The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ that is, that unless wicked ideas take root in a naturally depraved mind, human nature, in a right and wholesome state, revolts at crime. Still, from an artificial civilisation have originated wants, vices, and false tastes, which occasionally become so powerful as to stifle within us all good feelings, and ultimately to lead us into guilt and wickedness—from this view of things then comes the axiom I allude to—that if you wish to discover the author of any bad action, seek first to discover the person to whom the perpetration of that bad action could be in any way advantageous. Now, to apply it in your case:—to whom could your disappearance have been serviceable?”

      “To no breathing soul. Why, who could have cared about the removal of so insignificant a person as myself?”

      “Do not speak thus, for your reply evinces neither logic nor philosophy. Everything is relative, my dear young friend, from the king who obstructs his successor’s immediate possession of the throne, to the occupant of a place for which the supernumerary to whom it has been promised ardently longs. Now, in the event of the king’s death, his successor inherits a crown;—when the placeman dies, the supernumerary steps into his shoes, and receives his salary of twelve thousand livres. Well, these twelve thousand livres are his civil list, and are as essential to him as the twelve millions of a king. Every individual, from the highest to the lowest degree, has his place in the ladder of social life, and around him are grouped a little world of interests, composed of stormy passions and conflicting atoms; but let us return to your world. You say you were on the point of being appointed captain of the Pharaon?”

      “I was.”

      “And about to become the husband of a young and lovely girl?”

      “True.”

      “Now could any one have had an interest in preventing the accomplishment of these two circumstances? But let us first settle the question as to its being the interest of any one to hinder you from being captain of the Pharaon. What say you?”

      “I cannot believe such was the case. I was generally liked on board; and had the sailors possessed the right of selecting a captain themselves, I feel convinced their choice would have fallen on me. There was only one person among the crew who had any feeling of ill-will towards me. I had quarrelled with him some time previously, and had even challenged him to fight me; but he refused.”

      “Now we are getting on. And what was this man’s name?”

      “Danglars.”

      “What rank did he hold on board?”

      “He was supercargo.”

      “And, had you been captain, should you have retained him in his employment?”

      “Not if the choice had remained with me; for I had frequently observed inaccuracies in his accounts.”

      “Good again! Now then, tell me, was any person present during your last conversation with Captain Leclere?”

      “No; we were quite alone.”

      “Could your conversation be overheard by any one?”

      “It might, for the cabin-door was open;—and—stay; now I recollect,—Danglars himself passed by just as Captain Leclere was giving me the packet for the grand-maréchal.”

      “That will do,” cried the abbé; “now we are on the right scent. Did you take anybody with you when you put into the port of Elba?”

      “Nobody.”

      “Somebody there received your packet, and gave you a letter in place of it, I think?”

      “Yes, the grand-maréchal did.”

      “And what did you do with that letter?”

      “Put it into my pocket-book.”

      “Ah! indeed! You had your pocket-book with you, then? Now, how could a pocket-book, large enough to contain an official letter, find sufficient room in the pockets of a sailor?”

      “You are right: I had it not with me,—it was left on board.”

      “Then it was not till your return to the ship that you placed the letter in the pocket-book?”

      “No.”

      “And what did you do with this same letter while returning from Porto-Ferrajo to your vessel?”

      “I carried it in my hand.”

      “So that when you went on board the Pharaon, everybody could perceive you held a letter in your hand?”

      “To be sure they could.”

      “Danglars, as well as the rest?”

      “Yes; he as well as others.”

      “Now, listen to me, and try to recall every circumstance attending your arrest. Do you recollect the words in which the information against you was couched?”

      “Oh, yes! I read it over three times, and the words sunk deeply into my memory.”

      “Repeat it to me.”

      Dantès paused a few instants as though collecting his ideas, then said, “This is it, word for word:—‘M. le Procureur du Roi is informed by a friend to the throne and religion, that an individual, named Edmond Dantès, second in command on board the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been charged by Murat with a packet for the usurper; again, by the usurper, with a letter for the Bonapartist Club in Paris. This proof of his guilt may be procured by his immediate arrest, as the letter will be found either about his person, at his father’s residence, or in his cabin on board the Pharaon.’”

      The abbé shrugged up his shoulders. “The thing is clear as day,” said he; “and you must have had a very unsuspecting nature, as well as a good heart, not to have suspected the origin of the whole affair.”

      “Do you really think so? Ah, that would, indeed, be the treachery of a villain!”

      “How did Danglars usually write?”

      “Oh! extremely well.”

      “And how was the anonymous letter written?”

      “All the wrong way—backwards, you know.”

      Again the abbé smiled. “In fact it was a disguised hand?”

      “I don’t know; it was very boldly written, if disguised.”

      “Stop a bit,” said the abbé, taking up what he called his pen and, after dipping it into the ink, he wrote on a morsel of prepared linen, with his left hand, the first two or three words of the accusation. Dantès drew back, and gazed on the abbé with a sensation almost amounting to terror.

      “How very astonishing!” cried he, at length. “Why, your writing exactly resembles that of the accusation!”

      “Simply because that accusation had been written with the left hand; and I have always remarked one thing———”

      “What СКАЧАТЬ