Within an Inch of His Life (Murder Mystery). Emile Gaboriau
with sleep, came and opened the door, and then cried out in an angry voice,—
“Who are you, my man? What do you want? Have you taken too much wine? Don’t you know at whose house you are making such a row?”
“I wish to see the mayor,” replied the peasant instantly. “Wake him up!”
M. Seneschal was wide awake.
Dressed in a large dressing-gown of gray flannel, a candlestick in his hand, troubled, and unable to disguise his trouble, he had just come down into the hall, and heard all that was said.
“Here is the mayor,” he said in an ill-satisfied tone. “What do you want of him at this hour, when all honest people are in bed?”
Pushing the servant aside, the peasant came up to him, and said, making not the slightest attempt at politeness,—
“I come to tell you to send the fire-engine.”
“The engine!”
“Yes; at once. Make haste!”
The mayor shook his head.
“Hm!” he said, according to a habit he had when he was at a loss what to do; “hm, hm!”
And who would not have been embarrassed in his place?
To get the engine out, and to assemble the firemen, he had to rouse the whole town; and to do this in the middle of the night was nothing less than to frighten the poor people of Sauveterre, who had heard the drums beating the alarm but too often during the war with the Germans, and then again during the reign of the Commune. Therefore M. Seneschal asked,—
“Is it a serious fire?”
“Serious!” exclaimed the peasant. “How could it be otherwise with such a wind as this,—a wind that would blow off the horns of our oxen.”
“Hm!” uttered the mayor again. “Hm, hm!”
It was not exactly the first time, since he was mayor of Sauveterre, that he was thus roused by a peasant, who came and cried under his window, “Help! Fire, fire!”
At first, filled with compassion, he had hastily called out the firemen, put himself at their head, and hurried to the fire.
And when they reached it, out of breath, and perspiring, after having made two or three miles at double-quick, they found what? A wretched heap of straw, worth about ten dollars, and almost consumed by the fire. They had had their trouble for nothing.
The peasants in the neighborhood had cried, “Wolf!” so often, when there was no reason for it, that, even when the wolf really was there, the townspeople were slow in believing it.
“Let us see,” said M. Seneschal: “what is burning?”
The peasant seemed to be furious at all these delays, and bit his long whip.
“Must I tell you again and again,” he said, “that every thing is on fire,—barns, outhouses, haystacks, the houses, the old castle, and every thing? If you wait much longer, you won’t find one stone upon another in Valpinson.”
The effect produced by this name was prodigious.
“What?” asked the mayor in a half-stifled voice, “Valpinson is on fire?”
“Yes.”
“At Count Claudieuse’s?”
“Of course.”
“Fool! Why did you not say so at once?” exclaimed the mayor.
He hesitated no longer.
“Quick!” he said to his servant, “go and get me my clothes. Wait, no! my wife can help me. There is no time to be lost. You run to Bolton, the drummer, you know, and tell him from me to beat the alarm instantly all over town. Then you run to Capt. Parenteau’s, and explain to him what you have heard. Ask him to get the keys of the engine-house.—Wait!—when you have done that, come back and put the horse in.—Fire at Valpinson! I shall go with the engine. Go, run, knock at every door, cry, ‘Fire! Fire!’ Tell everybody to come to the New-Market Square.”
When the servant had run off as fast as he could, the mayor turned to the peasant, and said,—
“And you, my good man, you get on your horse, and reassure the count. Tell them all to take courage, not to give up; we are coming to help them.”
But the peasant did not move.
“Before going back to Valpinson,” he said, “I have another commission to attend to in town.”
“Why? What is it?”
“I am to get the doctor to go back with me.”
“The doctor! Why? Has anybody been hurt?”
“Yes, master, Count Claudieuse.”
“How imprudent! I suppose he rushed into danger as usually.”
“Oh, no! He has been shot twice!”
The mayor of Sauveterre nearly dropped his candlestick.
“Shot! Twice!” he said. “Where? When? By whom?”
“Ah! I don’t know.”
“But”—
“All I can tell you is this. They have carried him into a little barn that was not on fire yet. There I saw him myself lying on the straw, pale like a linen sheet, his eyes closed, and bloody all over.”
“Great God! They have not killed him?”
“He was not dead when I left.”
“And the countess?”
“Our lady,” replied the peasant with an accent of profound veneration, “was in the barn on her knees by the count’s side, washing his wounds with fresh water. The two little ladies were there too.”
M. Seneschal trembled with excitement.
“It is a crime that has been committed, I suppose.”
“Why, of course!”
“But who did it? What was the motive?”
“Ah! that is the question.”
“The count is very passionate, to be sure, quite violent, in fact; but still he is the best and fairest of men, everybody knows that.”
“Everybody knows it.”
“He never did any harm to anybody.”
“That is what all say.”
“As for the countess”—
“Oh!” said the peasant eagerly, “she is the saint of saints.”
The mayor tried to come to some conclusion.
“The criminal, therefore, must be a stranger. We are overrun with vagabonds and beggars on the tramp. There is not a day on which a lot of ill-looking fellows do not appear at my office, asking for help to get away.”
The peasant nodded his head, and said,—
“That is what I think. And the proof of it is, that, as I came along, I made up my mind I would first get the doctor, and then report the crime at the police office.”
“Never mind,” said the mayor. “I will do that myself. In ten minutes I shall see the attorney of the Commonwealth. Now go. Don’t spare your horse, and tell your mistress that we are all coming after you.”
In his whole official career M. Seneschal had never been so terribly shocked. He lost his head, just as he did on that unlucky day, when, all of a sudden, nine hundred militia-men fell upon him, and asked to be fed and lodged. Without his wife’s help he would never have been able to dress himself. Still he was