During some minutes, he a.s.sisted at the representation of his own life. At once actor and spectator, he was there seated in his arm-chair, and at the same time he appeared on the stage. He acted, and he judged himself.
His first thought, it must be confessed, was one of hate, followed by a detestable feeling of satisfaction. Chance had, so to say, delivered into his hands this man preferred by Claire, this man, now no longer a haughty n.o.bleman, ill.u.s.trious by his fortune and his ancestors, but the illegitimate offspring of a courtesan. To retain a stolen name, he had committed a most cowardly a.s.sa.s.sination. And he, the magistrate, was about to experience the infinite gratification of striking his enemy with the sword of justice.
But this was only a pa.s.sing thought. The man"s upright conscience revolted against it, and made its powerful voice heard.
"Is anything," it cried, "more monstrous than the a.s.sociation of these two ideas,-hatred and justice? Can a magistrate, without despising himself more than he despises the vile beings he condemns, recollect that a criminal, whose fate is in his hands, has been his enemy? Has an investigating magistrate the right to make use of his exceptional powers in dealing with a prisoner; so long as he harbours the least resentment against him?"
M. Daburon repeated to himself what he had so frequently thought during the year, when commencing a fresh investigation: "And I also, I almost stained myself with a vile murder!"
And now it was his duty to cause to be arrested, to interrogate, and hand over to the a.s.sizes the man he had once resolved to kill.
All the world, it is true, ignored this crime of thought and intention; but could he himself forget it? Was not this, of all others, a case in which he should decline to be mixed up? Ought he not to withdraw, and wash his hands of the blood that had been shed, leaving to another the task of avenging him in the name of society?
"No," said he, "it would be a cowardice unworthy of me."
A project of mad generosity occurred to the bewildered man. "If I save him," murmured he, "if for Claire"s sake I leave him his honour and his life. But how can I save him? To do so I shall be obliged to suppress old Tabaret"s discoveries, and make an accomplice of him by ensuring his silence. We shall have to follow a wrong track, join Gevrol in running after some imaginary murderer. Is this practicable? Besides, to spare Albert is to defame Noel; it is to a.s.sure impunity to the most odious of crimes. In short, it is still sacrificing justice to my feelings."
The magistrate suffered greatly. How choose a path in the midst of so many perplexities! Impelled by different interests, he wavered, undecided between the most opposite decisions, his mind oscillating from one extreme to the other.
What could he do? His reason after this new and unforeseen shock vainly sought to regain its equilibrium.
"Resign?" said he to himself. "Where, then, would be my courage? Ought I not rather to remain the representative of the law, incapable of emotion, insensible to prejudice? am I so weak that, in a.s.suming my office, I am unable to divest myself of my personality? Can I not, for the present, make abstraction of the past? My duty is to pursue this investigation. Claire herself would desire me to act thus. Would she wed a man suspected of a crime? Never. If he is innocent, he will be saved; if guilty, let him perish!"
This was very sound reasoning; but, at the bottom of his heart, a thousand disquietudes darted their thorns. He wanted to rea.s.sure himself.
"Do I still hate this young man?" he continued. "No, certainly. If Claire has preferred him to me, it is to Claire and not to him I owe my suffering. My rage was no more than a pa.s.sing fit of delirium. I will prove it, by letting him find me as much a counsellor as a magistrate. If he is not guilty, he shall make use of all the means in my power to establish his innocence. Yes, I am worthy to be his judge. Heaven, who reads all my thoughts, sees that I love Claire enough to desire with all my heart the innocence of her lover."
Only then did M. Daburon seem to be vaguely aware of the lapse of time. It was nearly three o"clock in the morning.
"Goodness!" cried he; "why, old Tabaret is waiting for me. I shall probably find him asleep."
But M. Tabaret was not asleep. He had noticed the pa.s.sage of time no more than the magistrate.
Ten minutes had sufficed him to take an inventory of the contents of M. Daburon"s study, which was large, and handsomely furnished in accordance with his position and fortune. Taking up a lamp, he first admired six very valuable pictures, which ornamented the walls; he then examined with considerable curiosity some rare bronzes placed about the room, and bestowed on the bookcase the glance of a connoisseur.
After which, taking an evening paper from the table, he approached the hearth, and seated himself in a vast armchair.
He had not read a third of the leading article, which, like all leading articles of the time, was exclusively occupied with the Roman question, when, letting the paper drop from his hands, he became absorbed in meditation. The fixed idea, stronger than one"s will, and more interesting to him than politics, brought him forcibly back to La Jonchere, where lay the murdered Widow Lerouge. Like the child who again and again builds up and demolishes his house of cards, he arranged and entangled alternately his chain of inductions and arguments.
In his own mind there was certainly no longer a doubt as regards this sad affair, and it seemed to him that M. Daburon shared his opinions. But yet, what difficulties there still remained to encounter!
There exists between the investigating magistrate and the accused a supreme tribunal, an admirable inst.i.tution which is a guarantee for all, a powerful moderator, the jury.
And the jury, thank heaven! do not content themselves with a moral conviction. The strongest probabilities cannot induce them to give an affirmative verdict.
Placed upon a neutral ground, between the prosecution and the defence, it demands material and tangible proofs. Where the magistrate would condemn twenty times for one, in all security of conscience, the jury acquit for lack of satisfying evidence.
The deplorable execution of Lesurques has certainly a.s.sured impunity to many criminals; but, it is necessary to say it justifies hesitation in receiving circ.u.mstantial evidence in capital crimes.
In short, save where a criminal is taken in the very act, or confesses his guilt, it is not certain that the minister of justice can secure a conviction. Sometimes the judge of inquiry is as anxious as the accused himself. Nearly all crimes are in some particular point mysterious, perhaps impenetrable to justice and the police; and the duty of the advocate is, to discover this weak point, and thereon establish his client"s defence. By pointing out this doubt to the jury, he insinuates in their minds a distrust of the entire evidence; and frequently the detection of a distorted induction, cleverly exposed, can change the face of a prosecution, and make a strong case appear to the jury a weak one. This uncertainty explains the character of pa.s.sion which is so often perceptible in criminal trials.
And, in proportion to the march of civilisation, juries in important trials will become more timid and hesitating. The weight of responsibility oppresses the man of conscientious scruple. Already numbers recoil from the idea of capital punishment; and, whenever a jury can find a peg to hang a doubt on, they will wash their hands of the responsibility of condemnation. We have seen numbers of persons signing appeals for mercy to a condemned malefactor, condemned for what crime? Parricide! Every juror, from the moment he is sworn, weighs infinitely less the evidence he has come to listen to than the risk he runs of incurring the pangs of remorse. Rather than risk the condemnation of one innocent man, he will allow twenty scoundrels to go unpunished.
The accusation must then come before the jury, armed at all points, with abundant proofs. A task often tedious to the investigating magistrate, and bristling with difficulties, is the arrangement and condensation of this evidence, particularly when the accused is a cool hand, certain of having left no traces of his guilt. Then from the depths of his dungeon he defies the a.s.sault of justice, and laughs at the judge of inquiry. It is a terrible struggle, enough to make one tremble at the responsibility of the magistrate, when he remembers, that after all, this man imprisoned, without consolation or advice, may be innocent. How hard is it, then for the judge to resist his moral convictions!
Even when presumptive evidence points clearly to the criminal, and common sense recognises him, justice is at times compelled to acknowledge her defeat, for lack of what the jury consider sufficient proof of guilt. Thus, unhappily, many crimes escape punishment. An old advocate-general said one day that he knew as many as three a.s.sa.s.sins, living rich, happy, and respected, who would probably end by dying in their beds, surrounded by their families, and being followed to the grave with lamentations, and praised for their virtues in their epitaphs.
At the idea that a murderer might escape the penalty of his crime, and steal away from the a.s.size court, old Tabaret"s blood fairly boiled in his veins, as at the recollection of some deadly insult.
Such a monstrous event, in his opinion, could only proceed from the incapacity of those charged with the preliminary inquiry, the clumsiness of the police, or the stupidity of the investigating magistrate.
"It is not I," he muttered, with the satisfied vanity of success, "who would ever let my prey escape. No crime can be committed, of which the author cannot be found, unless, indeed, he happens to be a madman, whose motive it would be difficult to understand. I would pa.s.s my life in pursuit of a criminal, before avowing myself vanquished, as Gevrol has done so many times."
a.s.sisted by chance, he had again succeeded, so he kept repeating to himself, but what proofs could he furnish to the accusation, to that confounded jury, so difficult to convince, so precise and so cowardly? What could he imagine to force so cunning a culprit to betray himself? What trap could he prepare? To what new and infallible stratagem could he have recourse?
The amateur detective exhausted himself in subtle but impracticable combinations, always stopped by that exacting jury, so obnoxious to the agents of the Rue de Jerusalem. He was so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear the door open, and was utterly unconscious of the magistrate"s presence.
M. Daburon"s voice aroused him from his reverie.
"You will excuse me, M. Tabaret, for having left you so long alone."
The old fellow rose and bowed respectfully.
"By my faith, sir," replied he, "I have not had the leisure to perceive my solitude."
M. Daburon crossed the room, and seated himself, facing his agent before a small table enc.u.mbered with papers and doc.u.ments relating to the crime. He appeared very much fatigued.
"I have reflected a good deal," he commenced, "about this affair-"
"And I," interrupted old Tabaret, "was just asking myself what was likely to be the att.i.tude a.s.sumed by the viscount at the moment of his arrest. Nothing is more important, according to my idea, than his manner of conducting himself then. Will he fly into a pa.s.sion? Will he attempt to intimidate the agents? Will he threaten to turn them out of the house? These are generally the tactics of t.i.tled criminals. My opinion, however, is, that he will remain perfectly cool. He will declare himself the victim of a misunderstanding, and insist upon an immediate interview with the investigating magistrate. Once that is accorded him, he will explain everything very quickly."
The old fellow spoke of matters of speculation in such a tone of a.s.surance that M. Daburon was unable to repress a smile.
"We have not got as far as that yet," said he.
"But we shall, in a few hours," replied M. Tabaret quickly. "I presume you will order young M. de Commarin"s arrest at daybreak."
The magistrate trembled, like the patient who sees the surgeon deposit his case of instruments upon the table on entering the room.
The moment for action had come. He felt now what a distance lies between a mental decision and the physical action required to execute it.
"You are prompt, M. Tabaret," said he; "you recognize no obstacles."
"None, having ascertained the criminal. Who else can have committed this a.s.sa.s.sination? Who but he had an interest in silencing Widow Lerouge, in suppressing her testimony, in destroying her papers? He, and only he. Poor Noel! who is as dull as honesty, warned him, and he acted. Should we fail to establish his guilt, he will remain de Commarin more than ever; and my young advocate will be Noel Gerdy to the grave."
"Yes, but-"
The old man fixed his eyes upon the magistrate with a look of astonishment.
"You see, then, some difficulties, sir?" he asked.
"Most decidedly!" replied M. Daburon. "This is a matter demanding the utmost circ.u.mspection. In cases like the present, one must not strike until the blow is sure, and we have but presumptions. Suppose we are mistaken. Justice, unhappily, cannot repair her errors. Her hand once unjustly placed upon a man, leaves an imprint of dishonour that can never be effaced. She may perceive her error, and proclaim it aloud, but in vain! Public opinion, absurd and idiotic, will not pardon the man guilty of being suspected."
It was with a sinking heart that the old fellow listened to these remarks. He would not be withheld by such paltry considerations.
"Our suspicions are well grounded," continued the magistrate. "But, should they lead us into error, our precipitation would be a terrible misfortune for this young man, to say nothing of the effect it would have in abridging the authority and dignity of justice, of weakening the respect which const.i.tutes her power. Such a mistake would call for discussion, provoke examination, and awaken distrust, at an epoch in our history when all minds are but too much disposed to defy the const.i.tuted authorities."
He leaned upon the table, and appeared to reflect profoundly.
"I have no luck," thought old Tabaret. "I have to do with a trembler. When he should act, he makes speeches; instead of signing warrants, he propounds theories. He is astounded at my discovery, and is not equal to the situation. Instead of being delighted by my appearance with the news of our success, he would have given a twenty-franc piece, I dare say, to have been left undisturbed. Ah! he would very willingly have the little fishes in his net, but the big ones frighten him. The big fishes are dangerous, and he prefers to let them swim away."
"Perhaps," said M. Daburon, aloud, "it will suffice to issue a search-warrant, and a summons for the appearance of the accused."
"Then all is lost!" cried old Tabaret.
"And why, pray?"
"Because we are opposed by a criminal of marked ability. A most providential accident has placed us upon his track. If we give him time to breathe, he will escape."
The only answer was an inclination of the head, which M. Daburon may have intended for a sign of a.s.sent.
"It is evident," continued the old fellow, "that our adversary has foreseen everything, absolutely everything, even the possibility of suspicion attaching to one in his high position. Oh! his precautions are all taken. If you are satisfied with demanding his appearance, he is saved. He will appear before you as tranquilly as your clerk, as unconcerned as if he came to arrange the preliminaries of a duel. He will present you with a magnificent alibi, an alibi that can not be gainsayed. He will show you that he pa.s.sed the evening and the night of Tuesday with personages of the highest rank. In short, his little machine will be so cleverly constructed, so nicely arranged, all its little wheels will play so well, that there will be nothing left for you but to open the door and usher him out with the most humble apologies. The only means of securing conviction is to surprise the miscreant by a rapidity against which it is impossible he can be on his guard. Fall upon him like a thunder-clap, arrest him as he wakes, drag him hither while yet pale with astonishment, and interrogate him at once. Ah! I wish I were an investigating magistrate."
Old Tabaret stopped short, frightened at the idea that he had been wanting in respect; but M. Daburon showed no sign of being offended.
"Proceed," said he, in a tone of encouragement, "proceed."
"Suppose, then," continued the detective, "I am the investigating magistrate. I cause my man to be arrested, and, twenty minutes later, he is standing before me. I do not amuse myself by putting questions to him, more or less subtle. No, I go straight to the mark. I overwhelm him at once by the weight of my certainty, prove to him so clearly that I know everything, that he must surrender, seeing no chance of escape. I should say to him, "My good man, you bring me an alibi; it is very well; but I am acquainted with that system of defence. It will not do with me. I know all about the clocks that don"t keep proper time, and all the people who never lost sight of you. In the meantime, this is what you did. At twenty minutes past eight, you slipped away adroitly; at thirty-five minutes past eight, you took the train at the St Lazare station; at nine o"clock, you alighted at the station at Rueil, and took the road to La Jonchere; at a quarter past nine, you knocked at the window-shutter of Widow Lerouge"s cottage. You were admitted. You asked for something to eat, and, above all, something to drink. At twenty minutes past nine, you planted the well-sharpened end of a foil between her shoulders. You killed her! You then overturned everything in the house, and burned certain doc.u.ments of importance; after which, you tied up in a napkin all the valuables you could find, and carried them off, to lead the police to believe the murder was the work of a robber. You locked the door, and threw away the key. Arrived at the Seine, you threw the bundle into the water, then hurried off to the railway station on foot, and at eleven o"clock you reappeared amongst your friends. Your game was well played; but you omitted to provide against two adversaries, a detective, not easily deceived, named Tirauclair, and another still more clever, named chance. Between them, they have got the better of you. Moreover, you were foolish to wear such small boots, and to keep on your lavender kid gloves, besides embarra.s.sing yourself with a silk hat and an umbrella. Now confess your guilt, for it is the only thing left you to do, and I will give you permission to smoke in your dungeon some of those excellent trabucos you are so fond of, and which you always smoke with an amber mouthpiece.""
During this speech, M. Tabaret had gained at least a couple of inches in height, so great was his enthusiasm. He looked at the magistrate, as if expecting a smile of approbation.
"Yes," continued he, after taking breath, "I would say that, and nothing else; and, unless this man is a hundred times stronger than I suppose him to be, unless he is made of bronze, of marble, or of steel, he would fall at my feet and avow his guilt."
"But supposing he were of bronze," said M. Daburon, "and did not fall at your feet, what would you do next?"
The question evidently embarra.s.sed the old fellow.
"Pshaw!" stammered he; "I don"t know; I would see; I would search; but he would confess."
After a prolonged silence, M. Daburon took a pen, and hurriedly wrote a few lines.
"I surrender," said he. "M. Albert de Commarin shall be arrested; that is settled. The different formalities to be gone through and the perquisitions will occupy some time, which I wish to employ in interrogating the Count de Commarin, the young man"s father, and your friend M. Noel Gerdy, the young advocate. The letters he possesses are indispensable to me."
At the name of Gerdy, M. Tabaret"s face a.s.sumed a most comical expression of uneasiness.
"Confound it," cried he, "the very thing I most dreaded."
"What?" asked M. Daburon.
"The necessity for the examination of those letters. Noel will discover my interference. He will despise me: he will fly from me, when he knows that Tabaret and Tirauclair sleep in the same nightcap. Before eight days are past, my oldest friends will refuse to shake hands with me, as if it were not an honour to serve justice. I shall be obliged to change my residence, and a.s.sume a false name."
He almost wept, so great was his annoyance. M. Daburon was touched.
"Rea.s.sure yourself, my dear M. Tabaret," said he. "I will manage that your adopted son, your Benjamin, shall know nothing. I will lead him to believe I have reached him by means of the widow"s papers."
The old fellow seized the magistrate"s hand in a transport of grat.i.tude, and carried it to his lips. Oh! thanks, sir, a thousand thanks! I should like to be permitted to witness the arrest; and I shall be glad to a.s.sist at the perquisitions."
"I intended to ask you to do so, M. Tabaret," answered the magistrate.
The lamps paled in the gray dawn of the morning; already the rumbling of vehicles was heard; Paris was awaking.
"I have no time to lose," continued M. Daburon, "if I would have all my measures well taken. I must at once see the public prosecutor, whether he is up or not. I shall go direct from his house to the Palais de Justice, and be there before eight o"clock; and I desire, M. Tabaret, that you will there await my orders."
The old fellow bowed his thanks and was about to leave, when the magistrate"s servant appeared.
"Here is a note, sir," said he, "which a gendarme has just brought from Bougival. He waits an answer."
"Very well," replied M. Daburon. "Ask the man to have some refreshment; at least offer him a gla.s.s of wine."
He opened the envelope. "Ah!" he cried, "a letter from Gevrol;" and he read: ""To the investigating magistrate. Sir, I have the honour to inform you, that I am on the track of the man with the earrings. I heard of him at a wine shop, which he entered on Sunday morning, before going to Widow Lerouge"s cottage. He bought, and paid for two litres of wine; then, suddenly striking his forehead, he cried, "Old fool! to forget that to-morrow is the boat"s fete day!" and immediately called for three more litres. According to the almanac the boat must be called the Saint-Martin. I have also learned that she was laden with grain. I write to the Prefecture at the same time as I write to you, that inquiries may be made at Paris and Rouen. He will be found at one of those places. I am in waiting, sir, etc.""
"Poor Gevrol!" cried old Tabaret, bursting with laughter. "He sharpens his sabre, and the battle is over. Are you not going to put a stop to his inquiries, sir?"
"No; certainly not," answered M. Daburon; "to neglect the slightest clue often leads one into error. Who can tell what light we may receive from this mariner?"
CHAPTER VIII.
On the same day that the crime of La Jonchere was discovered, and precisely at the hour that M. Tabaret made his memorable examination in the victim"s chamber, the Viscount Albert de Commarin entered his carriage, and proceeded to the Northern railway station, to meet his father.
The young man was very pale: his pinched features, his dull eyes, his blanched lips, in fact his whole appearance denoted either overwhelming fatigue or unusual sorrow. All the servants had observed, that, during the past five days, their young master had not been in his ordinary condition: he spoke but little, ate almost nothing, and refused to see any visitors. His valet noticed that this singular change dated from the visit, on Sunday morning, of a certain M. Noel Gerdy, who had been closeted with him for three hours in the library.
The Viscount, gay as a lark until the arrival of this person, had, from the moment of his departure, the appearance of a man at the point of death. When setting forth to meet his father, the viscount appeared to suffer so acutely that M. Lubin, his valet, entreated him not to go out; suggesting that it would be more prudent to retire to his room, and call in the doctor.
But the Count de Commarin was exacting on the score of filial duty, and would overlook the worst of youthful indiscretions sooner than what he termed a want of reverence. He had announced his intended arrival by telegraph, twenty-four hours in advance; therefore the house was expected to be in perfect readiness to receive him, and the absence of Albert at the railway station would have been resented as a flagrant omission of duty.
The viscount had been but five minutes in the waiting-room, when the bell announced the arrival of the train. Soon the doors leading on to the platform were opened, and the travelers crowded in. The throng beginning to thin a little, the count appeared, followed by a servant, who carried a travelling pelisse lined with rare and valuable fur.
The Count de Commarin looked a good ten years less than his age. His beard and hair, yet abundant, were scarcely gray. He was tall and muscular, held himself upright, and carried his head high. His appearance was n.o.ble, his movements easy. His regular features presented a study to the physiognomist, all expressing easy, careless good nature, even to the handsome, smiling mouth; but in his eyes flashed the fiercest and the most arrogant pride. This contrast revealed the secret of his character. Imbued quite as deeply with aristocratic prejudice as the Marchioness d"Arlange, he had progressed with his century or at least appeared to have done so. As fully as the marchioness, he held in contempt all who were not n.o.ble; but his disdain expressed itself in a different fashion. The marchioness proclaimed her contempt loudly and coa.r.s.ely; the count had kept eyes and ears open and had seen and heard a good deal. She was stupid, and without a shade of common sense. He was witty and sensible, and possessed enlarged views of life and politics. She dreamed of the return of the absurd traditions of a former age; he hoped for things within the power of events to bring forth. He was sincerely persuaded that the n.o.bles of France would yet recover slowly and silently, but surely, all their lost power, with its prestige and influence.