The old justice of the peace took the lamp, and passed to the other side of the table.  His hand trembled so that the globe tingled.  The vacillating light cast gloomy shadows upon the walls.  The countess’s face had been carefully bathed, the blood and mud effaced.  The marks of the blows were thus more visible, but they still found upon that livid countenance, the traces of its beauty.  M. Lecoq stood at the head of the table, leaning over to see more clearly.

“The countess,” said Dr. Gendron, “received eighteen blows from a dagger.  Of these, but one is mortal; it is this one, the direction of which is nearly vertical—­a little below the shoulder, you see.”  He pointed out the wound, sustaining the body in his left arm.  The eyes had preserved a frightful expression.  It seemed as if the half-open mouth were about to cry “Help!  Help!”

Plantat, the man with a heart of stone, turned away his head, and the doctor, having mastered his first emotion, continued in a professionally apathetic tone: 

“The blade must have been an inch wide, and eight inches long.  All the other wounds—­those on the arms, breast, and shoulders, are comparatively slight.  They must have been inflicted at least two hours after that which caused death.”

“Good,” said M. Lecoq.

“Observe that I am not positive,” returned the doctor quickly.  “I merely state a probability.  The phenomena on which I base my own conviction are too fugitive, too capricious in their nature, to enable me to be absolutely certain.”

This seemed to disturb M. Lecoq.

“But, from the moment when—­”

“What I can affirm,” interrupted Dr. Gendron, “what I would affirm under oath, is, that all the wounds on the head, excepting one, were inflicted after death.  No doubt of that whatever—­none whatever.  Here, above the eye, is the blow given while the countess was alive.”

“It seems to me, Doctor,” observed M. Lecoq, “that we may conclude from the proved fact that the countess, after death, was struck by a flat implement, that she had also ceased to live when she was mutilated by the knife.”

M. Gendron reflected a moment.

“It is possible that you are right; as for me, I am persuaded of it.  Still the conclusions in my report will not be yours.  The physician consulted by the law, should only pronounce upon patent, demonstrated facts.  If he has a doubt, even the slightest, he should hold his tongue.  I will say more; if there is any uncertainty, my opinion is that the accused, and not the prosecution, should have the benefit of it.”

This was certainly not the detective’s opinion, but he was cautious not to say so.  He had followed Dr. Gendron with anxious attention, and the contraction of his face showed the travail of his mind.

“It seems to me now possible,” said he, “to determine how and where the countess was struck.”

The doctor had covered the body, and Plantat had replaced the lamp on the little table.  Both asked M. Lecoq to explain himself.