An Officer and a Spy

‘Question: who forged it, and why? Answer: look again at the polysyllables repeated within the bordereau — manoeuvres, modifications. When you place one over the other, you find that the beginnings coincide while the ends do not. But shift the word that comes earliest a millimetre and a quarter to the right, and the ends coincide also. Gentlemen, the writing of Alfred Dreyfus supplied to me by the Ministry of War exhibits exactly the same peculiarities! And as for the differences between the culprit’s hand and the bordereau — the “o” and the double “s”, most obviously — imagine my astonishment when I found exactly these letter formulations in correspondence seized from the culprit’s wife and brother! Five millimetres reticulation, twelve point five centimetres gabarit and a millimetre and a quarter imbrication! Always you find it — always — always! Final conclusion: Dreyfus forged his own handwriting to avoid detection, by modifying it with formulations taken from his family!’

Dreyfus interrupted: ‘So the bordereau must have been written by me, both because it resembles my handwriting and because it doesn’t?’

‘Exactly!’

‘Then how can you ever be refuted?’

A good point. I had to suppress a smile. But although Bertillon may have seemed to Dreyfus and indeed to me an impostor, I could see he had impressed the judges. They were soldiers. They liked facts and diagrams and ruled squares and words like ‘reticulation’. One hundred million to one! Here was a statistic they could grasp.

At the lunchtime adjournment, du Paty approached me in the corridor. He was rubbing his hands. ‘I gather from several of the judges that Bertillon did well this morning. I do believe we have the scoundrel where we want him at last. What will you tell the minister?’

‘That Bertillon appears unhinged, and that I’m still not sure I would put the odds of a conviction at better than fifty-fifty.’

‘The minister told me of your pessimism. Of course it’s always easy to complain from the sidelines.’ Tucked beneath his arm he had a large manila envelope. He gave it to me. ‘This is from General Mercier for you.’

It wasn’t heavy. It felt as if it might contain perhaps a dozen sheets of paper. In the top right-hand corner was written in blue pencil a large letter ‘D’.

I said, ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

‘You are to give it to the president of the court before the end of the day, as discreetly as possible.’

‘What is it?’

‘You don’t need to know what it is. Just give it to him, Picquart, that’s all. And do try to be less defeatist.’

I took the envelope in with me to the afternoon session. I didn’t know where to put it. Under my seat? Beside it? In the end, I sat with it awkwardly on my lap as the defence called their character witnesses — a handful of officers, an industrialist, a physician, the Chief Rabbi of Paris in his Hebrew garb. Colonel Maurel, plainly feeling the effects of his piles, dealt with them briskly, especially the rabbi.

‘Your name?’

‘Dreyfuss-’

‘Dreyfus? You are a relative?’

‘No, a different family. We are Dreyfuss with two “s”s. I am the Chief Rabbi of Paris.’

‘Fascinating. What do you know about this case?’

‘Nothing. But I have known the family of the accused for a long time and I consider it to be an honest family. .’

Maurel fidgeted throughout his testimony. ‘Thank you. The witness may stand down. That concludes all the evidence in this case. Tomorrow we shall hear closing arguments. The court stands adjourned. Take the prisoner back to his cell.’

Dreyfus picked up his cap, stood, saluted, and was escorted out of the room. I waited until the judges began to file down from their platform, then approached Maurel. ‘Excuse me, Colonel,’ I said quietly, ‘I have something for you, from the Minister of War.’

Maurel glanced at me irritably. He was a small, hunched figure, his complexion greenish-grey. He said, ‘That’s right, Major, I’ve been expecting it.’ He slipped the envelope between his other papers and walked on without another word. As I turned to watch him go, I discovered Dreyfus’s attorney studying me. Demange frowned and pursed his lips, and for a moment I thought he was going to challenge me. I put my notebook away in my pocket, nodded at him, and walked straight past him.

When I recounted the episode to Mercier, he said, ‘I believe we did the right thing.’

‘In the end it will be for the judges to evaluate,’ I replied. ‘All you can do is to give them the full facts.’

‘I presume I don’t need to remind you that no one outside our small group should know about this.’ I half expected him to tell me what was in the file, but instead he picked up his pen and went back to his papers. His parting words were: ‘Be sure to inform General Boisdeffre I have done as we agreed.’