Chapter 30

“He has often mentioned this condemnation; but he has always attributed it to acts of violence against a superior; On that point he has never varied in his statements.”

“Then how on earth did you learn”--

“The truth? Oh, very simply. _I_ inquired at Saigon; and I succeeded in finding a sergeant in the Second Regiment of Marines, who was in the First Regiment at the same time with Crochard. He gave me all these details. And there is no mistake about the identity; for, as soon as I said ‘Crochard’ the sergeant exclaimed, ‘Oh, yes! Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet.’”

And, as the doctor bowed without saying a word, the magistrate said,--

“I resume the account. The statements of the accused since his arrest are too insignificant to be here reported. There is only one peculiarity of importance for the prosecution, which may possibly serve to enable us to trace the instigators of this crime. On three occasions, and in the presence of, at least, three witnesses each time, Crochard has used, in almost the same terms, these words,--

“‘No one would believe the strange acquaintances one makes in prisons. You meet there young men of family, who have done a foolish thing, and lots of people, who, wishing to make a fortune all at once, had no chance. When they come out from there, many of these fellows get into very good positions; and then, if you meet them, they don’t know you. I have known some people there, who now ride in their carriages.’”

The doctor had become silent.

“Oh!” he said half aloud, “might not some of these people whom the assassin has known in prison have put arms in his hand?”

“That is the very question I asked myself.”

“Because, you see, some of Daniel’s enemies are fearful people; and if you knew what is in this letter here in my hand, which, no doubt, will be the cause of that poor boy’s death”--

“Allow me to finish, doctor,” said the man of law. And then, more rapidly, he went on,--

“Here follows a blank. How the accused lived in Paris, to which he had returned after his release, is not known. Did he resort to mean cheating, or to improper enterprises, in order to satisfy his passions? The prosecution is reduced to conjectures, since Crochard has refused to give details, and only makes very general statements as to these years.

“This fact only is established, that every thing he took with him when he left Paris was new,--his tools, the linen in his valise, the clothes he wore, from the cap on his head to his shoes. Why were they all new?”

As the magistrate had now reached the last line on the first sheet, the surgeon rose, bowed low, and said,--

“Upon my word, sir, I surrender; and I do begin to hope that Lieut. Champcey may still be avenged.”

A smile of pleased pride appeared for a moment on the lips of the lawyer; but assuming his mask of impassiveness instantly again, as if he had been ashamed of his weakness, he said with delicate irony,--

“I really think human justice may this time reach the guilty. But wait before you congratulate me.”

The old surgeon was too candid to make even an attempt at concealing his astonishment.

“What!” he said, “you have more evidence still?”

The magistrate gravely shook his head, and said,--

“The biography which I have just read establishes nothing. We do not succeed by probabilities and presumptions; however strong they are in convincing a jury. They want and require proof, positive proof, before they condemn. Well, such proof I have.”

“Oh!”

From the same box from which he had taken the papers concerning Crochard he now drew a letter, which he shook in the air with a threatening gesture. “Here is something,” he said, “which was sent to the state attorney twelve days after the last attempt had been made on M. Champcey’s life. Listen!” And he read thus,--

“Sir,--A sailor, who has come over to Boen-Hoa, where I live with my wife, has told us that a certain Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, has shot, and perhaps mortally wounded, Lieut. Champcey of the ship ‘Conquest.’

“In connection with this misfortune, my wife thinks, and I also consider it a matter of conscience, that we should make known to you a very serious matter.

“One day I happened to be on a yardarm, side by side with Crochard, helping the sailors to furl a sail, when I saw him drop a huge block, which fell upon Lieut. Champcey, and knocked him down.

“No one else had noticed it; and Crochard instantly pulled up the block again. I was just considering whether I ought to report him, when he fell at my feet, and implored me to keep it secret; for he had been very unfortunate in life, and if I spoke he would be ruined.

“Thinking that he had been simply awkward, I allowed myself to be moved, and swore to Crochard that the matter should remain between us. But what has happened since proves very clearly, as my wife says, that I was wrong to keep silence; and I am ready now to tell all, whatever may be the consequences.

“Still, sir, I beg you will protect me, in case Crochard should think of avenging himself on me or on my family,--a thing which might very easily happen, as he is a very bad man, capable of any thing.

“As I cannot write, my wife sends you this letter. And we are, with the most profound respect, &c.”

The doctor rubbed his hands violently.

“And you have seen this blacksmith?” he asked.

“Certainly! He has been here, he and his wife. Ah! if the man had been left to his own counsels, he would have kept it all secret, so terribly is he afraid of this Crochard; but, fortunately, his wife had more courage.”

“Decidedly,” growled the surgeon. “The women are, after all, the better part of creation.”

The magistrate carefully replaced the letter in the box, and then went on in his usual calm voice,--

“Thus the first attempt at murder is duly and fully proven. As for the second,--the one made on the river,--we are not quite so far advanced. Still I have hopes. I have found out, for instance, that Crochard is a first-rate swimmer. Only about three months ago he made a bet with one of the waiters at the hotel where he is engaged, that he would swim across the Dong-Nai twice, at a place where the current is strongest; and he did it.”

“But that is evidence; is it not?”

“No; it is only a probability in favor of the prosecution. But I have another string to my bow. The register on board ship proves that Crochard went on shore the very evening after the arrival of the vessel. Where, and with whom, did he spend the evening? Not one of my hundred and odd witnesses has seen him that night. And that is not all. No one has noticed, the next day, that his clothes were wet. Therefore he must have changed his clothes; and, in order to do that, he must have bought some; for he had taken nothing with him out of the ship but what he had on. Where did he buy these clothes? I mean to find that out as soon as I shall no longer be forced to carry on the investigation secretly, as I have done so far. For I never forget one thing, that the real criminals are in France, and that they will surely escape us, if they hear that their wretched accomplice here is in trouble.”

Once more the surgeon drew Henrietta’s letter from his pocket, and handed it to the lawyer, saying,--

“I know who they are, the really guilty ones. I know Daniel’s enemies,--Sarah Brandon, Maxime de Brevan, and the others.”

But the magistrate waved back the letter, and replied,--

“It is not enough for us to know them, doctor; we want evidence against them,--clear, positive, irrefutable evidence. This evidence we will get from Crochard. Oh, I know the ways of these rascals! As soon as they see they are overwhelmed by the evidence against them, and feel they are in real danger, they hasten to denounce their accomplices, and to aid justice, with all their perversity to discover them. The accused will do the same. When I shall have established the fact that he was hired to murder M. Champcey, he will tell me by whom he was hired; and he will have to confess that he was thus hired, when I show him how much of the money he received for the purpose is now left.”

The old surgeon once more jumped up from his chair.

“What!” he said, “you have found Crochard’s treasure?”

“No,” replied the lawyer, “not yet; but”--

He could hardly keep from smiling grimly; but he added at once,--

“But I know where it is, I think. Ah! I can safely say it was not on the first day exactly that I saw where the truth probably was hid. I have had a good deal of perplexity and trouble. Morally sure as I was, after the first examination of the accused, that he had a relatively large sum hidden somewhere, I first gave all my attention to his chamber. Assisted by a clever police-agent, I examined that room for a whole fortnight, till I was furious. The furniture was taken to pieces, and examined, the lining taken out of the chairs, and even the paper stripped from the walls. All in vain. I was in despair, when a thought struck me,--one of those simple thoughts which make you wonder why it did not occur to you at once. I said to myself, ‘I have found it!’ And, anxious to ascertain if I was right, I immediately sent for the man with whom Crochard had made the bet about swimming across the Dong-Nai. He came; and--But I prefer reading you his deposition.”

He took from the large bundle of papers a single sheet, and, assuming an air of great modesty, read the affidavit.

“_Magistrate_.--At what point of the river did Crochard swim across?

“_Witness_.--A little below the town.

“_M_.--Where did he undress?

“_W_.--At the place where he went into the water, just opposite the tile-factory of M. Wang-Tai.

“_M_.--What did he do with his clothes?

“_W_. (very much surprised).--Nothing.

“_M_.--Excuse me; he must have done something. Try to recollect.

“_W_. (striking his forehead).--Why, yes! I remember now. When Bagnolet had undressed, I saw he looked annoyed, as if he disliked going into the water. But no! that was not it. He was afraid about his clothes; and he did not rest satisfied till I had told him I would keep watch over them. Now, his clothes consisted of a mean pair of trousers and a miserable blouse. As they were in my way, I put them down on the ground, at the foot of a tree. He had in the meantime done his work, and came back; but, instead of listening to my compliments, he cried furiously, ‘My clothes!’--‘Well,’ I said, ‘they are not lost. There they are.’ Thereupon he pushed me back fiercely, without saying a word, and ran like a madman to pick up his clothes.”

The chief surgeon was electrified; he rose, and said,--

“I understand; yes, I understand.”

XXV.

Thus proceeding from one point to another, and by the unaided power of his sagacity, coupled with indefatigable activity, the magistrate had succeeded in establishing Crochard’s guilt, and the existence of accomplices who had instigated the crime. No one could doubt that he was proud of it, and that his self-esteem had increased, although he tried hard to preserve his stiff and impassive appearance. He had even affected a certain dislike to the idea of reading Henrietta’s letter, until he should have proved that he could afford to do without such assistance.

But, now that he had proved this so amply, he very quickly asked for the letter, and read it. Like the chief surgeon, he, also, was struck and amazed by the wickedness of M. de Brevan.

“But here is exactly what we want,” he exclaimed,--“an irrefragable proof of complicity. He would never have dared to abuse Miss Ville- Handry’s confidence in so infamous a manner, if he had not been persuaded, in fact been quite sure, that Lieut. Champcey would never return to France.”

Then, after a few minutes’ reflection, he added,--

“And yet I feel that there is something underneath still, which we do not see. Why had they determined upon M. Champcey’s death even before he sailed? What direct and pressing interest could M. de Brevan have in wishing him dead at that time? Something must have happened between the two which we do not know.”

“What?”

“Ah! that is what I cannot conceive. But remember what I say, doctor: the future reserves some fearful mysteries yet to be revealed to us hereafter.”

The two men had been so entirely preoccupied with their thoughts, that they were unconscious of the flight of time; and they were not a little astonished, therefore, when they now noticed that the day was gone, and night was approaching. The lawyer rose, and asked, returning Henrietta’s letter to the doctor,--

“Is this the only one M. Champcey has received?”

“No; but it is the only one he has opened.”

“Would you object to handing me the others?”

The excellent doctor hesitated.

“I will hand them to you,” he said at last, “if you will assure me that the interests of justice require it. But why not wait”--

He did not dare say, “Why not wait for M. Champcey’s death?” but the lawyer understood him.

“I will wait,” he said.

While thus talking, they had reached the door. They shook hands; and the chief surgeon, his heart fall of darkest presentiments, slowly made his way to the hospital.

A great surprise awaited him there. Daniel, whom he had left in a desperate condition, almost dying,--Daniel slept profoundly, sweetly. His pale face had recovered its usual expression; and his respiration was free and regular.

“It is almost indescribable,” said the old doctor, whose experience was utterly at fault. “I am an ass; and our science is a bubble.”

Turning to Lefloch, who had respectfully risen at his entrance, he asked,--

“Since when has your master been sleeping in this way?”

“For an hour, commandant.”

“How did he fall asleep?”

“Quite naturally, commandant. After you left, the lieutenant was for some time pretty wild yet; but soon he quieted down, and finally he asked for something to drink. I gave him a cup of your tea; he took it, and then asked me to help him turn over towards the wall. I did so, and I saw him remain so, his arm bent, and his head in his hand, like a man who is thinking profoundly. But about a quarter of an hour later, all of a sudden, I thought I heard him gasp. I came up softly on tiptoe, and looked. I was mistaken; the lieutenant was not gasping, he was crying like a baby; and what I had heard were sobs. Ah, commandant! I felt as if somebody had kicked me in the stomach. Because, you see, I know him; and I know, that, before a man such as he is goes to crying like a little child, he must have suffered more than death itself. Holy God! If I knew where I could catch them, these rascals who give him all this trouble”--

His fists rose instinctively, and most undoubtedly something bright started from his eyes which looked prodigiously like a tear rolling slowly down one of the deep furrows in his cheek.

“Now,” he continued in a half-stifled voice, “I saw why the lieutenant had wished to turn his face to the wall, and I went back without making a noise. A moment after that, he began talking aloud. But he was right in his senses now, I tell you.”

“What did he say?”

“Ah! he said something like, ‘Henrietta, Henrietta!’ Always that good friend of his, for whom he was forever calling when he had the fever. And then he said, ‘I am killing her, I! I am the cause of her death. Fool, stupid, idiot that I am! He has sworn to kill me and Henrietta, the wretch! He swore it no doubt, the very day on which I, fool as I was, confided Henrietta and my whole fortune to him.’”

“Did he say that?”

“The very words, commandant, but better, a great deal better.”

The old surgeon seemed to be amazed.

“That cunning lawyer had judged rightly,” he said. “He suspected there was something else; and here it is.”

“You say, commandant?” asked the good sailor.

“Nothing of interest to you. Go on.”

“Well, after that--but there is nothing more to tell, except that I heard nothing more. The lieutenant remained in the same position till I came to light the lamp; then he ordered me to make him tack ship, and to let down the screen over the lamp. I did so. He gave out two or three big sighs, and then goodnight, and nothing more. He was asleep as you see him now.”

“And how did his eyes look when he fell asleep?”

“Quite calm and bright.”

The doctor looked like a man to whom something has happened which is utterly inexplicable to him, and said in a low voice,--

“He will pull through, I am sure now. I said there could not be another miracle; and here it is!”

Then turning to Lefloch, he asked,--

“You know where I am staying?”

“Yes, commandant.”

“If your officer wakes up in the night, you will send for me at once.”

“Yes, commandant.”

But Daniel did not wake up; and he had hardly opened his eyes on the next morning, about eight o’clock, when the chief surgeon entered his room. At the first glance at his patient, he exclaimed,--

“I am sure our imprudence yesterday will have no bad effects!”

Daniel said nothing; but, after the old surgeon had carefully examined him, he began,--

“Now, doctor, one question, a single one: in how many days will I be able to get up and take ship?”

“Ah! my dear lieutenant, there is time enough to talk about that.”

“No, doctor, no! I must have an answer. Fix a time, and I shall have the fortitude to wait; but uncertainty will kill me. Yes, I shall manage to wait, although I suffer like”--

The surgeon was evidently deeply touched.

“I know what you suffer, my poor Champcey,” he said; “I read that letter which came much nearer killing you than Crochard’s ball. I think in a month you will be able to sail.”

“A month!” said Daniel in a tone as if he had said an age. And after a pause he added,--

“That is not all, doctor: I want to ask you for the letters which I could not read yesterday.”

“What? You would--But that would be too great an imprudence.”

“No, doctor, don’t trouble yourself. The blow has fallen. If I did not lose my mind yesterday, that shows that my reason can stand the most terrible trial. I have, God be thanked, all my energy. I know I must live, if I want to save Henrietta,--to avenge her, if I should come too late. That thought, you may rest assured, will keep me alive.”

The surgeon hesitated no longer: the next moment Daniel opened the other two letters from Henrietta. One, very long, was only a repetition of the first he had read. The other consisted only of a few lines:--

“M. de Brevan has just left me. When the man told me mockingly that I need not count upon your return, and cast an atrocious look at me, I understood. Daniel, that man wants your life; and he has hired assassins. For my sake, if not for your own, I beseech you be careful. Take care, be watchful; think that you are the only friend, the sole hope here below, of your Henrietta.”

Now it was truly seen that Daniel had not presumed too much on his strength and his courage. Not a muscle in his face changed; his eye remained straight and clear; and he said in an accent of coldest, bitterest irony,--

“Look at this, doctor. Here is the explanation of the strange ill luck that has pursued me ever since I left France.”

At a glance the doctor read Henrietta’s warning, which came, alas! so much too late.

“You ought to remember this, also, that M. de Brevan could not foresee that the assassin he had hired would be caught.”

This was an unexpected revelation; and Daniel was all attention.

“What?” he said. “The man who fired at me has been arrested?”

Lefloch was unable to restrain himself at this juncture, and replied,--

“I should say so, lieutenant, and by my hand, before his gun had cooled off.”

The doctor did not wait for the questions which he read in the eyes of his patient. He said at once,--

“It is as Lefloch says, my dear lieutenant; and, if you have not been told anything about it, it was because the slightest excitement would become fatal. Yesterday’s experience has only proved that too clearly. Yes, the assassin is in jail.”

“And his account is made up,” growled the sailor.

But Daniel shrugged his shoulders, and said,--

“I do not want him punished, any more than the ball which hit me. That wretched creature is a mere tool. But, doctor, you know who are the real guilty ones.”

“And justice shall be done, I swear!” broke in the old surgeon, who looked upon the cause of his patient with as much interest as if it were his own. “Our lucky star has sent us a lawyer who is no trifler, and who, if I am not very much mistaken, would like very much to leave Saigon with a loud blast of trumpets.”

He remained buried in thought for a while, watching his patient out of the corner of his eye, and then said suddenly,--

“Now I think of it, why could you not see the lawyer? He is all anxiety to examine you. Consider, lieutenant, do you feel strong enough to see him?”

“Let him come,” cried Daniel, “let him come! Pray, doctor, go for him at once!”

“I shall do my best, my dear Champcey. I will go at once, and leave you to finish your correspondence.”

He left the room with these words; and Daniel turned to the letters, which were still lying on his bed. There were seven of them,--four from the Countess Sarah, and three from Maxime. But what could they tell him now? What did he care for the falsehoods and the calumnies they contained? He ran over them, however.

Faithful to her system, Sarah wrote volumes; and from line to line, in some way or other, her real or feigned love for Daniel broke forth more freely, and no longer was veiled and hidden under timid reserve and long-winded paraphrases. She gave herself up, whether her prudence had forsaken her, or whether she felt quite sure that her letters could never reach Count Ville-Handry. It sounded like an intense, irresistible passion, escaping from the control of the owner, and breaking forth terribly, like a long smouldering fire. Of Henrietta she said but little,--enough, however, to terrify Daniel, if he had not known the truth.

“That unfortunate, wayward girl,” she wrote, “has just caused her aged father such cruel and unexpected grief, that he was on the brink of the grave. Weary of the control which her indiscretions rendered indispensable, she has fled, we know not with whom; and all our efforts to find her have so far been unsuccessful.”

On the other hand, M. de Brevan wrote, “Deaf to my counsel and prayers even, Miss Ville-Handry has carried out the project of leaving her paternal home. Suspected of having favored her escape, I have been called out by Sir Thorn, and had to fight a duel with him. A paper which I enclose will give you the details of our meeting, and tell you that I was lucky enough to wound that gentleman of little honor, but of great skill with the pistol.

“Alas! my poor, excellent Daniel, why should I be compelled by the duties of friendship to confess to you that it was not for the purpose of remaining faithful to you, that Miss Henrietta was so anxious to be free? Do not desire to return, my poor friend! You would suffer too much in finding her whom you have loved so dearly unworthy of an honest man, unworthy of you. Believe me, I did all I could to prevent her irregularities, which now have become public. I only drew her hatred upon me, and I should not be surprised if she did all she could to make us all cut our throats.”

This impudence was bold enough to confound anybody’s mind, and to make one doubt one’s own good sense. Still he found the newspaper, which had been sent to him with the letter, and in it the account of the duel between M. de Brevan and M. Thomas Elgin. What did that signify? He once more read over, more attentively than at first, the letters of Maxime and the Countess Sarah; and, by comparing them with each other, he thought he noticed in them some traces of a beginning disagreement.