried away.
The magistrate had risen, pale and deeply excited, but evidently meditating on what was to be done next. The commonwealth attorney asked him in an undertone what he was going to do; and the lawyer replied,—
“Prosecute!”
“What?”
“Can I do otherwise in my position? God is my witness that I tried my best, by urging this poor idiot, to prove the absurdity of his accusation. But the result has disappointed me.”
“And now?”
“Now I can no longer hesitate. There have been ten witnesses present at the examination. My honor is at stake. I must establish either the guilt or the innocence of the man whom Cocoleu accuses.” Immediately, walking up to the count’s bed, he asked,—
“Will you have the kindness, Count Claudieuse, to tell me what your relations are to M. de Boiscoran?”
Surprise and indignation caused the wounded man to blush deeply.
“Can it be possible, sir, that you believe the words of that idiot?”
“I believe nothing,” answered the magistrate. “My duty is to unravel the truth; and I mean to do it.”
“The doctor has told you what the state of Cocoleu’s mind is?”
“Count, I beg you will answer my question.”
Count Claudieuse looked angry; but he replied promptly,—
“My relations with M. de Boiscoran are neither good nor bad. We have none.”
“It is reported, I have heard it myself, that you are on bad terms.”
“On no terms at all. I never leave Valpinson, and M. de Boiscoran spends nine months of the year in Paris. He has never called at my house, and I have never been in his.”
“You have been overheard speaking of him in unmeasured terms.”
“That may be. We are neither of the same age, nor have we the same tastes or the same opinions. He is young: I am old. He likes Paris and the great world: I am fond of solitude and hunting. I am a Legitimist: he used to be an Orleanist, and now he is a Republican. I believe that the descendant of our old kings alone can save the country; and he is convinced that the happiness of France is possible only under a Republic. But two men may be enemies, and yet esteem each other. M. de Boiscoran is an honorable man; he has done his duty bravely in the war, he has fought well, and has been wounded.”
M. Galpin noted down these answers with extreme care. When he had done so, he continued,—
“The question is not one of political opinions only. You have had personal difficulties with M. de Boiscoran.”
“Of no importance.”
“I beg pardon: you have been at law.”
“Our estates adjoin each other. There is an unlucky brook between us, which is a source of constant trouble to the neighbors.”
M. Galpin shook his head, and added,—
“These are not the only difficulties you have had with each other. Everybody in the country knows that you have had violent altercations.”
Count Claudieuse seemed to be in great distress.
“It is true: we have used hard words. M. de Boiscoran had two wretched dogs that were continually escaping from his kennels, and came hunting in my fields. You cannot imagine how much game they destroyed.”
“Exactly so. And one day you met M. de Boiscoran, and you warned him that you would shoot his dogs.”
“I must confess I was furious. But I was wrong, a thousand times wrong: I did threaten”—
“That is it. You were both of you armed. You threatened one another: he actually aimed at you. Don’t deny it. A number of persons have seen it; and I know it. He has told me so himself.”
V.
There was not a person in the whole district who did not know of what a fearful disease poor Cocoleu was suffering; and everybody knew, also, that it was perfectly useless to try and help him. The two men who had taken him out had therefore laid him simply on a pile of wet straw, and then they had left him to himself, eager as they were to see and hear what was going on.
It must be said, in justice to the several hundred peasants who were crowding around the smoking ruins of Valpinson, that they treated the madman who had accused M. de Boiscoran of such a crime, neither with cruel jokes nor with fierce curses. Unfortunately, first impulses, which are apt to be good impulses, do not last long. One of those idle good-for-nothings, drunkards, envious scamps who are found in every community, in the country as well as in the city, cried out,—
“And why not?”
These few words opened at once a door to