Baron Trigault's Vengeance [133]
and yet, a compact had been concluded by which each had tacitly agreed to serve the other according to his need.
As soon as the physician appeared, M. de Valorsay rose and shook hands with him; then, offering him an arm-chair, he remarked: "I will not conceal from you, doctor, that I have in some measure prepared this gentleman"--designating M. Wilkie--"for your terrible revelation."
By the doctor's attitude, a keen observer might have divined the secret trepidation that always precedes a bad action which has been conceived and decided upon in cold blood.
"To tell the truth," he began, speaking slowly, and with some difficulty, "now that the moment for speaking has come, I almost hesitate. Our profession has painful exigencies. Perhaps it is now too late. If there had been any of the count's relatives in the house, or even an heir at the time, I should have insisted upon an autopsy. But now----"
On hearing the word "autopsy," M. Wilkie looked round with startled eyes. He opened his lips to interrupt the speaker, but the physician had already resumed his narrative. "Besides, I had only suspicions," he said, "suspicions based, it is true, upon strange and alarming circumstances. I am a man, that is to say, I am liable to error. In the kingdom of science it would be unpardonable temerity on my part to affirm----"
"To affirm what?" interrupted M. Wilkie.
The physician did not seem to hear him, but continued in the same dogmatic tone. "The count apparently died from an attack of apoplexy, but certain poisons produce similar and even identical symptoms which are apt to deceive the most experienced medical men. The persistent efforts of the count's intellect, his muscular rigidity alternating with utter relaxation, the dilation of the pupils of his eyes, and more than aught else the violence of his last convulsions, have led me to ask myself if some criminal had not hastened his end."
Whiter than his shirt, and trembling like a leaf, M. Wilkie sprang from his chair. "I understand!" he exclaimed. "The count was murdered--poisoned."
But the physician replied with an energetic protest. "Oh, not so fast!" said he. "Don't mistake my conjectures for assertions. Still, I ought not to conceal the circumstances which awakened my suspicions. On the morning preceding his attack, the count took two spoonfuls of the contents of a vial which the people in charge could not or would not produce. When I asked what this vial contained, the answer was: 'A medicine to prevent apoplexy.' I don't say that this is false, but prove it. As for the motive that led to the crime, it is apparent at once. The escritoire contained two millions of francs, and the money has disappeared. Show me the vial, find the money, and I will admit that I am wrong. But until then, I shall have my suspicions."
He did not speak like a physician but like an examining magistrate, and his alarming deductions found their way even to M. Wilkie's dull brain. "Who could have committed the crime?" he asked.
"It could only have been the person likely to profit by it; and only one person besides the count knew that the money was in the house, and had possession of the key of this escritoire."
"And this person?"
"Is the count's illegitimate daughter, who lived in the house with him--Mademoiselle Marguerite."
M. Wilkie sank into his chair again, completely overwhelmed. The coincidence between the doctor's deposition and M. Casimir's testimony was too remarkable to pass unnoticed. Further doubt seemed impossible. "Ah! this is most unfortunate!" faltered Wilkie. "What a pity! Such difficulties never assail any one but me! What am I to do?" And in his distress he glanced from the doctor to the Marquis de Valorsay, and then at M. de Coralth, as if seeking inspiration from each of them.
"My profession forbids my acting as an adviser in such cases," replied the physician, "but these gentlemen have not the same reasons for keeping silent."
"Excuse me," interrupted the marquis quickly; "but this is one of those cases in which
As soon as the physician appeared, M. de Valorsay rose and shook hands with him; then, offering him an arm-chair, he remarked: "I will not conceal from you, doctor, that I have in some measure prepared this gentleman"--designating M. Wilkie--"for your terrible revelation."
By the doctor's attitude, a keen observer might have divined the secret trepidation that always precedes a bad action which has been conceived and decided upon in cold blood.
"To tell the truth," he began, speaking slowly, and with some difficulty, "now that the moment for speaking has come, I almost hesitate. Our profession has painful exigencies. Perhaps it is now too late. If there had been any of the count's relatives in the house, or even an heir at the time, I should have insisted upon an autopsy. But now----"
On hearing the word "autopsy," M. Wilkie looked round with startled eyes. He opened his lips to interrupt the speaker, but the physician had already resumed his narrative. "Besides, I had only suspicions," he said, "suspicions based, it is true, upon strange and alarming circumstances. I am a man, that is to say, I am liable to error. In the kingdom of science it would be unpardonable temerity on my part to affirm----"
"To affirm what?" interrupted M. Wilkie.
The physician did not seem to hear him, but continued in the same dogmatic tone. "The count apparently died from an attack of apoplexy, but certain poisons produce similar and even identical symptoms which are apt to deceive the most experienced medical men. The persistent efforts of the count's intellect, his muscular rigidity alternating with utter relaxation, the dilation of the pupils of his eyes, and more than aught else the violence of his last convulsions, have led me to ask myself if some criminal had not hastened his end."
Whiter than his shirt, and trembling like a leaf, M. Wilkie sprang from his chair. "I understand!" he exclaimed. "The count was murdered--poisoned."
But the physician replied with an energetic protest. "Oh, not so fast!" said he. "Don't mistake my conjectures for assertions. Still, I ought not to conceal the circumstances which awakened my suspicions. On the morning preceding his attack, the count took two spoonfuls of the contents of a vial which the people in charge could not or would not produce. When I asked what this vial contained, the answer was: 'A medicine to prevent apoplexy.' I don't say that this is false, but prove it. As for the motive that led to the crime, it is apparent at once. The escritoire contained two millions of francs, and the money has disappeared. Show me the vial, find the money, and I will admit that I am wrong. But until then, I shall have my suspicions."
He did not speak like a physician but like an examining magistrate, and his alarming deductions found their way even to M. Wilkie's dull brain. "Who could have committed the crime?" he asked.
"It could only have been the person likely to profit by it; and only one person besides the count knew that the money was in the house, and had possession of the key of this escritoire."
"And this person?"
"Is the count's illegitimate daughter, who lived in the house with him--Mademoiselle Marguerite."
M. Wilkie sank into his chair again, completely overwhelmed. The coincidence between the doctor's deposition and M. Casimir's testimony was too remarkable to pass unnoticed. Further doubt seemed impossible. "Ah! this is most unfortunate!" faltered Wilkie. "What a pity! Such difficulties never assail any one but me! What am I to do?" And in his distress he glanced from the doctor to the Marquis de Valorsay, and then at M. de Coralth, as if seeking inspiration from each of them.
"My profession forbids my acting as an adviser in such cases," replied the physician, "but these gentlemen have not the same reasons for keeping silent."
"Excuse me," interrupted the marquis quickly; "but this is one of those cases in which