Chapter 19: The Prosecutor’s Dilemma: III
"Ah," Villefort said, "this sounds like the truth. If you’re guilty of anything, it was poor judgment, and that poor judgment came from following your captain’s orders. Give me the letter you brought from the island, promise me you’ll appear if summoned, and you can go back to your friends."
"I’m free then, sir?" Dantès cried joyfully.
"Yes, but first give me the letter."
"You already have it, it was taken from me along with some other papers I see in that packet."
"Wait a moment," Villefort said as Dantès reached for his hat and gloves. "Who is it addressed to?"
"To Monsieur Noirtier, Coq-Héron Street, Paris."
If lightning had struck the room, Villefort couldn’t have been more shocked. He collapsed into his chair and frantically searched through the packet until he found the fatal letter, staring at it with an expression of pure terror.
"Monsieur Noirtier, Coq-Héron Street, Number 13," he whispered, growing even paler.
"Yes," Dantès said. "Do you know him?"
"No," Villefort lied, his voice strained. "A loyal servant of the king doesn’t associate with conspirators."
"It’s a conspiracy then?" Dantès asked. After thinking he was free, terror was flooding back tenfold. "But I already told you, sir, I had no idea what was in the letter."
"Yes, but you knew the name of the person it was addressed to," Villefort accused.
"I had to read the address to know who to deliver it to."
"Have you shown this letter to anyone?" Villefort’s face was getting whiter by the second.
"To no one, I swear."
"So everyone is unaware that you’re carrying a letter from Napoleon’s island, addressed to Monsieur Noirtier?"
"Everyone except the person who gave it to me."
"That was too much, far too much," Villefort muttered. His expression grew darker and darker, his white lips and clenched teeth filling Dantès with dread. After reading the letter again, Villefort buried his face in his hands.
"Sir," Dantès said timidly, "what’s wrong?"
Villefort didn’t answer immediately. After a few seconds, he raised his head and read the letter yet again.
"And you claim you don’t know what’s in this letter?"
"I give you my word of honor, sir. But what’s the matter? You look ill, should I call for help?"
"No!" Villefort snapped, standing abruptly. "Stay where you are. I give the orders here, not you."
"Sir," Dantès replied with dignity, "I was only trying to get you help."
"I don’t need any. It was just a momentary weakness. Focus on yourself and answer my questions."
Dantès waited for a question, but none came. Villefort slumped back into his chair, wiped sweat from his forehead, and read the letter a third time.
’If he knows what’s in this letter,’ Villefort thought desperately, ’and that Noirtier is Villefort’s father, I’m ruined!’ He stared at Edmond as if trying to read his mind.
"It’s impossible to doubt it," he said suddenly.
"In heaven’s name!" the terrified young man cried, "if you doubt me, question me! I’ll answer anything!"
Villefort made a tremendous effort to control himself and spoke in a voice he tried to make firm:
"Sir, I’m no longer able to release you immediately as I had hoped. Before I can do that, I must consult with the chief judge. You already know my personal feelings about your case."
"Oh sir," Dantès exclaimed, "you’ve been more of a friend than a judge!"
"Well, I have to keep you longer, but I’ll try to make it as brief as possible. The main evidence against you is this letter, and you see-"
Villefort walked to the fireplace and threw the letter into the flames, waiting until it was completely burned.
"You see? I’m destroying it."
"Oh!" Dantès gasped. "You’re kindness itself!"
"Listen," Villefort continued, "now you can trust me after what I’ve just done."
"Just give me orders and I’ll obey them."
"This isn’t an order, it’s advice."
"Tell me, and I’ll follow your advice."
"I’m going to hold you until this evening in the courthouse. If anyone else questions you, tell them exactly what you told me, but don’t breathe a word about this letter."
"I promise."
It was Villefort who seemed to be begging, and the prisoner who was reassuring him.
"You see," Villefort continued, glancing toward the fireplace where fragments of burned paper still fluttered in the flames, "the letter is destroyed. Only you and I know it ever existed. If you’re questioned about it, deny all knowledge, deny it boldly, and you’ll be saved."
"Don’t worry, I’ll deny it."
"That was the only letter you had?"
"It was."
"Swear it."
"I swear it."
Villefort rang a bell. A police officer entered, and Villefort whispered instructions to him. The officer nodded in understanding.
"Follow him," Villefort told Dantès.
Dantès bowed respectfully to Villefort and left with the officer.
The moment the door closed, Villefort collapsed half-fainting into his chair.
"God help me," he whispered. "If the chief prosecutor had been in the city, I would have been ruined. That damned letter would have destroyed all my hopes. Father, must your past always interfere with my success?"
Suddenly, a calculating look crossed his face. A cold smile played around his lips, and his exhausted eyes focused with new purpose.
"Actually," he said slowly, "this could work. I can turn this letter that might have ruined me into the foundation of my fortune. Now, back to work."
After making sure the prisoner was gone, the deputy prosecutor hurried to his fiancée’s house, his mind already spinning with new possibilities.