Jules Verne (34 page)

This idea had taken possession of Judge Jarriquez's brain at the end
of the first day. Suppressed frenzy consumed him, and kept him in a
perpetual heat. His whole house trembled; his servants, black or white,
dared not come near him. Fortunately he was a bachelor; had there been
a Madame Jarriquez she would have had a very uncomfortable time of
it. Never had a problem so taken possession of this oddity, and he had
thoroughly made up his mind to get at the solution, even if his head
exploded like an overheated boiler under the tension of its vapor.

It was perfectly clear to the mind of the worthy magistrate that the key
to the document was a number, composed of two or more ciphers, but what
this number was all investigation seemed powerless to discover.

This was the enterprise on which Jarriquez, in quite a fury, was
engaged, and during this 28th of August he brought all his faculties to
bear on it, and worked away almost superhumanly.

To arrive at the number by chance, he said, was to lose himself in
millions of combinations, which would absorb the life of a first-rate
calculator. But if he could in no respect reckon on chance, was it
impossible to proceed by reasoning? Decidedly not! And so it was "to
reason till he became unreasoning" that Judge Jarriquez gave himself up
after vainly seeking repose in a few hours of sleep. He who ventured
in upon him at this moment, after braving the formal defenses which
protected his solitude, would have found him, as on the day before,
in his study, before his desk, with the document under his eyes, the
thousands of letters of which seemed all jumbled together and flying
about his head.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "why did not the scoundrel who wrote this separate
the words in this paragraph? We might—we will try—but no! However, if
there is anything here about the murder and the robbery, two or three
words there must be in it—'arrayal,' 'diamond,' 'Tijuco,' 'Dacosta,'
and others; and in putting down their cryptological equivalents
the number could be arrived at. But there is nothing—not a single
break!—not one word by itself! One word of two hundred and seventy-six
letters! I hope the wretch may be blessed two hundred and seventy-six
times for complicating his system in this way! He ought to be hanged two
hundred and seventy-six times!"

And a violent thump with his fist on the document emphasized this
charitable wish.

"But," continued the magistrate, "if I cannot find one of the words in
the body of the document, I might at least try my hand at the beginning
and end of each paragraph. There may be a chance there that I ought not
to miss."

And impressed with this idea Judge Jarriquez successively tried if the
letters which commenced or finished the different paragraphs could be
made to correspond with those which formed the most important word,
which was sure to be found somewhre, that of
Dacosta
.

He could do nothing of the kind.

In fact, to take only the last paragraph with which he began, the
formula was:

P  =  D h  =  a
y  =  c f  =  o
s  =  s l  =  t
y  =  a

Now, at the very first letter Jarriquez was stopped in his calculations,
for the difference in alphabetical position between the
d
and the
p
gave him not one cipher, but two, namely, 12, and in this kind of
cryptograph only one letter can take the place of another.

It was the same for the seven last letters of the paragraph,
p s u v
j h d,
of which the series also commences with a
p,
and which in no
case could stand for the
d
in
Dacosta,
because these letters were in
like manner twelve spaces apart.

So it was not his name that figured here.

The same observation applies to the words
arrayal
and
Tijuco,
which
were successively tried, but whose construction did not correspond with
the cryptographic series.

After he had got so far, Judge Jarriquez, with his head nearly
splitting, arose and paced his office, went for fresh air to the
window, and gave utterance to a growl, at the noise of which a flock
of hummingbirds, murmuring among the foliage of a mimosa tree, betook
themselves to flight. Then he returned to the document.

He picked it up and turned it over and over.

"The humbug! the rascal!" he hissed; "it will end by driving me mad! But
steady! Be calm! Don't let our spirits go down! This is not the time!"

And then, having refreshed himself by giving his head a thorough
sluicing with cold water:

"Let us try another way," he said, "and as I cannot hit upon the number
from the arrangement of the letters, let us see what number the author
of the document would have chosen in confessing that he was the author
of the crime at Tijuco."

This was another method for the magistrate to enter upon, and maybe he
was right, for there was a certain amount of logic about it.

"And first let us try a date! Why should not the culprit have taken the
date of the year in which Dacosta, the innocent man he allowed to be
sentenced in his own place, was born? Was he likely to forget a number
which was so important to him? Then Joam Dacosta was born in 1804. Let
us see what 1804 will give us as a cryptographical number."

And Judge Jarriquez wrote the first letters of the paragraph, and
putting over them the number 1804 repeated thrice, he obtained

1804    1804    1804
phyj    slyd    dqfd

Then in counting up the spaces in alphabetical order, he obtained

s.yf    rdy.    cif.

And this was meaningless! And he wanted three letters which he had to
replace by points, because the ciphers, 8, 4, and 4, which command the
three letters,
h, d,
and
d,
do not give corresponding letters in
ascending the series.

"That is not it again!" exclaimed Jarriquez. "Let us try another
number."

And he asked himself, if instead of this first date the author of the
document had not rather selected the date of the year in which the crime
was committed.

This was in 1826.

And so proceeding as above, he obtained.

1826    1826    1826
phyj    slyd    dqfd

and that gave

o.vd    rdv.    cid.

the same meaningless series, the same absence of sense, as many letters
wanting as in the former instance, and for the same reason.

"Bother the number!" exclaimed the magistrate. "We must give it up
again. Let us have another one! Perhaps the rascal chose the number of
contos representing the amount of the booty!"

Now the value of the stolen diamonds was estimated at eight hundred and
thirty-four contos, or about 2,500,000 francs, and so the formula became

834    834    834    834
phy    jsl    ydd    qfd

and this gave a result as little gratifying as the others—

het    bph    pa.    ic.

"Confound the document and him who imagined it!" shouted Jarriquez,
throwing down the paper, which was wafted to the other side of the room.
"It would try the patience of a saint!"

But the short burst of anger passed away, and the magistrate, who had
no idea of being beaten, picked up the paper. What he had done with the
first letters of the different paragraphs he did with the last—and
to no purpose. Then he tried everything his excited imagination could
suggest.

He tried in succession the numbers which represented Dacosta's age,
which would have been known to the author of the crime, the date of his
arrest, the date of the sentence at the Villa Rica assizes, the date
fixed for the execution, etc., etc., even the number of victims at the
affray at Tijuco!

Nothing! All the time nothing!

Judge Jarriquez had worked himself into such a state of exasperation
that there really was some fear that his mental faculties would lose
their balance. He jumped about, and twisted about, and wrestled about as
if he really had got hold of his enemy's body. Then suddenly he cried,
"Now for chance! Heaven help me now, logic is powerless!"

His hand seized a bell-pull hanging near his table. The bell rang
furiously, and the magistrate strode up to the door, which he opened.
"Bobo!" he shouted.

A moment or two elapsed.

Bobo was a freed negro, who was the privileged servant of Jarriquez.
He did not appear; it was evident that Bobo was afraid to come into his
master's room.

Another ring at the bell; another call to Bobo, who, for his own safety,
pretended to be deaf on this occasion. And now a third ring at the bell,
which unhitched the crank and broke the cord.

This time Bobo came up. "What is it, sir?" asked Bobo, prudently waiting
on the threshold.

"Advance, without uttering a single word!" replied the judge, whose
flaming eyes made the negro quake again.

Bobo advanced.

"Bobo," said Jarriquez, "attend to what I say, and answer immediately;
do not even take time to think, or I—"

Bobo, with fixed eyes and open mouth, brought his feet together like a
soldier and stood at attention.

"Are you ready?" asked his master.

"I am."

"Now, then, tell me, without a moment's thought—you understand—the
first number than comes into your head."

"76223," answered Bobo, all in a breath. Bobo thought he would please
his master by giving him a pretty large one!

Judge Jarriquez had run to the table, and, pencil in hand, had made out
a formula with the number given by Bobo, and which Bobo had in this way
only given him at a venture.

It is obvious that it was most unlikely that a number such as 76223 was
the key of the document, and it produced no other result than to
bring to the lips of Jarriquez such a vigorous ejaculation that Bobo
disappeared like a shot!

THE MAGISTRATE, however, was not the only one who passed his time
unprofitably. Benito, Manoel, and Minha tried all they could together
to extract the secret from the document on which depended their father's
life and honor. On his part, Fragoso, aided by Lina, could not remain
quiet, but all their ingenuity had failed, and the number still escaped
them.

"Why don't you find it, Fragoso?" asked the young mulatto.

"I will find it," answered Fragoso.

And he did not find it!

Here we should say that Fragoso had an idea of a project of which he
had not even spoken to Lina, but which had taken full possession of his
mind. This was to go in search of the gang to which the ex-captain of
the woods had belonged, and to find out who was the probable author of
this cipher document, which was supposed to be the confession of the
culprit of Tijuco. The part of the Amazon where these people were
employed, the very place where Fragoso had met Torres a few years
before, was not very far from Manaos. He would only have to descend the
river for about fifty miles, to the mouth of the Madeira, a tributary
coming in on the right, and there he was almost sure to meet the head
of these
"capitaes do mato,"
to which Torres belonged. In two days, or
three days at the outside, Fragoso could get into communication with the
old comrades of the adventurer.

"Yes! I could do that," he repeated to himself; "but what would be the
good of it, supposing I succeeded? If we are sure that one of Torres'
companions has recently died, would that prove him to be the author of
this crime? Would that show that he gave Torres a document in which he
announced himself the author of this crime, and exonerated Joam Dacosta?
Would that give us the key of the document? No! Two men only knew the
cipher—the culprit and Torres! And these two men are no more!"

So reasoned Fragoso. It was evident that his enterprise would do no
good. But the thought of it was too much for him. An irresistible
influence impelled him to set out, although he was not even sure of
finding the band on the Madeira. In fact, it might be engaged in some
other part of the province, and to come up with it might require more
time than Fragoso had at his disposal! And what would be the result?

It is none the less true, however, that on the 29th of August, before
sunrise, Fragoso, without saying anything to anybody, secretly left the
jangada, arrived at Manaos, and embarked in one of the egariteas which
daily descend the Amazon.

And great was the astonishment when he was not seen on board, and did
not appear during the day. No one, not even Lina, could explain the
absence of so devoted a servant at such a crisis.

Some of them even asked, and not without reason, if the poor fellow,
rendered desperate at having, when he met him on the frontier,
personally contributed to bringing Torres on board the raft, had not
made away with himself.

But if Fragoso could so reproach himself, how about Benito? In the first
place at Iquitos he had invited Torres to visit the fazenda; in the
second place he had brought him on board the jangada, to become
a passenger on it; and in the third place, in killing him, he had
annihilated the only witness whose evidence could save the condemned
man.

And so Benito considered himself responsible for everything—the
arrest of his father, and the terrible events of which it had been the
consequence.

In fact, had Torres been alive, Benito could not tell but that, in
some way or another, from pity or for reward, he would have finished
by handing over the document. Would not Torres, whom nothing could
compromise, have been persuaded to speak, had money been brought to bear
upon him? Would not the long-sought-for proof have been furnished to the
judge? Yes, undoubtedly! And the only man who could have furnished this
evidence had been killed through Benito!

Such was what the wretched man continually repeated to his mother, to
Manoel, and to himself. Such were the cruel responsibilities which his
conscience laid to his charge.