CHAPTER VI.
THE attorney for the Republic called in the Examining Magistrate.Nothing more was to be done. The Magistrate had studied the position ofthe corpse, examined the wound, and now, having told M. Ginory hisimpressions, he did not hide from him his belief that the crime had beencommitted by a professional, as the stroke of the knife across thethroat had been given neatly, scientifically, according to all theestablished rules.
"One might well take it for the work of a professional butcher."
"Yes, without doubt, M. Ginory; but one does not know. Brute force--astrong blow--can produce exactly what science can."
More agitated than he wished to appear by the strange conversationbetween the Agent of Surete and himself, the Examining Magistrate stoodat the foot of the corpse and gazed, with a fixity almost fierce, not atthe gaping wound of which M. Jacquelin des Audrays had spoken to him,but at those eyes,--those fixed eyes, those eyes which no opacity hadyet invaded, which, open, frightful, seemingly burning with anger,menacing, full of accusations of some sort and animated with vengeance,gave him a look, immovable, most powerful.
It was true! it was true! They lived! those eyes spoke. They cried tohim for justice. They retained the expression of some atrocious vision:the expression of violent rage. They menaced some one--who? If thepicture of some one was graven there, was it not the last imagereflected on the little mirror of the retina? What if a face wasreflected there! What if it was still retained in the depths of thosewide-open eyes! That strange creature, Bernardet, half crazy, enthusedwith new ideas, with the mysteries which traverse chimerical brains,troubled him--Ginory, a man of statistics and of facts.
But truly those dead eyes seemed to appeal, to speak, to designate someone. What more eloquent, what more terrible witness could there be thanthe dead man himself, if it was possible for his eyes to speak; if thatorgan of life should contain, shut up within it, preserved, the secretof death? Bernardet, whose eyes never left the magistrate's face, oughtto have been content, for it plainly expressed doubt, a hesitation, andthe police officer heard him cursing under his breath.
"Folly! Stupidity! Bah! we shall see!"
Bernardet was filled with hope. M. Ginory, the Examining Magistrate,was, moreover, convinced that, for the present, and the sooner thebetter, the corpse should be sent to the Morgue. There, only, could athorough and scientific examination be made. The reporter listenedintently to the conversation, and Mme. Moniche clasped her hands, moreand more agonized by that word Morgue, which, among the people, producesthe same terror that that other word, which means, however, carefulattendance, scientific treatment and safety,--hospital, does.
Nothing was now to be done except to question some of the neighbors andto take a sketch of the salon. Bernardet said to the Magistrate: "Myphotograph will give you that!" While some one went out to get a hearse,the Magistrates went away, the police officer placed a guard in front ofthe house. The crowd was constantly increasing and becoming more andmore curious, violently excited and eager to see the spectacle--themurdered man borne from his home.
Bernardet did not allow M. Ginory to go away without asking respectfullyif he would be allowed to photograph the dead man's eye. Without givinghim a formal answer, M. Ginory simply told him to be present at theautopsy at the Morgue. Evidently if the Magistrate had not been alreadyfull of doubt his reply would have been different. Why did that inferiorofficer have the audacity to give his opinion on the subject ofconducting a judicial investigation? M. Ginory would long before thishave sent him about his business if he had not become suddenlyinterested in him. In his quality of Judge he had come to knowBernardet's history and his exploits in the service. No more capableman, in his line, could be found. He was perfectly and utterly devotedto his profession. Some strange tales were told of his methods. It washe who once passed an entire night on a bench, pretending intoxication,in order to gain sufficient information to enable him to arrest amurderer in the morning in a wretched hovel at La Vilette--a murdererarmed to the teeth. It was Bernardet who, without arms--as all thoseagents--caught the famous bandit, the noted Taureau de la Glaciere, aforeign Hercules, who had strangled his mistress. Bernardet arrested himby holding to his temple the cold neck of a bottle and saying, "Hands upor I fire!" Now what the bandit took for the cold muzzle of a pistol wasa vial containing some medicine which Bernardet had purchased of apharmacist for his liver.
Deeds of valor against thieves, malefactors and insurrectionistsabounded in Bernardet's life; and M. Ginory had just discovered in thisman, whom he believed simply endowed with the activity and keenness of ahunting dog, an intelligence singularly watchful, deep and complicated.Bernardet, who had nothing more to do until the body should be taken tothe Morgue, left the house directly after the Magistrates.
"Where are you going?" asked Paul Rodier, the reporter.
"Home. A few steps from here."
"May I go along with you?" asked the journalist.
"To find an occasion to make me speak? But I know nothing! I suspectnothing; I shall say nothing!"
"Do you believe that it is the work of a thief, or revenge?"
"I am certain that it was no thief. Nothing in the apartment wastouched. As for the rest, who knows?"
"M. Bernardet," laughingly said the reporter, as he walked along by theofficer's side, "you do not wish to speak."
"What good will that do?" Bernardet replied, also laughingly; "it willnot prevent you from publishing an interview."
"You think so. _Au revoir!_ I must hurry and make my copy. And you?"
"I? A photograph."
They separated, and Bernardet entered his house. His daughters hadgrieved over his sudden departure on Sunday on his fete day. They methim with joyous shouts when he appeared, and threw themselves upon him."Papa! Here is papa!"
Mme. Bernardet was also happy. They could go then to the garden andfinish the picture. But their joy subsided, night had fallen, andBernardet, preoccupied, wished to shut himself up so that he mightreflect on all that had happened, and perhaps to work a little, evento-day.
"It is thy fete day, Bernardet. Wilt thou not rest to-day?"
"I can rest at dinner, dear. Until then, I must use the time readingover a mass of evidence."
"Then thou wilt need a lamp?" asked Mme. Bernardet.
"Yes, my dear; light the lamp."
Next to their bedchamber M. Bernardet had fitted up a little room forhis private use. It was a tiny den, in which was a mahogany table loadedwith books and papers, and at which he worked when he had time, reading,annotating, copying from the papers, and collecting extracts for hoursat a time. No one was allowed to enter this room, filled with oldpapers. Mme. Bernardet well called it "a nest of microbes." Bernardetfound pleasure in this sporadic place, which in Summer was stifling. InWinter he worked without a fire.
Mme. Bernardet was unhappy as she saw that their holiday was spoiled.But she very well knew that when her husband was devoured withcuriosity, carried away by a desire to elucidate a puzzle, there wasnothing to be said. He listened to no remonstrances, and the daughtersknew that when they asked if their father was not coming to renew hisgames with them they were obliged to content themselves with the excusewhich they knew so well from having heard it so often: "Papa is studyingout a crime!"
Bernardet was anxious to read over his notes, the verification of hishopes, of those so-called certainties of to-day. That is why he wishedto be alone. As soon as he had closed the door he at once, from amongthe enormous piles of dust-laden books and files of old newspapers, withthe unerring instinct of the habitual searcher who rummages through bookstalls, drew forth a gray-covered pamphlet in which he had read, withfeverish astonishment, the experiments and report of Dr. Vernois uponthe application of photography in criminal researches. He quickly seatedhimself, and with trembling fingers eagerly turned over the leaves ofthe book so often read and studied, and came to the report of the memberof the Academy of Medicine; he compared it with the proof submitted byD
r. Bourion, of the Medical Society, in which it was stated that themost learned savants had seen nothing.
"Seen nothing, or wished to see nothing, perhaps!" he murmured.
The light fell upon the photograph which had been sent, a long timebefore, to the Society, and Bernardet set himself to study out the oldcrime with the most careful attention; with the passion of apaleographer deciphering a palimpsest. This poor devil of a policeofficer, in his ardent desire to solve the vexing problem, brought to itthe same ardor and the same faith as a bibliophile. He went over andover with the method of an Examining Magistrate all that old forgottenaffair, and in the solitude and silence of his little room the lastreflections of the setting sun falling on his papers and making pale thelight of his lamp, he set himself the task of solving, like amathematical problem, that question which he had studied, but which hewished to know from the very beginning, without any doubts, beforeseeing M. Ginory again at the Morgue, beside the body of M. Rovere. Hetook his pamphlet and read: "The photograph sent to the Society ofMedical Jurisprudence by Dr. Bourion taken upon the retina of the eye ofa woman who had been murdered the 14th of June, 1868, represents themoment when the assassin, after having struck the mother, kills theinfant, and the dog belonging to the house leaps toward the unfortunatelittle victim to save it."
Then studying, turn by turn, the photograph yellowed by time, and thearticle which described it, Bernardet satisfied himself, and learned thehistory by heart.
M. Gallard, General Secretary of the Society, after having carefullyhidden the back part of the photograph, had circulated it about amongthe members with this note: "Enigma of Medical Jurisprudence." And noone had solved the tragic enigma. Even when he had explained, no onecould see in the photograph what Dr. Bourion saw there. Some were ableon examining that strange picture to see in the black and white hazesome figures as singular and dissimilar as those which the amiablePolonius perceived in the clouds under the suggestion of Hamlet.
Dr. Vernois, appointed to write a report on Dr. Bourion's communication,asked him then how the operation had been conducted, and Dr. Bourion hadgiven him these details, which Bernardet was now reading and studying:The assassination had taken place on Sunday between noon and 4 o'clock;the extraction of the eyes from their orbits had not been made until thefollowing day at 6 o'clock in the evening.
The experiment on the eyes, those terribly accusing eyes of this deadman, could be made twenty-four hours earlier than that other experiment.The image--if there was any image--ought to be, in consequence, moreclearly defined than in Dr. Bourion's experiment.
"About 6 o'clock in the evening," thought Bernardet, "and thephotographic light was sufficient."
Dr. Bourion had taken pictures of both of the child's eyes as well asboth of the mother's eyes. The child's eyes showed nothing but hazyclouds. But the mother's eyes were different. Upon the left eye, next toa circular section back of the iris, a delicately marked image of adog's head appeared. On the same section of the right eye, anotherpicture; one could see the assassin raising his arm to strike and thedog leaping to protect his little charge.
"With much good will, it must be confessed," thought Bernardet, lookingagain and again at the photograph, "and with much imagination, too. Butit was between fifty and fifty-two hours after the murder that the proofwas taken, while this time it will be while the body is still warm thatthe experiment will be tried."
Seventeen times already had Dr. Vernois experimented on animals;sometimes just after he had strangled them, again when they had diedfrom Prussic acid. He had held in front of their eyes a simple objectwhich could be easily recognized. He had taken out the eyes and hurriedwith them to the photographer. He had, in order to better expose theretina to photographic action, made a sort of Maltese cross, by makingfour incisions on the edge of the sclerotic. He removed the vitreoushumor, fixed it on a piece of card with four pins and submitted theretina as quickly as possible to the camera.
In re-reading the learned man's report, Bernardet studied, pored over,carefully scrutinized the text, investigated the dozen proofs submittedto the Society of Medical Jurisprudence by Dr. Vernois:
Retina of a cat's eye killed by Prussic acid; Vernois had held theanimal in front of the bars of the cage in which it was confined. Noresult!
Retina of a strangled dog's eye. A watch was held in front of its eyes.No result!
Retina of a dog killed by a strangulation. A bunch of shining keys washeld in front of his eyes. No result!
Retina of the eye of a strangled dog. An eyeglass held in front of itseyes. Photograph made two hours after death. Nothing! In all Dr.Vernois's experiments--nothing! Nothing!
Bernardet repeated the word angrily. Still he kept on; he read pageafter page. But all this was twenty-six years ago--photography has madegreat strides since then. What wonderful results have been obtained! Theskeleton of the human body seen through the flesh! The instantaneousphotograph! The kinetoscopic views! Man's voice registered for eternityin the phonograph! The mysterious dragged forth into the light of day!Many hitherto unknown secrets become common property! The invisible,even the invisible, the occult, placed before our eyes, as a spectacle!
"One does not know all that may be done with a kodak," murmuredBernardet.
As he ascertained, in re-reading Dr. Vernois's report on "TheApplication of Photography to Medical Jurisprudence," the savanthimself, even while denying the results of which Dr. Bourion spoke inhis communication, devoted himself to the general consideration upon therole which photography ought to play in medical jurisprudence. Yes, in1869, he asked that in the researches on poisonous substances, where themicroscope alone had been used, photography should be applied. Headvocated what in our day is so common, the photographing of thefeatures of criminals, their deformities, their scars, their tattooings.He demanded that pictures should be taken of an accused person in manyways, without wigs and with them, with and without beards, in diversecostumes.
"These propositions," thought Bernardet, "seem hardly new; it istwenty-six years since they were discovered, and now they seem asnatural as that two and two make four. In twenty-six years from now, whoknows what science will have done?
"Vernois demanded that wounds be reproduced, their size, the instrumentswith which the crime was committed, the leaves of plants in certaincases of poisoning, the shape of the victim's garments, the prints oftheir hands and feet, the interior view of their rooms, the signatureof certain accused affected with nervous disorders, parts of bodies andof bones, and, in fact, everything in any way connected with the crime.It was said that he asked too much. Did he expect judges to makephotographs? To-day, everything that Vernois demanded in 1869, has beendone, and, in truth, the instantaneous photograph has almost supersededthe minutes of an investigation.
"We photograph a spurious bank note. It is magnified, and, by theabsence of a tiny dot the proof of the alteration is found. On accountof the lack of a dot the forger is detected. The savant, Helmholtz, wasthe discoverer of this method of detecting these faults. Two bank notes,one authentic, the other a forgery, were placed side by side in astereoscope of strong magnifying power, when the faults were at oncedetected. Helmholtz's experiment probably seemed fantastic to the forgercondemned by a stereoscope. Oh, well, to-day ought not a like experimenton the retina of a dead man's eye give a like result?
"Instruments have been highly perfected since the time when Dr. Bourionmade his experiments, and if the law of human physiology has not changedthe seekers of invisible causes must have rapidly advanced in theirmysterious pursuits. Who knows whether, at the instant of the lastagony, that the dying person does not put all the intensity of lifeinto the retina, giving a hundredfold power to that last supreme look?"
At this point of his reflections Bernardet experienced some hesitation.While he was not thoroughly acquainted with physiology and philosophy,yet he had seen so much, so many things; had known so many strangeoccurrences, and had studied many men. He knew--for he had closelyquestioned wretches who had been saved fr
om drowning at the very lastpossible moment, some of whom had attempted suicide, others who had beenalmost drowned through accident, and each one had told him that hiswhole life, from his earliest recollection, had flashed through his mindin the instant of mortal agony. Yes, a whole lifetime in one instant ofcerebral excitement!
Had savants been able to solve this wonderful mystery? The _resume_ ofan existence in one vibration! Was it possible? Yet--Bernardet stillused the word.
And why, in an analogous sensation, could not the look of a dying man beseized in an intensity lasting an instant, as memory brought in a singleflash so many diverse remembrances?
"I know, since it is the imagination, and that the dead cannot see,while the image on the retina is a fact, a fact contradicted by wisermen than I." Bernardet thought on these mysteries until his head beganto ache.
"I shall make myself ill over it," he thought. "And there is somethingto be done."
Then in his dusty little room, his brain overexcited, he became enthusedwith one idea. His surroundings fell away from him, he sawnothing--everything disappeared--the books, the papers, the walls, thevisible objects, as did also the objections, the denials, thedemonstrative impossibilities. And absolute conviction seized him to theexclusion of all extraneous surroundings. This conviction was absolute,instinctive, irresistible, powerful, filling him with entire faith.
"This unknown thing I will find. What is to be done I will do," hedeclared to himself.
He threw the pamphlet on the table, arose from his chair and descendedto the dining-room, where his wife and children were waiting for him. Herubbed his hands with glee, and his face looked joyous.
"Didst thou discover the trail?" Mme. Bernardet asked very simply, as aworking woman would ask her husband if he had had a good day. The eldestof the little girls rushed toward him.
"Papa, my dear little papa!"
"My darling!"
The child asked her father in a sweet voice: "Art thou satisfied withthy crime, papa?"
"We will not talk about that," Bernardet replied. "To table! Afterdinner I will develop the pictures which I have taken with my kodak, butlet us amuse ourselves now; it is my fete day; I wish to forget allabout business. Let us dine now and be as happy as possible."