An Officer and a Spy

The next morning, once I am standing at the front of the court, Labori says, ‘Yesterday General de Pellieux declared that Major Esterhazy couldn’t have obtained the documents listed in the bordereau. What do you say in answer to that?’

I begin cautiously: ‘Some things I shall say perhaps will contradict what General de Pellieux has said, but I believe it my duty to state what I think. The central point is that the documents listed in the bordereau are much less important than people have been led to believe.’

Once again I am careful to speak forensically. I point out that five sets of data were supposedly handed over with the bordereau. Yet four of them were not actual documents at all but simply ‘notes’, which required no inside knowledge of the General Staff: notes on the hydraulic brake of the 120 millimetre cannon, on covering troops, on changes to artillery formations, and on the invasion of Madagascar. ‘Well, why only notes? Surely anyone who had anything serious to offer and not simply what he had picked up in conversation or seen in passing would have said, “I send you a copy of such and such a document.” Now, there was a copy handed over: the fifth document — the firing manual — and surely it’s not a coincidence that we know Major Esterhazy was able to get access to that, and indeed arranged to have it transcribed. But here again the author speaks of having it for only a limited amount of time, whereas an officer on the General Staff, such as Dreyfus, would have had unlimited access.’

There is a large ornate clock to my right. I can hear it ticking in the silence of the court whenever I pause between my points, such is the intensity with which my audience is concentrating. And from time to time, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the doubts beginning to creep across the faces not just of the jurors but even of some of the General Staff officers. Pellieux, less confident now, keeps rising to interrupt me, venturing further and further out on to thin ice, until he makes a significant mistake. I am in the process of pointing out that the concluding phrase of the bordereau — ‘I am leaving on manoeuvres’ — also indicates that its author was not working in the Ministry of War, because the General Staff’s manoeuvres are in the autumn and the bordereau was supposedly written in April, when Pellieux comes forward again.

‘But the bordereau wasn’t written in April.’

Before I can answer, Labori is on him in a flash. ‘Yes it was — or at least so it has always been said by the ministry.’

‘Not at all,’ insists Pellieux, although there is a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. ‘I appeal to General Gonse.’

Gonse comes forward and says, ‘General Pellieux is correct: the bordereau must have been written around the month of August, since it contains a reference to a note on the invasion of Madagascar.’

Now Labori pounces on Gonse. ‘So when exactly was the note on Madagascar drawn up by the General Staff?’

‘In August.’

‘Wait.’ Labori searches through his bundle of documents and pulls out a sheet of paper. ‘But in the original indictment of Captain Dreyfus, which was read out at his trial, it is alleged that he copied the Madagascar note in February, when he was in the relevant department. I quote: “Captain Dreyfus could easily have procured it then.” How do you reconcile those two dates?’

Gonse’s mouth flaps open in dismay. He looks at Pellieux. ‘Well, the note was written in August. I don’t actually know if there was a note in February. .’

‘Ah, now, gentlemen!’ mocks Labori. ‘You see how important it is to be exact?’

It is such a trivial discrepancy, and yet one can feel the change of mood inside the courtroom like a drop in barometric pressure. Some people start to laugh, and Pellieux’s face turns rigid and flushes with anger. He is a vain man, a proud man, and he has been made to look a fool. Worse, the whole of the government’s case seems suddenly fragile. It has never been tested properly by an advocate of Labori’s quality: under pressure it is starting to appear as fragile as matchwood.

Pellieux requests a brief recess. He stalks back to his seat. Quickly the officers of the General Staff, including Gonse and Henry, form a huddle around him. I can see his finger jabbing. Labori sees it too. He frowns at me, spreads his hands and mouths, ‘What is this?’ But all I can offer is a shrug: I have no idea what they are discussing.

Five minutes later, Pellieux marches back to the front of the court and indicates that he wishes to say something.