[Illustration: The girl gasped as Renine (Arsene Lupin) drew forth themysterious telescope. ]

 THE EIGHT STROKES OF THE CLOCK

 BY

 MAURICE LE BLANC

AUTHOR'S NOTE

These adventures were told to me in the old days by Arsène Lupin, asthough they had happened to a friend of his, named Prince Rénine. As forme, considering the way in which they were conducted, the actions, thebehaviour and the very character of the hero, I find it very difficult notto identify the two friends as one and the same person. Arsène Lupin isgifted with a powerful imagination and is quite capable of attributing tohimself adventures which are not his at all and of disowning those whichare really his. The reader will judge for himself. 

M. L. 

CONTENTS

I ON THE TOP OF THE TOWER

II THE WATER BOTTLE

III THE CASE OF JEAN LOUIS

IV THE TELL-TALE FILM

V THÉRÈSE AND GERMAINE

VI THE LADY WITH THE HATCHET

VII FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

VIII AT THE SIGN OF MERCURY

I

ON THE TOP OF THE TOWER

Hortense Daniel pushed her window ajar and whispered:

"Are you there, Rossigny?"

"I am here, " replied a voice from the shrubbery at the front of the house. 

Leaning forward, she saw a rather fat man looking up at her out of a grossred face with its cheeks and chin set in unpleasantly fair whiskers. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Well, I had a great argument with my uncle and aunt last night. Theyabsolutely refuse to sign the document of which my lawyer sent them thedraft, or to restore the dowry squandered by my husband. "

"But your uncle is responsible by the terms of the marriage-settlement. "

"No matter. He refuses. "

"Well, what do you propose to do?"

"Are you still determined to run away with me?" she asked, with a laugh. 

"More so than ever. "

"Your intentions are strictly honourable, remember!"

"Just as you please. You know that I am madly in love with you. "

"Unfortunately I am not madly in love with you!"

"Then what made you choose me?"

"Chance. I was bored. I was growing tired of my humdrum existence. So I'mready to run risks. .. . Here's my luggage: catch!"

She let down from the window a couple of large leather kit-bags. Rossignycaught them in his arms. 

"The die is cast, " she whispered. "Go and wait for me with your car at theIf cross-roads. I shall come on horseback. "

"Hang it, I can't run off with your horse!"

"He will go home by himself. "

"Capital!. .. Oh, by the way. .. . "

"What is it?"

"Who is this Prince Rénine, who's been here the last three days and whomnobody seems to know?"

"I don't know much about him. My uncle met him at a friend's shoot andasked him here to stay. "

"You seem to have made a great impression on him. You went for a long ridewith him yesterday. He's a man I don't care for. "

"In two hours I shall have left the house in your company. The scandal willcool him off. .. . Well, we've talked long enough. We have no time to lose. "

For a few minutes she stood watching the fat man bending under the weightof her traps as he moved away in the shelter of an empty avenue. Then sheclosed the window. 

Outside, in the park, the huntsmen's horns were sounding the reveille. Thehounds burst into frantic baying. It was the opening day of the hunt thatmorning at the Château de la Marèze, where, every year, in the first weekin September, the Comte d'Aigleroche, a mighty hunter before the Lord, and his countess were accustomed to invite a few personal friends and theneighbouring landowners. 

Hortense slowly finished dressing, put on a riding-habit, whichrevealed the lines of her supple figure, and a wide-brimmed felt hat, which encircled her lovely face and auburn hair, and sat down to herwriting-desk, at which she wrote to her uncle, M. D'Aigleroche, a farewellletter to be delivered to him that evening. It was a difficult letter toword; and, after beginning it several times, she ended by giving up theidea. 

"I will write to him later, " she said to herself, "when his anger hascooled down. "

And she went downstairs to the dining-room. 

Enormous logs were blazing in the hearth of the lofty room. The walls werehung with trophies of rifles and shotguns. The guests were flocking in fromevery side, shaking hands with the Comte d'Aigleroche, one of those typicalcountry squires, heavily and powerfully built, who lives only for huntingand shooting. He was standing before the fire, with a large glass of oldbrandy in his hand, drinking the health of each new arrival. 

Hortense kissed him absently:

"What, uncle! You who are usually so sober!"

"Pooh!" he said. "A man may surely indulge himself a little once ayear!. .. "

"Aunt will give you a scolding!"

"Your aunt has one of her sick headaches and is not coming down. Besides, "he added, gruffly, "it is not her business . .. And still less is it yours, my dear child. "

Prince Rénine came up to Hortense. He was a young man, very smartlydressed, with a narrow and rather pale face, whose eyes held by turnsthe gentlest and the harshest, the most friendly and the most satiricalexpression. He bowed to her, kissed her hand and said:

"May I remind you of your kind promise, dear madame?"

"My promise?"

"Yes, we agreed that we should repeat our delightful excursion of yesterdayand try to go over that old boarded-up place the look of which made us socurious. It seems to be known as the Domaine de Halingre. "

She answered a little curtly:

"I'm extremely sorry, monsieur, but it would be rather far and I'm feelinga little done up. I shall go for a canter in the park and come indoorsagain. "

There was a pause. Then Serge Rénine said, smiling, with his eyes fixed onhers and in a voice which she alone could hear:

"I am sure that you'll keep your promise and that you'll let me come withyou. It would be better. "

"For whom? For you, you mean?"

"For you, too, I assure you. "

She coloured slightly, but did not reply, shook hands with a few peoplearound her and left the room. 

A groom was holding the horse at the foot of the steps. She mounted and setoff towards the woods beyond the park. 

It was a cool, still morning. Through the leaves, which barely quivered, the sky showed crystalline blue. Hortense rode at a walk down windingavenues which in half an hour brought her to a country-side of ravines andbluffs intersected by the high-road. 

She stopped. There was not a sound. Rossigny must have stopped his engineand concealed the car in the thickets around the If cross-roads. 

She was five hundred yards at most from that circular space. Afterhesitating for a few seconds, she dismounted, tied her horse carelessly, sothat he could release himself by the least effort and return to the house, shrouded her face in the long brown veil that hung over her shoulders andwalked on. 

As she expected, she saw Rossigny directly she reached the first turn inthe road. He ran up to her and drew her into the coppice!

"Quick, quick! Oh, I was so afraid that you would be late . .. Or evenchange your mind! And here you are! It seems too good to be true!"

She smiled:

"You appear to be quite happy to do an idiotic thing!"

"I should think I _am_ happy! And so will you be, I swear you will!Your life will be one long fairy-tale. You shall have every luxury, and allthe money you can wish for. "

"I want neither money nor luxuries. "

"What then?"

"Happiness. "

"You can safely leave your happiness to me. "

She replied, jestingly:

"I rather doubt the quality of the happiness which you would give me. "

"Wait! You'll see! You'll see!"

They had reached the motor. Rossigny, still stammering expressions ofdelight, started the engine. Hortense stepped in and wrapped herself in awide cloak. The car followed the narrow, grassy path which led back to thecross-roads and Rossigny was accelerating the speed, when he was suddenlyforced to pull up. A shot had rung out from the neighbouring wood, on theright. The car was swerving from side to side. 

"A front tire burst, " shouted Rossigny, leaping to the ground. 

"Not a bit of it!" cried Hortense. "Somebody fired!"

"Impossible, my dear! Don't be so absurd!"

At that moment, two slight shocks were felt and two more reports wereheard, one after the other, some way off and still in the wood. 

Rossigny snarled:

"The back tires burst now . .. Both of them. .. . But who, in the devil'sname, can the ruffian be?. .. Just let me get hold of him, that's all!. .. "

He clambered up the road-side slope. There was no one there. Moreover, theleaves of the coppice blocked the view. 

"Damn it! Damn it!" he swore. "You were right: somebody was firing at thecar! Oh, this is a bit thick! We shall be held up for hours! Three tires tomend!. .. But what are you doing, dear girl?"

Hortense herself had alighted from the car. She ran to him, greatlyexcited:

"I'm going. "

"But why?"

"I want to know. Some one fired. I want to know who it was. "

"Don't let us separate, please!"

"Do you think I'm going to wait here for you for hours?"

"What about your running away?. .. All our plans . .. ?"

"We'll discuss that to-morrow. Go back to the house. Take back my thingswith you. .. . And good-bye for the present. "

She hurried, left him, had the good luck to find her horse and set off at agallop in a direction leading away from La Marèze. 

There was not the least doubt in her mind that the three shots had beenfired by Prince Rénine. 

"It was he, " she muttered, angrily, "it was he. No one else would becapable of such behaviour. "

Besides, he had warned her, in his smiling, masterful way, that he wouldexpect her. 

She was weeping with rage and humiliation. At that moment, had she foundherself face to face with Prince Rénine, she could have struck him with herriding-whip. 

Before her was the rugged and picturesque stretch of country which liesbetween the Orne and the Sarthe, above Alençon, and which is known asLittle Switzerland. Steep hills compelled her frequently to moderate herpace, the more so as she had to cover some six miles before reaching herdestination. But, though the speed at which she rode became less headlong, though her physical effort gradually slackened, she nevertheless persistedin her indignation against Prince Rénine. She bore him a grudge not onlyfor the unspeakable action of which he had been guilty, but also for hisbehaviour to her during the last three days, his persistent attentions, hisassurance, his air of excessive politeness. 

She was nearly there. In the bottom of a valley, an old park-wall, fullof cracks and covered with moss and weeds, revealed the ball-turret of achâteau and a few windows with closed shutters. This was the Domaine deHalingre. 

She followed the wall and turned a corner. In the middle of thecrescent-shaped space before which lay the entrance-gates, Serge Réninestood waiting beside his horse. 

She sprang to the ground, and, as he stepped forward, hat in hand, thankingher for coming, she cried:

"One word, monsieur, to begin with. Something quite inexplicable happenedjust now. Three shots were fired at a motor-car in which I was sitting. Didyou fire those shots?"

"Yes. "

She seemed dumbfounded:

"Then you confess it?"

"You have asked a question, madame, and I have answered it. "

"But how dared you? What gave you the right?"

"I was not exercising a right, madame; I was performing a duty!"

"Indeed! And what duty, pray?"

"The duty of protecting you against a man who is trying to profit by yourtroubles. "

"I forbid you to speak like that. I am responsible for my own actions, andI decided upon them in perfect liberty. "

"Madame, I overheard your conversation with M. Rossigny this morning and itdid not appear to me that you were accompanying him with a light heart. Iadmit the ruthlessness and bad taste of my interference and I apologise forit humbly; but I risked being taken for a ruffian in order to give you afew hours for reflection. "

"I have reflected fully, monsieur. When I have once made up my mind to athing, I do not change it. "

"Yes, madame, you do, sometimes. If not, why are you here instead ofthere?"

Hortense was confused for a moment. All her anger had subsided. She lookedat Rénine with the surprise which one experiences when confronted withcertain persons who are unlike their fellows, more capable of performingunusual actions, more generous and disinterested. She realised perfectlythat he was acting without any ulterior motive or calculation, that he was, as he had said, merely fulfilling his duty as a gentleman to a woman whohas taken the wrong turning. 

Speaking very gently, he said:

"I know very little about you, madame, but enough to make me wish to be ofuse to you. You are twenty-six years old and have lost both your parents. Seven years ago, you became the wife of the Comte d'Aigleroche's nephew bymarriage, who proved to be of unsound mind, half insane indeed, and hadto be confined. This made it impossible for you to obtain a divorce andcompelled you, since your dowry had been squandered, to live with youruncle and at his expense. It's a depressing environment. The count andcountess do not agree. Years ago, the count was deserted by his first wife, who ran away with the countess' first husband. The abandoned husband andwife decided out of spite to unite their fortunes, but found nothing butdisappointment and ill-will in this second marriage. And you suffer theconsequences. They lead a monotonous, narrow, lonely life for eleven monthsor more out of the year. One day, you met M. Rossigny, who fell in lovewith you and suggested an elopement. You did not care for him. But you werebored, your youth was being wasted, you longed for the unexpected, foradventure . .. In a word, you accepted with the very definite intention ofkeeping your admirer at arm's length, but also with the rather ingenuoushope that the scandal would force your uncle's hand and make him accountfor his trusteeship and assure you of an independent existence. That is howyou stand. At present you have to choose between placing yourself in M. Rossigny's hands . .. Or trusting yourself to me. "

She raised her eyes to his. What did he mean? What was the purport of thisoffer which he made so seriously, like a friend who asks nothing but toprove his devotion?

After a moment's silence, he took the two horses by the bridle and tiedthem up. Then he examined the heavy gates, each of which was strengthenedby two planks nailed cross-wise. An electoral poster, dated twenty yearsearlier, showed that no one had entered the domain since that time. 

Rénine tore up one of the iron posts which supported a railing that ranround the crescent and used it as a lever. The rotten planks gave way. Oneof them uncovered the lock, which he attacked with a big knife, containinga number of blades and implements. A minute later, the gate opened on awaste of bracken which led up to a long, dilapidated building, with aturret at each corner and a sort of a belvedere, built on a taller tower, in the middle. 

The Prince turned to Hortense:

"You are in no hurry, " he said. "You will form your decision this evening;and, if M. Rossigny succeeds in persuading you for the second time, I giveyou my word of honour that I shall not cross your path. Until then, grantme the privilege of your company. We made up our minds yesterday to inspectthe château. Let us do so. Will you? It is as good a way as any of passingthe time and I have a notion that it will not be uninteresting. "

He had a way of talking which compelled obedience. He seemed to becommanding and entreating at the same time. Hortense did not even seekto shake off the enervation into which her will was slowly sinking. Shefollowed him to a half-demolished flight of steps at the top of which wasa door likewise strengthened by planks nailed in the form of a cross. 

Rénine went to work in the same way as before. They entered a spacioushall paved with white and black flagstones, furnished with old sideboardsand choir-stalls and adorned with a carved escutcheon which displayed theremains of armorial bearings, representing an eagle standing on a block ofstone, all half-hidden behind a veil of cobwebs which hung down over a pairof folding-doors. 

"The door of the drawing-room, evidently, " said Rénine. 

He found this more difficult to open; and it was only by repeatedlycharging it with his shoulder that he was able to move one of the doors. 

Hortense had not spoken a word. She watched not without surprise thisseries of forcible entries, which were accomplished with a really masterlyskill. He guessed her thoughts and, turning round, said in a serious voice:

"It's child's-play to me. I was a locksmith once. "

She seized his arm and whispered:

"Listen!"

"To what?" he asked. 

She increased the pressure of her hand, to demand silence. The next moment, he murmured:

"It's really very strange. "

"Listen, listen!" Hortense repeated, in bewilderment. "Can it be possible?"

They heard, not far from where they were standing, a sharp sound, the soundof a light tap recurring at regular intervals; and they had only to listenattentively to recognise the ticking of a clock. Yes, it was this andnothing else that broke the profound silence of the dark room; it wasindeed the deliberate ticking, rhythmical as the beat of a metronome, produced by a heavy brass pendulum. That was it! And nothing could be moreimpressive than the measured pulsation of this trivial mechanism, which bysome miracle, some inexplicable phenomenon, had continued to live in theheart of the dead château. 

"And yet, " stammered Hortense, without daring to raise her voice, "no onehas entered the house?"

"No one. "

"And it is quite impossible for that clock to have kept going for twentyyears without being wound up?"

"Quite impossible. "

"Then . .. ?"

Serge Rénine opened the three windows and threw back the shutters. 

He and Hortense were in a drawing-room, as he had thought; and the roomshowed not the least sign of disorder. The chairs were in their places. Nota piece of furniture was missing. The people who had lived there and whohad made it the most individual room in their house had gone away leavingeverything just as it was, the books which they used to read, theknick-knacks on the tables and consoles. 

Rénine examined the old grandfather's clock, contained in its tall carvedcase which showed the disk of the pendulum through an oval pane of glass. He opened the door of the clock. The weights hanging from the cords were attheir lowest point. 

At that moment there was a click. The clock struck eight with a seriousnote which Hortense was never to forget. 

"How extraordinary!" she said. 

"Extraordinary indeed, " said he, "for the works are exceedingly simple andwould hardly keep going for a week. "

"And do you see nothing out of the common?"

"No, nothing . .. Or, at least. .. . "

He stooped and, from the back of the case, drew a metal tube which wasconcealed by the weights. Holding it up to the light:

"A telescope, " he said, thoughtfully. "Why did they hide it?. .. And theyleft it drawn out to its full length. .. . That's odd. .. . What does it mean?"

The clock, as is sometimes usual, began to strike a second time, soundingeight strokes. Rénine closed the case and continued his inspection withoutputting his telescope down. A wide arch led from the drawing-room to asmaller apartment, a sort of smoking-room. This also was furnished, butcontained a glass case for guns of which the rack was empty. Hanging ona panel near by was a calendar with the date of the 5th of September. 

"Oh, " cried Hortense, in astonishment, "the same date as to-day!. .. Theytore off the leaves until the 5th of September. .. . And this is theanniversary! What an astonishing coincidence!"

"Astonishing, " he echoed. "It's the anniversary of their departure . .. Twenty years ago to-day. "

"You must admit, " she said, "that all this is incomprehensible. 

"Yes, of course . .. But, all the same . .. Perhaps not. "

"Have you any idea?"

He waited a few seconds before replying:

"What puzzles me is this telescope hidden, dropped in that corner, atthe last moment. I wonder what it was used for. .. . From the ground-floorwindows you see nothing but the trees in the garden . .. And the same, Iexpect, from all the windows. .. . We are in a valley, without the least openhorizon. .. . To use the telescope, one would have to go up to the top of thehouse. .. . Shall we go up?"

She did not hesitate. The mystery surrounding the whole adventure excitedher curiosity so keenly that she could think of nothing but accompanyingRénine and assisting him in his investigations. 

They went upstairs accordingly, and, on the second floor, came to a landingwhere they found the spiral staircase leading to the belvedere. 

At the top of this was a platform in the open air, but surrounded by aparapet over six feet high. 

"There must have been battlements which have been filled in since, "observed Prince Rénine. "Look here, there were loop-holes at one time. Theymay have been blocked. "

"In any case, " she said, "the telescope was of no use up here either and wemay as well go down again. "

"I don't agree, " he said. "Logic tells us that there must have been somegap through which the country could be seen and this was the spot where thetelescope was used. "

He hoisted himself by his wrists to the top of the parapet and then sawthat this point of vantage commanded the whole of the valley, including thepark, with its tall trees marking the horizon; and, beyond, a depressionin a wood surmounting a hill, at a distance of some seven or eight hundredyards, stood another tower, squat and in ruins, covered with ivy from topto bottom. 

Rénine resumed his inspection. He seemed to consider that the key to theproblem lay in the use to which the telescope was put and that the problemwould be solved if only they could discover this use. 

He studied the loop-holes one after the other. One of them, or rather theplace which it had occupied, attracted his attention above the rest. Inthe middle of the layer of plaster, which had served to block it, therewas a hollow filled with earth in which plants had grown. He pulled outthe plants and removed the earth, thus clearing the mouth of a hole somefive inches in diameter, which completely penetrated the wall. On bendingforward, Rénine perceived that this deep and narrow opening inevitablycarried the eye, above the dense tops of the trees and through thedepression in the hill, to the ivy-clad tower. 

At the bottom of this channel, in a sort of groove which ran through itlike a gutter, the telescope fitted so exactly that it was quite impossibleto shift it, however little, either to the right or to the left. 

Rénine, after wiping the outside of the lenses, while taking care not todisturb the lie of the instrument by a hair's breadth, put his eye to thesmall end. 

He remained for thirty or forty seconds, gazing attentively and silently. Then he drew himself up and said, in a husky voice:

"It's terrible . .. It's really terrible. "

"What is?" she asked, anxiously. 

"Look. "

She bent down but the image was not clear to her and the telescope had tobe focussed to suit her sight. The next moment she shuddered and said:

"It's two scarecrows, isn't it, both stuck up on the top? But why?"

"Look again, " he said. "Look more carefully under the hats . .. Thefaces. .. . "

"Oh!" she cried, turning faint with horror, "how awful!"

The field of the telescope, like the circular picture shown by a magiclantern, presented this spectacle: the platform of a broken tower, thewalls of which were higher in the more distant part and formed as it werea back-drop, over which surged waves of ivy. In front, amid a cluster ofbushes, were two human beings, a man and a woman, leaning back against aheap of fallen stones. 

But the words man and woman could hardly be applied to these two forms, these two sinister puppets, which, it is true, wore clothes and hats--orrather shreds of clothes and remnants of hats--but had lost their eyes, their cheeks, their chins, every particle of flesh, until they wereactually and positively nothing more than two skeletons. 

"Two skeletons, " stammered Hortense. "Two skeletons with clothes on. Whocarried them up there?"

"Nobody. "

"But still. .. . "

"That man and that woman must have died at the top of the tower, years andyears ago . .. And their flesh rotted under their clothes and the ravens atethem. "

"But it's hideous, hideous!" cried Hortense, pale as death, her face drawnwith horror. 

 * * * * *

Half an hour later, Hortense Daniel and Rénine left the Château deHalingre. Before their departure, they had gone as far as the ivy-growntower, the remains of an old donjon-keep more than half demolished. Theinside was empty. There seemed to have been a way of climbing to the top, at a comparatively recent period, by means of wooden stairs and ladderswhich now lay broken and scattered over the ground. The tower backedagainst the wall which marked the end of the park. 

A curious fact, which surprised Hortense, was that Prince Rénine hadneglected to pursue a more minute enquiry, as though the matter had lostall interest for him. He did not even speak of it any longer; and, in theinn at which they stopped and took a light meal in the nearest village, itwas she who asked the landlord about the abandoned château. But she learntnothing from him, for the man was new to the district and could give her noparticulars. He did not even know the name of the owner. 

They turned their horses' heads towards La Marèze. Again and again Hortenserecalled the squalid sight which had met their eyes. But Rénine, who wasin a lively mood and full of attentions to his companion, seemed utterlyindifferent to those questions. 

"But, after all, " she exclaimed, impatiently, "we can't leave the matterthere! It calls for a solution. "

"As you say, " he replied, "a solution is called for. M. Rossigny has toknow where he stands and you have to decide what to do about him. "

She shrugged her shoulders: "He's of no importance for the moment. Thething to-day. .. . "

"Is what?"

"Is to know what those two dead bodies are. "

"Still, Rossigny. .. . "

"Rossigny can wait. But I can't. You have shown me a mystery which is nowthe only thing that matters. What do you intend to do?"

"To do?"

"Yes. There are two bodies. .. . You'll inform the police, I suppose. "

"Gracious goodness!" he exclaimed, laughing. "What for?"

"Well, there's a riddle that has to be cleared up at all costs, a terribletragedy. "

"We don't need any one to do that. "

"What! Do you mean to say that you understand it?"

"Almost as plainly as though I had read it in a book, told in full detail, with explanatory illustrations. It's all so simple!"

She looked at him askance, wondering if he was making fun of her. But heseemed quite serious. 

"Well?" she asked, quivering with curiosity. 

The light was beginning to wane. They had trotted at a good pace; and thehunt was returning as they neared La Marèze. 

"Well, " he said, "we shall get the rest of our information from peopleliving round about . .. From your uncle, for instance; and you will see howlogically all the facts fit in. When you hold the first link of a chain, you are bound, whether you like it or not, to reach the last. It's thegreatest fun in the world. "

Once in the house, they separated. On going to her room, Hortense found herluggage and a furious letter from Rossigny in which he bade her good-byeand announced his departure. 

Then Rénine knocked at her door:

"Your uncle is in the library, " he said. "Will you go down with me? I'vesent word that I am coming. "

She went with him. He added:

"One word more. This morning, when I thwarted your plans and begged you totrust me, I naturally undertook an obligation towards you which I mean tofulfill without delay. I want to give you a positive proof of this. "

She laughed:

"The only obligation which you took upon yourself was to satisfy mycuriosity. "

"It shall be satisfied, " he assured her, gravely, "and more fully than youcan possibly imagine. "

M. D'Aigleroche was alone. He was smoking his pipe and drinking sherry. Heoffered a glass to Rénine, who refused. 

"Well, Hortense!" he said, in a rather thick voice. "You know that it'spretty dull here, except in these September days. You must make the mostof them. Have you had a pleasant ride with Rénine?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk about, my dear sir, " interrupted theprince. 

"You must excuse me, but I have to go to the station in ten minutes, tomeet a friend of my wife's. "

"Oh, ten minutes will be ample!"

"Just the time to smoke a cigarette?"

"No longer. "

He took a cigarette from the case which M. D'Aigleroche handed to him, litit and said:

"I must tell you that our ride happened to take us to an old domain whichyou are sure to know, the Domaine de Halingre. "

"Certainly I know it. But it has been closed, boarded up for twenty-fiveyears or so. You weren't able to get in, I suppose?"

"Yes, we were. "

"Really? Was it interesting?"

"Extremely. We discovered the strangest things. "

"What things?" asked the count, looking at his watch. 

Rénine described what they had seen:

"On a tower some way from the house there were two dead bodies, twoskeletons rather . .. A man and a woman still wearing the clothes whichthey had on when they were murdered. "

"Come, come, now! Murdered?"

"Yes; and that is what we have come to trouble you about. The tragedy mustdate back to some twenty years ago. Was nothing known of it at the time?"

"Certainly not, " declared the count. "I never heard of any such crime ordisappearance. "

"Oh, really!" said Rénine, looking a little disappointed. "I hoped toobtain a few particulars. "

"I'm sorry. "

"In that case, I apologise. "

He consulted Hortense with a glance and moved towards the door. But onsecond thought:

"Could you not at least, my dear sir, bring me into touch with some personsin the neighbourhood, some members of your family, who might know moreabout it?"

"Of my family? And why?"

"Because the Domaine de Halingre used to belong and no doubt still belongsto the d'Aigleroches. The arms are an eagle on a heap of stones, on a rock. This at once suggested the connection. "

This time the count appeared surprised. He pushed back his decanter and hisglass of sherry and said:

"What's this you're telling me? I had no idea that we had any suchneighbours. "

Rénine shook his head and smiled:

"I should be more inclined to believe, sir, that you were not very eager toadmit any relationship between yourself . .. And the unknown owner of theproperty. "

"Then he's not a respectable man?"

"The man, to put it plainly, is a murderer. "

"What do you mean?"

The count had risen from his chair. Hortense, greatly excited, said:

"Are you really sure that there has been a murder and that the murder wasdone by some one belonging to the house?"

"Quite sure. "

"But why are you so certain?"

"Because I know who the two victims were and what caused them to bekilled. "

Prince Rénine was making none but positive statements and his methodsuggested the belief that he supported by the strongest proofs. 

M. D'Aigleroche strode up and down the room, with his hands behind hisback. He ended by saying:

"I always had an instinctive feeling that something had happened, but Inever tried to find out. .. . Now, as a matter of fact, twenty years ago, a relation of mine, a distant cousin, used to live at the Domaine deHalingre. I hoped, because of the name I bear, that this story, which, as I say, I never knew but suspected, would remain hidden for ever. "

"So this cousin killed somebody?"

"Yes, he was obliged to. "

Rénine shook his head:

"I am sorry to have to amend that phrase, my dear sir. The truth, on thecontrary, is that your cousin took his victims' lives in cold blood and ina cowardly manner. I never heard of a crime more deliberately and craftilyplanned. "

"What is it that you know?"

The moment had come for Rénine to explain himself, a solemn andanguish-stricken moment, the full gravity of which Hortense understood, though she had not yet divined any part of the tragedy which the princeunfolded step by step. "

"It's a very simple story, " he said. "There is every reason to believe thatM. D'Aigleroche was married and that there was another couple living inthe neighbourhood with whom the owner of the Domaine de Halingre were onfriendly terms. What happened one day, which of these four persons firstdisturbed the relations between the two households, I am unable to say. Buta likely version, which at once occurs to the mind, is that your cousin'swife, Madame d'Aigleroche, was in the habit of meeting the other husbandin the ivy-covered tower, which had a door opening outside the estate. Ondiscovering the intrigue, your cousin d'Aigleroche resolved to be revenged, but in such a manner that there should be no scandal and that no oneeven should ever know that the guilty pair had been killed. Now he hadascertained--as I did just now--that there was a part of the house, thebelvedere, from which you can see, over the trees and the undulations ofthe park, the tower standing eight hundred yards away, and that this wasthe only place that overlooked the top of the tower. He therefore pierceda hole in the parapet, through one of the former loopholes, and fromthere, by using a telescope which fitted exactly in the grove which hehad hollowed out, he watched the meetings of the two lovers. And it wasfrom there, also, that, after carefully taking all his measurements, andcalculating all his distances, on a Sunday, the 5th of September, when thehouse was empty, he killed them with two shots. "

The truth was becoming apparent. The light of day was breaking. The countmuttered:

"Yes, that's what must have happened. I expect that my cousind'Aigleroche. .. . "

"The murderer, " Rénine continued, "stopped up the loophole neatly with aclod of earth. No one would ever know that two dead bodies were decayingon the top of that tower which was never visited and of which he took theprecaution to demolish the wooden stairs. Nothing therefore remained forhim to do but to explain the disappearance of his wife and his friend. Thispresented no difficulty. He accused them of having eloped together. "

Hortense gave a start. Suddenly, as though the last sentence were acomplete and to her an absolutely unexpected revelation, she understoodwhat Rénine was trying to convey:

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I mean that M. D'Aigleroche accused his wife and his friend of elopingtogether. "

"No, no!" she cried. "I can't allow that!. .. You are speaking of a cousinof my uncle's? Why mix up the two stories?"

"Why mix up this story with another which took place at that time?" saidthe prince. "But I am not mixing them up, my dear madame; there is only onestory and I am telling it as it happened. "

Hortense turned to her uncle. He sat silent, with his arms folded; andhis head remained in the shadow cast by the lamp-shade. Why had he notprotested?

Rénine repeated in a firm tone:

"There is only one story. On the evening of that very day, the 5th ofSeptember at eight o'clock, M. D'Aigleroche, doubtless alleging as hisreason that he was going in pursuit of the runaway couple, left his houseafter boarding up the entrance. He went away, leaving all the rooms asthey were and removing only the firearms from their glass case. At thelast minute, he had a presentiment, which has been justified to-day, thatthe discovery of the telescope which had played so great a part in thepreparation of his crime might serve as a clue to an enquiry; and he threwit into the clock-case, where, as luck would have it, it interruptedthe swing of the pendulum. This unreflecting action, one of those whichevery criminal inevitably commits, was to betray him twenty years later. Just now, the blows which I struck to force the door of the drawing-roomreleased the pendulum. The clock was set going, struck eight o'clock . .. And I possessed the clue of thread which was to lead me through thelabyrinth. "

"Proofs!" stammered Hortense. "Proofs!"

"Proofs?" replied Rénine, in a loud voice. "Why, there are any numberof proofs; and you know them as well as I do. Who could have killed atthat distance of eight hundred yards, except an expert shot, an ardentsportsman? You agree, M. D'Aigleroche, do you not?. .. Proofs? Why wasnothing removed from the house, nothing except the guns, those gunswhich an ardent sportsman cannot afford to leave behind--you agree, M. D'Aigleroche--those guns which we find here, hanging in trophies on thewalls!. .. Proofs? What about that date, the 5th of September, which wasthe date of the crime and which has left such a horrible memory in thecriminal's mind that every year at this time--at this time alone--hesurrounds himself with distractions and that every year, on this same 5thof September, he forgets his habits of temperance? Well, to-day, is the 5thof September. .. . Proofs? Why, if there weren't any others, would that notbe enough for you?"

And Rénine, flinging out his arm, pointed to the Comte d'Aigleroche, who, terrified by this evocation of the past, had sunk huddled into a chair andwas hiding his head in his hands. 

Hortense did not attempt to argue with him. She had never liked her uncle, or rather her husband's uncle. She now accepted the accusation laid againsthim. 

Sixty seconds passed. Then M. D'Aigleroche walked up to them and said:

"Whether the story be true or not, you can't call a husband a criminal foravenging his honour and killing his faithless wife. "

"No, " replied Rénine, "but I have told only the first version of the story. There is another which is infinitely more serious . .. And more probable, one to which a more thorough investigation would be sure to lead. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this. It may not be a matter of a husband taking the law into hisown hands, as I charitably supposed. It may be a matter of a ruined man whocovets his friend's money and his friend's wife and who, with this objectin view, to secure his freedom, to get rid of his friend and of his ownwife, draws them into a trap, suggests to them that they should visit thatlonely tower and kills them by shooting them from a distance safely undercover. "

"No, no, " the count protested. "No, all that is untrue. "

"I don't say it isn't. I am basing my accusation on proofs, but also onintuitions and arguments which up to now have been extremely accurate. Allthe same, I admit that the second version may be incorrect. But, if so, whyfeel any remorse? One does not feel remorse for punishing guilty people. "

"One does for taking life. It is a crushing burden to bear. "

"Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden that M. D'Aigleroche afterwards married his victim's widow? For that, sir, isthe crux of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was M. D'Aigleroche penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wiferich? Or were they both in love with each other and did M. D'Aiglerocheplan with her to kill his first wife and the husband of his second wife?These are problems to which I do not know the answer. They have no interestfor the moment; but the police, with all the means at their disposal, wouldhave no great difficulty in elucidating them. "

M. D'Aigleroche staggered and had to steady himself against the back of achair. Livid in the face, he spluttered:

"Are you going to inform the police?"

"No, no, " said Rénine. "To begin with, there is the statute of limitations. Then there are twenty years of remorse and dread, a memory which willpursue the criminal to his dying hour, accompanied no doubt by domesticdiscord, hatred, a daily hell . .. And, in the end, the necessity ofreturning to the tower and removing the traces of the two murders, thefrightful punishment of climbing that tower, of touching those skeletons, of undressing them and burying them. That will be enough. We will not askfor more. We will not give it to the public to batten on and create ascandal which would recoil upon M. D'Aigleroche's niece. No, let us leavethis disgraceful business alone. "

The count resumed his seat at the table, with his hands clutching hisforehead, and asked:

"Then why . .. ?"

"Why do I interfere?" said Rénine. "What you mean is that I must havehad some object in speaking. That is so. There must indeed be a penalty, however slight, and our interview must lead to some practical result. Buthave no fear: M. D'Aigleroche will be let off lightly. "

The contest was ended. The count felt that he had only a small formality tofulfil, a sacrifice to accept; and, recovering some of his self-assurance, he said, in an almost sarcastic tone:

"What's your price?"

Rénine burst out laughing:

"Splendid! You see the position. Only, you make a mistake in drawing meinto the business. I'm working for the glory of the thing. "

"In that case?"

"You will be called upon at most to make restitution. "

"Restitution?"

Rénine leant over the table and said:

"In one of those drawers is a deed awaiting your signature. It is a draftagreement between you and your niece Hortense Daniel, relating to herprivate fortune, which fortune was squandered and for which you areresponsible. Sign the deed. "

M. D'Aigleroche gave a start:

"Do you know the amount?"

"I don't wish to know it. "

"And if I refuse?. .. "

"I shall ask to see the Comtesse d'Aigleroche. "

Without further hesitation, the count opened a drawer, produced a documenton stamped paper and quickly signed it:

"Here you are, " he said, "and I hope. .. . "

"You hope, as I do, that you and I may never have any future dealings? I'mconvinced of it. I shall leave this evening; your niece, no doubt, tomorrow. Good-bye. "

 * * * * *

In the drawing-room, which was still empty, while the guests at thehouse were dressing for dinner, Rénine handed the deed to Hortense. Sheseemed dazed by all that she had heard; and the thing that bewildered hereven more than the relentless light shed upon her uncle's past was themiraculous insight and amazing lucidity displayed by this man: the man whofor some hours had controlled events and conjured up before her eyes theactual scenes of a tragedy which no one had beheld. 

"Are you satisfied with me?" he asked. 

She gave him both her hands:

"You have saved me from Rossigny. You have given me back my freedom and myindependence. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. "

"Oh, that's not what I am asking you to say!" he answered. "My first andmain object was to amuse you. Your life seemed so humdrum and lacking inthe unexpected. Has it been so to-day?"

"How can you ask such a question? I have had the strangest and moststirring experiences. "

"That is life, " he said. "When one knows how to use one's eyes. Adventureexists everywhere, in the meanest hovel, under the mask of the wisest ofmen. Everywhere, if you are only willing, you will find an excuse forexcitement, for doing good, for saving a victim, for ending an injustice. "

Impressed by his power and authority, she murmured:

"Who are you exactly?"

"An adventurer. Nothing more. A lover of adventures. Life is not worthliving except in moments of adventure, the adventures of others or personaladventures. To-day's has upset you because it affected the innermost depthsof your being. But those of others are no less stimulating. Would you liketo make the experiment?"

"How?"

"Become the companion of my adventures. If any one calls on me for help, help him with me. If chance or instinct puts me on the track of a crime orthe trace of a sorrow, let us both set out together. Do you consent?"

"Yes, " she said, "but. .. . "

She hesitated, as though trying to guess Rénine's secret intentions. 

"But, " he said, expressing her thoughts for her, with a smile, "you are atrifle sceptical. What you are saying to yourself is, 'How far does thatlover of adventures want to make me go? It is quite obvious that I attracthim; and sooner or later he would not be sorry to receive payment for hisservices. ' You are quite right. We must have a formal contract. "

"Very formal, " said Hortense, preferring to give a jesting tone to theconversation. "Let me hear your proposals. "

He reflected for a moment and continued:

"Well, we'll say this. The clock at Halingre gave eight strokes thisafternoon, the day of the first adventure. Will you accept its decree andagree to carry out seven more of these delightful enterprises with me, during a period, for instance, of three months? And shall we say that, atthe eighth, you will be pledged to grant me. .. . "

"What?"

He deferred his answer:

"Observe that you will always be at liberty to leave me on the road if Ido not succeed in interesting you. But, if you accompany me to the end, ifyou allow me to begin and complete the eighth enterprise with you, in threemonths, on the 5th of December, at the very moment when the eighth strokeof that clock sounds--and it will sound, you may be sure of that, for theold brass pendulum will not stop swinging again--you will be pledged togrant me. .. . "

"What?" she repeated, a little unnerved by waiting. 

He was silent. He looked at the beautiful lips which he had meant to claimas his reward. He felt perfectly certain that Hortense had understood andhe thought it unnecessary to speak more plainly:

"The mere delight of seeing you will be enough to satisfy me. It is not forme but for you to impose conditions. Name them: what do you demand?"

She was grateful for his respect and said, laughingly:

"What do I demand?"

"Yes. "

"Can I demand anything I like, however difficult and impossible?"

"Everything is easy and everything is possible to the man who is bent onwinning you. "

Then she said:

"I demand that you shall restore to me a small, antique clasp, made of acornelian set in a silver mount. It came to me from my mother and everyoneknew that it used to bring her happiness and me too. Since the day when itvanished from my jewel-case, I have had nothing but unhappiness. Restore itto me, my good genius. "

"When was the clasp stolen?"

She answered gaily:

"Seven years ago . .. Or eight . .. Or nine; I don't know exactly . .. I don'tknow where . .. I don't know how . .. I know nothing about it. .. . "

"I will find it, " Rénine declared, "and you shall be happy. "

II

THE WATER-BOTTLE

Four days after she had settled down in Paris, Hortense Daniel agreed tomeet Prince Rénine in the Bois. It was a glorious morning and they sat downon the terrace of the Restaurant Impérial, a little to one side. 

Hortense, feeling glad to be alive, was in a playful mood, full ofattractive grace. Rénine, lest he should startle her, refrained fromalluding to the compact into which they had entered at his suggestion. She told him how she had left La Marèze and said that she had not heardof Rossigny. 

"I have, " said Rénine. "I've heard of him. "

"Oh?"

"Yes, he sent me a challenge. We fought a duel this morning. Rossigny gota scratch in the shoulder. That finished the duel. Let's talk of somethingelse. "

There was no further mention of Rossigny. Rénine at once expounded toHortense the plan of two enterprises which he had in view and in which heoffered, with no great enthusiasm, to let her share:

"The finest adventure, " he declared, "is that which we do not foresee. Itcomes unexpectedly, unannounced; and no one, save the initiated, realizesthat an opportunity to act and to expend one's energies is close at hand. It has to be seized at once. A moment's hesitation may mean that we are toolate. We are warned by a special sense, like that of a sleuth-hound whichdistinguishes the right scent from all the others that cross it. "

The terrace was beginning to fill up around them. At the next table sata young man reading a newspaper. They were able to see his insignificantprofile and his long, dark moustache. From behind them, through an openwindow of the restaurant, came the distant strains of a band; in one ofthe rooms a few couples were dancing. 

As Rénine was paying for the refreshments, the young man with the longmoustache stifled a cry and, in a choking voice, called one of the waiters:

"What do I owe you?. .. No change? Oh, good Lord, hurry up!"

Rénine, without a moment's hesitation, had picked up the paper. Aftercasting a swift glance down the page, he read, under his breath:

 "Maître Dourdens, the counsel for the defence in the trial of Jacques Aubrieux, has been received at the Élysée. We are informed that the President of the Republic has refused to reprieve the condemned man and that the execution will take place to-morrow morning. "

After crossing the terrace, the young man found himself faced, at theentrance to the garden, by a lady and gentleman who blocked his way; andthe latter said:

"Excuse me, sir, but I noticed your agitation. It's about Jacques Aubrieux, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, Jacques Aubrieux, " the young man stammered. "Jacques, the friendof my childhood. I'm hurrying to see his wife. She must be beside herselfwith grief. "

"Can I offer you my assistance? I am Prince Rénine. This lady and I wouldbe happy to call on Madame Aubrieux and to place our services at herdisposal. "

The young man, upset by the news which he had read, seemed not tounderstand. He introduced himself awkwardly:

"My name is Dutreuil, Gaston Dutreuil. "

Rénine beckoned to his chauffeur, who was waiting at some little distance, and pushed Gaston Dutreuil into the car, asking:

"What address? Where does Madame Aubrieux live?"

"23 _bis_, Avenue du Roule. "

After helping Hortense in, Rénine repeated the address to the chauffeurand, as soon as they drove off, tried to question Gaston Dutreuil:

"I know very little of the case, " he said. "Tell it to me as briefly as youcan. Jacques Aubrieux killed one of his near relations, didn't he?"

"He is innocent, sir, " replied the young man, who seemed incapable ofgiving the least explanation. "Innocent, I swear it. I've been Jacques'friend for twenty years . .. He is innocent . .. And it would bemonstrous. .. . "

There was nothing to be got out of him. Besides, it was only a short drive. They entered Neuilly through the Porte des Sablons and, two minutes later, stopped before a long, narrow passage between high walls which led them toa small, one-storeyed house. 

Gaston Dutreuil rang. 

"Madame is in the drawing-room, with her mother, " said the maid who openedthe door. 

"I'll go in to the ladies, " he said, taking Rénine and Hortense with him. 

It was a fair-sized, prettily-furnished room, which, in ordinary times, must have been used also as a study. Two women sat weeping, one of whom, elderly and grey-haired, came up to Gaston Dutreuil. He explained thereason for Rénine's presence and she at once cried, amid her sobs:

"My daughter's husband is innocent, sir. Jacques? A better man never lived. He was so good-hearted! Murder his cousin? But he worshipped his cousin! Iswear that he's not guilty, sir! And they are going to commit the infamy ofputting him to death? Oh, sir, it will kill my daughter!"

Rénine realized that all these people had been living for months under theobsession of that innocence and in the certainty that an innocent man couldnever be executed. The news of the execution, which was now inevitable, wasdriving them mad. 

He went up to a poor creature bent in two whose face, a quite young face, framed in pretty, flaxen hair, was convulsed with desperate grief. Hortense, who had already taken a seat beside her, gently drew her headagainst her shoulder. Rénine said to her:

"Madame, I do not know what I can do for you. But I give you my word ofhonour that, if any one in this world can be of use to you, it is myself. I therefore implore you to answer my questions as though the clear anddefinite wording of your replies were able to alter the aspect of thingsand as though you wished to make me share your opinion of Jacques Aubrieux. For he is innocent, is he not?"

"Oh, sir, indeed he is!" she exclaimed; and the woman's whole soul was inthe words. 

"You are certain of it. But you were unable to communicate your certaintyto the court. Well, you must now compel me to share it. I am not asking youto go into details and to live again through the hideous torment which youhave suffered, but merely to answer certain questions. Will you do this?"

"I will. "

Rénine's influence over her was complete. With a few sentences Rénine hadsucceeded in subduing her and inspiring her with the will to obey. And oncemore Hortense realized all the man's power, authority and persuasion. 

"What was your husband?" he asked, after begging the mother and GastonDutreuil to preserve absolute silence. 

"An insurance-broker. "

"Lucky in business?"

"Until last year, yes. "

"So there have been financial difficulties during the past few months?"

"Yes. "

"And the murder was committed when?"

"Last March, on a Sunday. "

"Who was the victim?"

"A distant cousin, M. Guillaume, who lived at Suresnes. "

"What was the sum stolen?"

"Sixty thousand-franc notes, which this cousin had received the day before, in payment of a long-outstanding debt. "

"Did your husband know that?"

"Yes. His cousin told him of it on the Sunday, in the course of aconversation on the telephone, and Jacques insisted that his cousin oughtnot to keep so large a sum in the house and that he ought to pay it into abank next day. "

"Was this in the morning?"

"At one o'clock in the afternoon. Jacques was to have gone to M. Guillaumeon his motor-cycle. But he felt tired and told him that he would not goout. So he remained here all day. "

"Alone?"

"Yes. The two servants were out. I went to the Cinéma des Ternes with mymother and our friend Dutreuil. In the evening, we learnt that M. Guillaumehad been murdered. Next morning, Jacques was arrested. "

"On what evidence?"

The poor creature hesitated to reply: the evidence of guilt had evidentlybeen overwhelming. Then, obeying a sign from Rénine, she answered withouta pause:

"The murderer went to Suresnes on a motorcycle and the tracks discoveredwere those of my husband's machine. They found a handkerchief with myhusband's initials; and the revolver which was used belonged to him. Lastly, one of our neighbours maintains that he saw my husband go outon his bicycle at three o'clock and another that he saw him come in athalf-past four. The murder was committed at four o'clock. "

"And what does Jacques Aubrieux say in his defence?"

"He declares that he slept all the afternoon. During that time, some onecame who managed to unlock the cycle-shed and take the motor-cycle to goto Suresnes. As for the handkerchief and the revolver, they were in thetool-bag. There would be nothing surprising in the murderer's using them. "

"It seems a plausible explanation. "

"Yes, but the prosecution raised two objections. In the first place, nobody, absolutely nobody, knew that my husband was going to stay athome all day, because, on the contrary, it was his habit to go out onhis motor-cycle every Sunday afternoon. "

"And the second objection?"

She flushed and murmured:

"The murderer went to the pantry at M. Guillaume's and drank half a bottleof wine straight out of the bottle, which shows my husband's fingerprints. "

It seemed as though her strength was exhausted and as though, at the sametime, the unconscious hope which Rénine's intervention had awakened in herhad suddenly vanished before the accumulation of adverse facts. Again shecollapsed, withdrawn into a sort of silent meditation from which Hortense'saffectionate attentions were unable to distract her. 

The mother stammered:

"He's not guilty, is he, sir? And they can't punish an innocent man. Theyhaven't the right to kill my daughter. Oh dear, oh dear, what have we doneto be tortured like this? My poor little Madeleine!"

"She will kill herself, " said Dutreuil, in a scared voice. "She will neverbe able to endure the idea that they are guillotining Jacques. She willkill herself presently . .. This very night. .. . "

Rénine was striding up and down the room. 

"You can do nothing for her, can you?" asked Hortense. 

"It's half-past eleven now, " he replied, in an anxious tone, "and it's tohappen to-morrow morning. "

"Do you think he's guilty?"

"I don't know. .. . I don't know. .. . The poor woman's conviction is tooimpressive to be neglected. When two people have lived together for years, they can hardly be mistaken about each other to that degree. And yet. .. . "

He stretched himself out on a sofa and lit a cigarette. He smoked three insuccession, without a word from any one to interrupt his train of thought. From time to time he looked at his watch. Every minute was of suchimportance!

At last he went back to Madeleine Aubrieux, took her hands and said, verygently:

"You must not kill yourself. There is hope left until the last minute hascome; and I promise you that, for my part, I will not be disheartened untilthat last minute. But I need your calmness and your confidence. "

"I will be calm, " she said, with a pitiable air. 

"And confident?"

"And confident. "

"Well, wait for me. I shall be back in two hours from now. Will you comewith us, M. Dutreuil?"

As they were stepping into his car, he asked the young man:

"Do you know any small, unfrequented restaurant, not too far inside Paris?"

"There's the Brasserie Lutetia, on the ground-floor of the house in which Ilive, on the Place des Ternes. "

"Capital. That will be very handy. "

They scarcely spoke on the way. Rénine, however, said to Gaston Dutreuil:

"So far as I remember, the numbers of the notes are known, aren't they?"

"Yes. M. Guillaume had entered the sixty numbers in his pocket-book. "

Rénine muttered, a moment later:

"That's where the whole problem lies. Where are the notes? If we could layour hands on them, we should know everything. "

At the Brasserie Lutetia there was a telephone in the private room wherehe asked to have lunch served. When the waiter had left him alone withHortense and Dutreuil, he took down the receiver with a resolute air:

"Hullo!. .. Prefecture of police, please. .. . Hullo! Hullo!. .. Is that thePrefecture of police? Please put me on to the criminal investigationdepartment. I have a very important communication to make. You can say it'sPrince Rénine. "

Holding the receiver in his hand, he turned to Gaston Dutreuil:

"I can ask some one to come here, I suppose? We shall be quiteundisturbed?"

"Quite. "

He listened again:

"The secretary to the head of the criminal investigation department? Oh, excellent! Mr. Secretary, I have on several occasions been in communicationwith M. Dudouis and have given him information which has been of great useto him. He is sure to remember Prince Rénine. I may be able to-day to showhim where the sixty thousand-franc notes are hidden which Aubrieux themurderer stole from his cousin. If he's interested in the proposal, beg himto send an inspector to the Brasserie Lutetia, Place des Ternes. I shallbe there with a lady and M. Dutreuil, Aubrieux's friend. Good day, Mr. Secretary. "

When Rénine hung up the instrument, he saw the amazed faces of Hortense andof Gaston Dutreuil confronting him. 

Hortense whispered:

"Then you know? You've discovered . .. ?"

"Nothing, " he said, laughing. 

"Well?"

"Well, I'm acting as though I knew. It's not a bad method. Let's have somelunch, shall we?"

The clock marked a quarter to one. 

"The man from the prefecture will be here, " he said, "in twenty minutes atlatest. "

"And if no one comes?" Hortense objected. 

"That would surprise me. Of course, if I had sent a message to M. Dudouissaying, 'Aubrieux is innocent, ' I should have failed to make anyimpression. It's not the least use, on the eve of an execution, to attemptto convince the gentry of the police or of the law that a man condemnedto death is innocent. No. From henceforth Jacques Aubrieux belongs tothe executioner. But the prospect of securing the sixty bank-notes is awindfall worth taking a little trouble over. Just think: that was theweak point in the indictment, those sixty notes which they were unableto trace. "

"But, as you know nothing of their whereabouts. .. . "

"My dear girl--I hope you don't mind my calling you so?--my dear girl, whena man can't explain this or that physical phenomenon, he adopts some sortof theory which explains the various manifestations of the phenomenon andsays that everything happened as though the theory were correct. That'swhat I am doing. "

"That amounts to saying that you are going upon a supposition?"

Rénine did not reply. Not until some time later, when lunch was over, didhe say:

"Obviously I am going upon a supposition. If I had several days before me, I should take the trouble of first verifying my theory, which is based uponintuition quite as much as upon a few scattered facts. But I have only twohours; and I am embarking on the unknown path as though I were certain thatit would lead me to the truth. "

"And suppose you are wrong?"

"I have no choice. Besides, it is too late. There's a knock. Oh, one wordmore! Whatever I may say, don't contradict me. Nor you, M. Dutreuil. "

He opened the door. A thin man, with a red imperial, entered:

"Prince Rénine?"

"Yes, sir. You, of course, are from M. Dudouis?"

"Yes. "

And the newcomer gave his name:

"Chief-inspector Morisseau. "

"I am obliged to you for coming so promptly, Mr. Chief-inspector, " saidPrince Rénine, "and I hope that M. Dudouis will not regret having placedyou at my disposal. "

"At your entire disposal, in addition to two inspectors whom I have left inthe square outside and who have been in the case, with me, from the first. "

"I shall not detain you for any length of time, " said Rénine, "and I willnot even ask you to sit down. We have only a few minutes in which to settleeverything. You know what it's all about?"

"The sixty thousand-franc notes stolen from M. Guillaume. I have thenumbers here. "

Rénine ran his eyes down the slip of paper which the chief-inspector handedhim and said:

"That's right. The two lists agree. "

Inspector Morisseau seemed greatly excited:

"The chief attaches the greatest importance to your discovery. So you willbe able to show me?. .. "

Rénine was silent for a moment and then declared:

"Mr. Chief-inspector, a personal investigation--and a most exhaustiveinvestigation it was, as I will explain to you presently--has revealedthe fact that, on his return from Suresnes, the murderer, after replacingthe motor-cycle in the shed in the Avenue du Roule, ran to the Ternes andentered this house. "

"This house?"

"Yes. "

"But what did he come here for?"

"To hide the proceeds of his theft, the sixty bank-notes. "

"How do you mean? Where?"

"In a flat of which he had the key, on the fifth floor. "

Gaston Dutreuil exclaimed, in amazement:

"But there's only one flat on the fifth floor and that's the one I livein!"

"Exactly; and, as you were at the cinema with Madame Aubrieux and hermother, advantage was taken of your absence. .. . "

"Impossible! No one has the key except myself. "

"One can get in without a key. "

"But I have seen no marks of any kind. "

Morisseau intervened:

"Come, let us understand one another. You say the bank-notes were hidden inM. Dutreuil's flat?"

"Yes. "

"Then, as Jacques Aubrieux was arrested the next morning, the notes oughtto be there still?"

"That's my opinion. "

Gaston Dutreuil could not help laughing:

"But that's absurd! I should have found them!"

"Did you look for them?"

"No. But I should have come across them at any moment. The place isn't bigenough to swing a cat in. Would you care to see it?"

"However small it may be, it's large enough to hold sixty bits of paper. "

"Of course, everything is possible, " said Dutreuil. "Still, I must repeatthat nobody, to my knowledge, has been to my rooms; that there is only onekey; that I am my own housekeeper; and that I can't quite understand. .. . "

Hortense too could not understand. With her eyes fixed on Prince Rénine's, she was trying to read his innermost thoughts. What game was he playing?Was it her duty to support his statements? She ended by saying:

"Mr. Chief-inspector, since Prince Rénine maintains that the notes havebeen put away upstairs, wouldn't the simplest thing be to go and look? M. Dutreuil will take us up, won't you?"

"This minute, " said the young man. "As you say, that will be simplest. "

They all four climbed the five storys of the house and, after Dutreuilhad opened the door, entered a tiny set of chambers consisting of asitting-room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, all arranged with fastidiousneatness. It was easy to see that every chair in the sitting-room occupieda definite place. The pipes had a rack to themselves; so had the matches. Three walking-sticks, arranged according to their length, hung fromthree nails. On a little table before the window a hat-box, filled withtissue-paper, awaited the felt hat which Dutreuil carefully placed in it. He laid his gloves beside it, on the lid. 

He did all this with sedate and mechanical movements, like a man who lovesto see things in the places which he has chosen for them. Indeed, no soonerdid Rénine shift something than Dutreuil made a slight gesture of protest, took out his hat again, stuck it on his head, opened the window and restedhis elbows on the sill, with his back turned to the room, as though he wereunable to bear the sight of such vandalism. 

"You're positive, are you not?" the inspector asked Rénine. 

"Yes, yes, I'm positive that the sixty notes were brought here after themurder. "

"Let's look for them. "

This was easy and soon done. In half an hour, not a corner remainedunexplored, not a knick-knack unlifted. 

"Nothing, " said Inspector Morisseau. "Shall we continue?"

"No, " replied Rénine, "The notes are no longer here. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that they have been removed. "

"By whom? Can't you make a more definite accusation?"

Rénine did not reply. But Gaston Dutreuil wheeled round. He was chokingand spluttered:

"Mr. Inspector, would you like _me_ to make the accusation moredefinite, as conveyed by this gentleman's remarks? It all means thatthere's a dishonest man here, that the notes hidden by the murderer werediscovered and stolen by that dishonest man and deposited in another andsafer place. That is your idea, sir, is it not? And you accuse me ofcommitting this theft don't you?"

He came forward, drumming his chest with his fists: "Me! Me! I found thenotes, did I, and kept them for myself? You dare to suggest that!"

Rénine still made no reply. Dutreuil flew into a rage and, taking InspectorMorisseau aside, exclaimed:

"Mr. Inspector, I strongly protest against all this farce and againstthe part which you are unconsciously playing in it. Before your arrival, Prince Rénine told this lady and myself that he knew nothing, that he wasventuring into this affair at random and that he was following the firstroad that offered, trusting to luck. Do you deny it, sir?"

Rénine did not open his lips. 

"Answer me, will you? Explain yourself; for, really, you are puttingforward the most improbable facts without any proof whatever. It's easyenough to say that I stole the notes. And how were you to know that theywere here at all? Who brought them here? Why should the murderer choosethis flat to hide them in? It's all so stupid, so illogical and absurd!. .. Give us your proofs, sir . .. One single proof!"

Inspector Morisseau seemed perplexed. He questioned Rénine with a glance. Rénine said:

"Since you want specific details, we will get them from Madame Aubrieuxherself. She's on the telephone. Let's go downstairs. We shall know allabout it in a minute. "

Dutreuil shrugged his shoulders:

"As you please; but what a waste of time!"

He seemed greatly irritated. His long wait at the window, under a blazingsun, had thrown him into a sweat. He went to his bedroom and returned witha bottle of water, of which he took a few sips, afterwards placing thebottle on the window-sill:

"Come along, " he said. 

Prince Rénine chuckled. 

"You seem to be in a hurry to leave the place. "

"I'm in a hurry to show you up, " retorted Dutreuil, slamming the door. 

They went downstairs to the private room containing the telephone. The roomwas empty. Rénine asked Gaston Dutreuil for the Aubrieuxs' number, tookdown the instrument and was put through. 

The maid who came to the telephone answered that Madame Aubrieux hadfainted, after giving way to an access of despair, and that she was nowasleep. 

"Fetch her mother, please. Prince Rénine speaking. It's urgent. "

He handed the second receiver to Morisseau. For that matter, the voiceswere so distinct that Dutreuil and Hortense were able to hear every wordexchanged. 

"Is that you, madame?"

"Yes. Prince Rénine, I believe?"

"Prince Rénine. "

"Oh, sir, what news have you for me? Is there any hope?" asked the oldlady, in a tone of entreaty. 

"The enquiry is proceeding very satisfactorily, " said Rénine, "and youmay hope for the best. For the moment, I want you to give me some veryimportant particulars. On the day of the murder, did Gaston Dutreuil cometo your house?"

"Yes, he came to fetch my daughter and myself, after lunch. "

"Did he know at the time that M. Guillaume had sixty thousand francs at hisplace?"

"Yes, I told him. "

"And that Jacques Aubrieux was not feeling very well and was proposing notto take his usual cycle-ride but to stay at home and sleep?"

"Yes. "

"You are sure?"

"Absolutely certain. "

"And you all three went to the cinema together?"

"Yes. "

"And you were all sitting together?"

"Oh, no! There was no room. He took a seat farther away. "

"A seat where you could see him?"

"No. "

"But he came to you during the interval?"

"No, we did not see him until we were going out. "

"There is no doubt of that?"

"None at all. "

"Very well, madame. I will tell you the result of my efforts in an hour'stime. But above all, don't wake up Madame Aubrieux. "

"And suppose she wakes of her own accord?"

"Reassure her and give her confidence. Everything is going well, very wellindeed. "

He hung up the receiver and turned to Dutreuil, laughing:

"Ha, ha, my boy! Things are beginning to look clearer. What do you say?"

It was difficult to tell what these words meant or what conclusions Réninehad drawn from his conversation. The silence was painful and oppressive. 

"Mr. Chief-Inspector, you have some of your men outside, haven't you?"

"Two detective-sergeants. "

"It's important that they should be there. Please also ask the manager notto disturb us on any account. "

And, when Morisseau returned, Rénine closed the door, took his stand infront of Dutreuil and, speaking in a good-humoured but emphatic tone, said:

"It amounts to this, young man, that the ladies saw nothing of you betweenthree and five o'clock on that Sunday. That's rather a curious detail. "

"A perfectly natural detail, " Dutreuil retorted, "and one, moreover, whichproves nothing at all. "

"It proves, young man, that you had a good two hours at your disposal. "

"Obviously. Two hours which I spent at the cinema. "

"Or somewhere else. "

Dutreuil looked at him:

"Somewhere else?"

"Yes. As you were free, you had plenty of time to go wherever you liked . .. To Suresnes, for instance. "

"Oh!" said the young man, jesting in his turn. "Suresnes is a long wayoff!"

"It's quite close! Hadn't you your friend Jacques Aubrieux's motor-cycle?"

A fresh pause followed these words. Dutreuil had knitted his brows asthough he were trying to understand. At last he was heard to whisper:

"So that is what he was trying to lead up to!. .. The brute!. .. "

Rénine brought down his hand on Dutreuil's shoulder:

"No more talk! Facts! Gaston Dutreuil, you are the only person who on thatday knew two essential things: first, that Cousin Guillaume had sixtythousand francs in his house; secondly, that Jacques Aubrieux was notgoing out. You at once saw your chance. The motor-cycle was available. Youslipped out during the performance. You went to Suresnes. You killed CousinGuillaume. You took the sixty bank-notes and left them at your rooms. Andat five o'clock you went back to fetch the ladies. "

Dutreuil had listened with an expression at once mocking and flurried, casting an occasional glance at Inspector Morisseau as though to enlisthim as a witness:

"The man's mad, " it seemed to say. "It's no use being angry with him. "

When Rénine had finished, he began to laugh:

"Very funny!. .. A capital joke!. .. So it was I whom the neighbours sawgoing and returning on the motor-cycle?"

"It was you disguised in Jacques Aubrieux's clothes. "

"And it was my finger-prints that were found on the bottle in M. Guillaume's pantry?"

"The bottle had been opened by Jacques Aubrieux at lunch, in his own house, and it was you who took it with you to serve as evidence. "

"Funnier and funnier!" cried Dutreuil, who had the air of being franklyamused. "Then I contrived the whole affair so that Jacques Aubrieux mightbe accused of the crime?"

"It was the safest means of not being accused yourself. "

"Yes, but Jacques is a friend whom I have known from childhood. "

"You're in love with his wife. "

The young man gave a sudden, infuriated start:

"You dare!. .. What! You dare make such an infamous suggestion?"

"I have proof of it. "

"That's a lie! I have always respected Madeleine Aubrieux and reveredher. .. . "

"Apparently. But you're in love with her. You desire her. Don't contradictme. I have abundant proof of it. "

"That's a lie, I tell you! You have only known me a few hours!"

"Come, come! I've been quietly watching you for days, waiting for themoment to pounce upon you. "

He took the young man by the shoulders and shook him:

"Come, Dutreuil, confess! I hold all the proofs in my hand. I havewitnesses whom we shall meet presently at the criminal investigationdepartment. Confess, can't you? In spite of everything, you're torturedby remorse. Remember your dismay, at the restaurant, when you had seenthe newspaper. What? Jacques Aubrieux condemned to die? That's more thanyou bargained for! Penal servitude would have suited your book; but thescaffold!. .. Jacques Aubrieux executed to-morrow, an innocent man!. .. Confess, won't you? Confess to save your own skin! Own up!"

Bending over the other, he was trying with all his might to extort aconfession from him. But Dutreuil drew himself up and coldly, with a sortof scorn in his voice, said:

"Sir, you are a madman. Not a word that you have said has any sense in it. All your accusations are false. What about the bank-notes? Did you findthem at my place as you said you would?"

Rénine, exasperated, clenched his fist in his face:

"Oh, you swine, I'll dish you yet, I swear I will!"

He drew the inspector aside:

"Well, what do you say to it? An arrant rogue, isn't he?"

The inspector nodded his head:

"It may be. .. . But, all the same . .. So far there's no real evidence. "

"Wait, M. Morisseau, " said Rénine. "Wait until we've had our interview withM. Dudouis. For we shall see M. Dudouis at the prefecture, shall we not?"

"Yes, he'll be there at three o'clock. "

"Well, you'll be convinced, Mr. Inspector! I tell you here and now that youwill be convinced. "

Rénine was chuckling like a man who feels certain of the course of events. Hortense, who was standing near him and was able to speak to him withoutbeing heard by the others, asked, in a low voice:

"You've got him, haven't you?"

He nodded his head in assent:

"Got him? I should think I have! All the same, I'm no farther forward thanI was at the beginning. "

"But this is awful! And your proofs?"

"Not the shadow of a proof . .. I was hoping to trip him up. But he's kepthis feet, the rascal!"

"Still, you're certain it's he?"

"It can't be any one else. I had an intuition at the very outset; and I'venot taken my eyes off him since. I have seen his anxiety increasing as myinvestigations seemed to centre on him and concern him more closely. Now Iknow. "

"And he's in love with Madame Aubrieux?"

"In logic, he's bound to be. But so far we have only hypotheticalsuppositions, or rather certainties which are personal to myself. We shallnever intercept the guillotine with those. Ah, if we could only find thebank-notes! Given the bank-notes, M. Dudouis would act. Without them, hewill laugh in my face. "

"What then?" murmured Hortense, in anguished accents. 

He did not reply. He walked up and down the room, assuming an air of gaietyand rubbing his hands. All was going so well! It was really a treat to takeup a case which, so to speak, worked itself out automatically. 

"Suppose we went on to the prefecture, M. Morisseau? The chief must bethere by now. And, having gone so far, we may as well finish. Will M. Dutreuil come with us?"

"Why not?" said Dutreuil, arrogantly. 

But, just as Rénine was opening the door, there was a noise in the passageand the manager ran up, waving his arms:

"Is M. Dutreuil still here?. .. M. Dutreuil, your flat is on fire!. .. A manoutside told us. He saw it from the square. "

The young man's eyes lit up. For perhaps half a second his mouth wastwisted by a smile which Rénine noticed:

"Oh, you ruffian!" he cried. "You've given yourself away, my beauty! It wasyou who set fire to the place upstairs; and now the notes are burning. "

He blocked his exit. 

"Let me pass, " shouted Dutreuil. "There's a fire and no one can get in, because no one else has a key. Here it is. Let me pass, damn it!"

Rénine snatched the key from his hand and, holding him by the collar of hiscoat:

"Don't you move, my fine fellow! The game's up! You precious blackguard! M. Morisseau, will you give orders to the sergeant not to let him out of hissight and to blow out his brains if he tries to get away? Sergeant, we relyon you! Put a bullet into him, if necessary!. .. "

He hurried up the stairs, followed by Hortense and the chief inspector, whowas protesting rather peevishly:

"But, I say, look here, it wasn't he who set the place on fire! How do youmake out that he set it on fire, seeing that he never left us?"

"Why, he set it on fire beforehand, to be sure!"

"How? I ask you, how?"

"How do I know? But a fire doesn't break out like that, for no reason atall, at the very moment when a man wants to burn compromising papers. "

They heard a commotion upstairs. It was the waiters of the restauranttrying to burst the door open. An acrid smell filled the well of thestair-case. 

Rénine reached the top floor:

"By your leave, friends. I have the key. "

He inserted it in the lock and opened the door. 

He was met by a gust of smoke so dense that one might well have supposedthe whole floor to be ablaze. Rénine at once saw that the fire had gone outof its own accord, for lack of fuel, and that there were no more flames:

"M. Morisseau, you won't let any one come in with us, will you? An intrudermight spoil everything. Bolt the door, that will be best. "

He stepped into the front room, where the fire had obviously had its chiefcentre. The furniture, the walls and the ceiling, though blackened by thesmoke, had not been touched. As a matter of fact, the fire was confined toa blaze of papers which was still burning in the middle of the room, infront of the window. 

Rénine struck his forehead:

"What a fool I am! What an unspeakable ass!"

"Why?" asked the inspector. 

"The hat-box, of course! The cardboard hat-box which was standing on thetable. That's where he hid the notes. They were there all through oursearch. "

"Impossible!"

"Why, yes, we always overlook that particular hiding-place, the one justunder our eyes, within reach of our hands! How could one imagine that athief would leave sixty thousand francs in an open cardboard box, in whichhe places his hat when he comes in, with an absent-minded air? That's justthe one place we don't look in. .. . Well played, M. Dutreuil!"

The inspector, who remained incredulous, repeated:

"No, no, impossible! We were with him and he could not have started thefire himself. "

"Everything was prepared beforehand on the supposition that there might bean alarm. .. . The hat-box . .. The tissue paper . .. The bank-notes: they mustall have been steeped in some inflammable liquid. He must have thrown amatch, a chemical preparation or what not into it, as we were leaving. "

"But we should have seen him, hang it all! And then is it credible thata man who has committed a murder for the sake of sixty thousand francsshould do away with the money in this way? If the hiding-place was sucha good one--and it was, because we never discovered it--why this uselessdestruction?"

"He got frightened, M. Morisseau. Remember that his head is at stakeand he knows it. Anything rather than the guillotine; and they--thebank-notes--were the only proof which we had against him. How could hehave left them where they were?"

Morisseau was flabbergasted:

"What! The only proof?"

"Why, obviously!"

"But your witnesses? Your evidence? All that you were going to tell thechief?"

"Mere bluff. "

"Well, upon my word, " growled the bewildered inspector, "you're a coolcustomer!"

"Would you have taken action without my bluff?"

"No. "

"Then what more do you want?"

Rénine stooped to stir the ashes. But there was nothing left, not eventhose remnants of stiff paper which still retain their shape. 

"Nothing, " he said. "It's queer, all the same! How the deuce did he manageto set the thing alight?"

He stood up, looking attentively about him. Hortense had a feeling that hewas making his supreme effort and that, after this last struggle in thedark, he would either have devised his plan of victory or admit that he wasbeaten. 

Faltering with anxiety, she asked:

"It's all up, isn't it?"

"No, no, " he said, thoughtfully, "it's not all up. It was, a few secondsago. But now there is a gleam of light . .. And one that gives me hope. "

"God grant that it may be justified!"

"We must go slowly, " he said. "It is only an attempt, but a fine, a veryfine attempt; and it may succeed. "

He was silent for a moment; then, with an amused smile and a click of thetongue, he said:

"An infernally clever fellow, that Dutreuil! His trick of burning thenotes: what a fertile imagination! And what coolness! A pretty dance thebeggar has led me! He's a master!"

He fetched a broom from the kitchen and swept a part of the ashes into thenext room, returning with a hat-box of the same size and appearance as theone which had been burnt. After crumpling the tissue paper with which itwas filled, he placed the hat-box on the little table and set fire to itwith a match. 

It burst into flames, which he extinguished when they had consumed halfthe cardboard and nearly all the paper. Then he took from an inner pocketof his waistcoat a bundle of bank-notes and selected six, which he burntalmost completely, arranging the remains and hiding the rest of the notesat the bottom of the box, among the ashes and the blackened bits of paper:

"M. Morisseau, " he said, when he had done, "I am asking for your assistancefor the last time. Go and fetch Dutreuil. Tell him just this: 'You areunmasked. The notes did not catch fire. Come with me. ' And bring him uphere. "

Despite his hesitation and his fear of exceeding his instructions from thehead of the detective service, the chief-inspector was powerless to throwoff the ascendancy which Rénine had acquired over him. He left the room. 

Rénine turned to Hortense:

"Do you understand my plan of battle?"

"Yes, " she said, "but it's a dangerous experiment. Do you think thatDutreuil will fall into the trap?"

"Everything depends on the state of his nerves and the degree ofdemoralization to which he is reduced. A surprise attack may very well dofor him. "

"Nevertheless, suppose he recognizes by some sign that the box has beenchanged?"

"Oh, of course, he has a few chances in his favour! The fellow is much morecunning than I thought and quite capable of wriggling out of the trap. On the other hand, however, how uneasy he must be! How the blood must bebuzzing in his ears and obscuring his sight! No, I don't think that he willavoid the trap. .. . He will give in. .. . He will give in. .. . "

They exchanged no more words. Rénine did not move. Hortense was stirred tothe very depths of her being. The life of an innocent man hung trembling inthe balance. An error of judgment, a little bad luck . .. And, twelve hourslater, Jacques Aubrieux would be put to death. And together with a horribleanguish she experienced, in spite of all, a feeling of eager curiosity. What was Prince Rénine going to do? What would be the outcome of theexperiment on which he was venturing? What resistance would Gaston Dutreuiloffer? She lived through one of those minutes of superhuman tension inwhich life becomes intensified until it reaches its utmost value. 

They heard footsteps on the stairs, the footsteps of men in a hurry. Thesound drew nearer. They were reaching the top floor. 

Hortense looked at her companion. He had stood up and was listening, hisfeatures already transfigured by action. The footsteps were now echoing inthe passage. Then, suddenly, he ran to the door and cried:

"Quick! Let's make an end of it!"

Two or three detectives and a couple of waiters entered. He caught hold ofDutreuil in the midst of the detectives and pulled him by the arm, gailyexclaiming:

"Well done, old man! That trick of yours with the table and thewater-bottle was really splendid! A masterpiece, on my word! Only, itdidn't come off!"

"What do you mean? What's the matter?" mumbled Gaston Dutreuil, staggering. 

"What I say: the fire burnt only half the tissue-paper and the hat-box;and, though some of the bank-notes were destroyed, like the tissue-paper, the others are there, at the bottom. .. . You understand? The long-soughtnotes, the great proof of the murder: they're there, where you hid them. .. . As chance would have it, they've escaped burning. .. . Here, look: thereare the numbers; you can check them. .. . Oh, you're done for, done for, mybeauty!"

The young man drew himself up stiffly. His eyelids quivered. He did notaccept Rénine's invitation to look; he examined neither the hat-box northe bank-notes. From the first moment, without taking the time to reflectand before his instinct could warn him, he believed what he was told andcollapsed heavily into a chair, weeping. 

The surprise attack, to use Rénine's expression, had succeeded. On seeingall his plans baffled and the enemy master of his secrets, the wretched manhad neither the strength nor the perspicacity necessary to defend himself. He threw up the sponge. 

Rénine gave him no time to breathe:

"Capital! You're saving your head; and that's all, my good youth! Writedown your confession and get it off your chest. Here's a fountain-pen. .. . The luck has been against you, I admit. It was devilishly well thoughtout, your trick of the last moment. You had the bank-notes which were inyour way and which you wanted to destroy. Nothing simpler. You take a big, round-bellied water-bottle and stand it on the window-sill. It acts asa burning-glass, concentrating the rays of the sun on the cardboard andtissue-paper, all nicely prepared. Ten minutes later, it bursts intoflames. A splendid idea! And, like all great discoveries, it came quiteby chance, what? It reminds one of Newton's apple. .. . One day, the sun, passing through the water in that bottle, must have set fire to a scrap ofcotton or the head of a match; and, as you had the sun at your disposaljust now, you said to yourself, 'Now's the time, ' and stood the bottle inthe right position. My congratulations, Gaston!. .. Look, here's a sheet ofpaper. Write down: 'It was I who murdered M. Guillaume. ' Write, I tellyou!"

Leaning over the young man, with all his implacable force of will hecompelled him to write, guiding his hand and dictating the sentences. Dutreuil, exhausted, at the end of his strength, wrote as he was told. 

"Here's the confession, Mr. Chief-inspector, " said Rénine. "You will begood enough to take it to M. Dudouis. These gentlemen, " turning to thewaiters, from the restaurant, "will, I am sure, consent to serve aswitnesses. "

And, seeing that Dutreuil, overwhelmed by what had happened, did not move, he gave him a shake:

"Hi, you, look alive! Now that you've been fool enough to confess, make anend of the job, my gentle idiot!"

The other watched him, standing in front of him. 

"Obviously, " Rénine continued, "you're only a simpleton. The hat-box wasfairly burnt to ashes: so were the notes. That hat-box, my dear fellow, isa different one; and those notes belong to me. I even burnt six of them tomake you swallow the stunt. And you couldn't make out what had happened. What an owl you must be! To furnish me with evidence at the last moment, when I hadn't a single proof of my own! And such evidence! A writtenconfession! Written before witnesses!. .. Look here, my man, if they do cutoff your head--as I sincerely hope they will--upon my word, you'll havejolly well deserved it! Good-bye, Dutreuil!"

 * * * * *

Downstairs, in the street, Rénine asked Hortense Daniel to take the car, goto Madeleine Aubrieux and tell her what had happened. 

"And you?" asked Hortense. 

"I have a lot to do . .. Urgent appointments. .. . "

"And you deny yourself the pleasure of bringing the good news?"

"It's one of the pleasures that pall upon one. The only pleasure that neverflags is that of the fight itself. Afterwards, things cease to beinteresting. "

She took his hand and for a moment held it in both her own. She would haveliked to express all her admiration to that strange man, who seemed todo good as a sort of game and who did it with something like genius. Butshe was unable to speak. All these rapid incidents had upset her. Emotionconstricted her throat and brought the tears to her eyes. 

Rénine bowed his head, saying:

"Thank you. I have my reward. "

III

THE CASE OF JEAN LOUIS

"Monsieur, " continued the young girl, addressing Serge Rénine, "it waswhile I was spending the Easter holidays at Nice with my father that I madethe acquaintance of Jean Louis d'Imbleval. .. . "

Rénine interrupted her:

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but just now you spoke of this young man as JeanLouis Vaurois. "

"That's his name also, " she said. 

"Has he two names then?"

"I don't know . .. I don't know anything about it, " she said, with someembarrassment, "and that is why, by Hortense's advice, I came to ask foryour help. "

This conversation was taking place in Rénine's flat on the BoulevardHaussmann, to which Hortense had brought her friend Geneviève Aymard, aslender, pretty little creature with a face over-shadowed by an expressionof the greatest melancholy. 

"Rénine will be successful, take my word for it, Geneviève. You will, Rénine, won't you?"

"Please tell me the rest of the story, mademoiselle, " he said. 

Geneviève continued:

"I was already engaged at the time to a man whom I loathe and detest. Myfather was trying to force me to marry him and is still trying to do so. Jean Louis and I felt the keenest sympathy for each other, a sympathy thatsoon developed into a profound and passionate affection which, I can assureyou, was equally sincere on both sides. On my return to Paris, Jean Louis, who lives in the country with his mother and his aunt, took rooms in ourpart of the town; and, as I am allowed to go out by myself, we used to seeeach other daily. I need not tell you that we were engaged to be married. Itold my father so. And this is what he said: 'I don't particularly like thefellow. But, whether it's he or another, what I want is that you should getmarried. So let him come and ask for your hand. If not, you must do as Isay. ' In the middle of June, Jean Louis went home to arrange matters withhis mother and aunt. I received some passionate letters; and then justthese few words:

 'There are too many obstacles in the way of our happiness. I give up. I am mad with despair. I love you more than ever. Good-bye and forgive me. '

"Since then, I have received nothing: no reply to my letters andtelegrams. "

"Perhaps he has fallen in love with somebody else?" asked Rénine. "Or theremay be some old connection which he is unable to shake off. "

Geneviève shook her head:

"Monsieur, believe me, if our engagement had been broken off for anordinary reason, I should not have allowed Hortense to trouble you. But itis something quite different, I am absolutely convinced. There's a mysteryin Jean Louis' life, or rather an endless number of mysteries which hamperand pursue him. I never saw such distress in a human face; and, fromthe first moment of our meeting, I was conscious in him of a grief andmelancholy which have always persisted, even at times when he was givinghimself to our love with the greatest confidence. "

"But your impression must have been confirmed by minor details, by thingswhich happened to strike you as peculiar?"

"I don't quite know what to say. "

"These two names, for instance?"

"Yes, there was certainly that. "

"By what name did he introduce himself to you?"

"Jean Louis d'Imbleval. "

"But Jean Louis Vaurois?"

"That's what my father calls him. "

"Why?"

"Because that was how he was introduced to my father, at Nice, by agentleman who knew him. Besides, he carries visiting-cards which describehim under either name. "

"Have you never questioned him on this point?"

"Yes, I have, twice. The first time, he said that his aunt's name wasVaurois and his mother's d'Imbleval. "

"And the second time?"

"He told me the contrary: he spoke of his mother as Vaurois and of his auntas d'Imbleval. I pointed this out. He coloured up and I thought it betternot to question him any further. "

"Does he live far from Paris?"

"Right down in Brittany: at the Manoir d'Elseven, five miles from Carhaix. "

Rénine rose and asked the girl, seriously:

"Are you quite certain that he loves you, mademoiselle?"

"I am certain of it and I know too that he represents all my life and allmy happiness. He alone can save me. If he can't, then I shall be marriedin a week's time to a man whom I hate. I have promised my father; and thebanns have been published. "

"We shall leave for Carhaix, Madame Daniel and I, this evening, " saidRénine. 

That evening he and Hortense took the train for Brittany. They reachedCarhaix at ten o'clock in the morning; and, after lunch, at half pasttwelve o'clock they stepped into a car borrowed from a leading resident ofthe district. 

"You're looking a little pale, my dear, " said Rénine, with a laugh, as theyalighted by the gate of the garden at Elseven. 

"I'm very fond of Geneviève, " she said. "She's the only friend I have. AndI'm feeling frightened. "

He called her attention to the fact that the central gate was flanked bytwo wickets bearing the names of Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vauroisrespectively. Each of these wickets opened on a narrow path which ran amongthe shrubberies of box and aucuba to the left and right of the main avenue. The avenue itself led to an old manor-house, long, low and picturesque, butprovided with two clumsily-built, ugly wings, each in a different style ofarchitecture and each forming the destination of one of the side-paths. Madame d'Imbleval evidently lived on the left and Madame Vaurois on theright. 

Hortense and Rénine listened. Shrill, hasty voices were disputing insidethe house. The sound came through one of the windows of the ground-floor, which was level with the garden and covered throughout its length with redcreepers and white roses. 

"We can't go any farther, " said Hortense. "It would be indiscreet. "

"All the more reason, " whispered Rénine. "Look here: if we walk straightahead, we shan't be seen by the people who are quarrelling. "

The sounds of conflict were by no means abating; and, when they reached thewindow next to the front-door, through the roses and creepers they couldboth see and hear two old ladies shrieking at the tops of their voices andshaking their fists at each other. 

The women were standing in the foreground, in a large dining-room wherethe table was not yet cleared; and at the farther side of the table sat ayoung man, doubtless Jean Louis himself, smoking his pipe and reading anewspaper, without appearing to trouble about the two old harridans. 

One of these, a thin, tall woman, was wearing a purple silk dress; and herhair was dressed in a mass of curls much too yellow for the ravaged facearound which they tumbled. The other, who was still thinner, but quiteshort, was bustling round the room in a cotton dressing-gown and displayeda red, painted face blazing with anger:

"A baggage, that's what you are!" she yelped. "The wickedest woman in theworld and a thief into the bargain!"

"I, a thief!" screamed the other. 

"What about that business with the ducks at ten francs apiece: don't youcall that thieving?"

"Hold your tongue, you low creature! Who stole the fifty-franc note from mydressing-table? Lord, that I should have to live with such a wretch!"

The other started with fury at the outrage and, addressing the young man, cried:

"Jean, are you going to sit there and let me be insulted by your hussy of ad'Imbleval?"

And the tall one retorted, furiously:

"Hussy! Do you hear that, Louis? Look at her, your Vaurois! She's got theairs of a superannuated barmaid! Make her stop, can't you?"

Suddenly Jean Louis banged his fist upon the table, making the plates anddishes jump, and shouted:

"Be quiet, both of you, you old lunatics!"

They turned upon him at once and loaded him with abuse:

"Coward!. .. Hypocrite!. .. Liar!. .. A pretty sort of son you are!. .. The sonof a slut and not much better yourself!. .. "

The insults rained down upon him. He stopped his ears with his fingers andwrithed as he sat at table like a man who has lost all patience and hasneed to restrain himself lest he should fall upon his enemy. 

Rénine whispered:

"Now's the time to go in. "

"In among all those infuriated people?" protested Hortense. 

"Exactly. We shall see them better with their masks off. "

And, with a determined step, he walked to the door, opened it and enteredthe room, followed by Hortense. 

His advent gave rise to a feeling of stupefaction. The two women stoppedyelling, but were still scarlet in the face and trembling with rage. JeanLouis, who was very pale, stood up. 

Profiting by the general confusion, Rénine said briskly:

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Rénine. This is Madame Daniel. We are friends of Mlle. Geneviève Aymard and we have come in her name. Ihave a letter from her addressed to you, monsieur. "

Jean Louis, already disconcerted by the newcomers' arrival, lostcountenance entirely on hearing the name of Geneviève. Without quiteknowing what he was saying and with the intention of responding to Rénine'scourteous behaviour, he tried in his turn to introduce the two ladies andlet fall the astounding words:

"My mother, Madame d'Imbleval; my mother, Madame Vaurois. "

For some time no one spoke. Rénine bowed. Hortense did not know with whomshe should shake hands, with Madame d'Imbleval, the mother, or with MadameVaurois, the mother. But what happened was that Madame d'Imbleval andMadame Vaurois both at the same time attempted to snatch the letter whichRénine was holding out to Jean Louis, while both at the same time mumbled:

"Mlle. Aymard!. .. She has had the coolness . .. She has had theaudacity. .. !"

Then Jean Louis, recovering his self-possession, laid hold of his motherd'Imbleval and pushed her out of the room by a door on the left and next ofhis mother Vaurois and pushed her out of the room by a door on the right. Then, returning to his two visitors, he opened the envelope and read, in anundertone:

 "I am to be married in a week, Jean Louis. Come to my rescue, I beseech you. My friend Hortense and Prince Rénine will help you to overcome the obstacles that baffle you. Trust them. I love you. 

 "GENEVIÈVE. "

He was a rather dull-looking young man, whose very swarthy, lean and bonyface certainly bore the expression of melancholy and distress described byGeneviève. Indeed, the marks of suffering were visible in all his harassedfeatures, as well as in his sad and anxious eyes. 

He repeated Geneviève's name over and over again, while looking about himwith a distracted air. He seemed to be seeking a course of conduct. 

He seemed on the point of offering an explanation but could find nothingto say. The sudden intervention had taken him at a disadvantage, like anunforseen attack which he did not know how to meet. 

Rénine felt that the adversary would capitulate at the first summons. Theman had been fighting so desperately during the last few months and hadsuffered so severely in the retirement and obstinate silence in which hehad taken refuge that he was not thinking of defending himself. Moreover, how could he do so, now that they had forced their way into the privacy ofhis odious existence?

"Take my word for it, monsieur, " declared Rénine, "that it is in your bestinterests to confide in us. We are Geneviève Aymard's friends. Do nothesitate to speak. "

"I can hardly hesitate, " he said, "after what you have just heard. This isthe life I lead, monsieur. I will tell you the whole secret, so that youmay tell it to Geneviève. She will then understand why I have not gone backto her . .. And why I have not the right to do so. "

He pushed a chair forward for Hortense. The two men sat down, and, withoutany need of further persuasion, rather as though he himself felt a certainrelief in unburdening himself, he said:

"You must not be surprised, monsieur, if I tell my story with a certainflippancy, for, as a matter of fact, it is a frankly comical story andcannot fail to make you laugh. Fate often amuses itself by playing theseimbecile tricks, these monstrous farces which seem as though they must havebeen invented by the brain of a madman or a drunkard. Judge for yourself. Twenty-seven years ago, the Manoir d'Elseven, which at that time consistedonly of the main building, was occupied by an old doctor who, to increasehis modest means, used to receive one or two paying guests. In this way, Madame d'Imbleval spent the summer here one year and Madame Vaurois thefollowing summer. Now these two ladies did not know each other. One of themwas married to a Breton of a merchant-vessel and the other to a commercialtraveller from the Vendée. 

"It so happened that they lost their husbands at the same time, at a periodwhen each of them was expecting a baby. And, as they both lived in thecountry, at places some distance from any town, they wrote to the olddoctor that they intended to come to his house for their confinement. .. . He agreed. They arrived almost on the same day, in the autumn. Two smallbedrooms were prepared for them, behind the room in which we are sitting. The doctor had engaged a nurse, who slept in this very room. Everythingwas perfectly satisfactory. The ladies were putting the finishing touchesto their baby-clothes and were getting on together splendidly. They weredetermined that their children should be boys and had chosen the names ofJean and Louis respectively. .. . One evening the doctor was called out to acase and drove off in his gig with the man-servant, saying that he wouldnot be back till next day. In her master's absence, a little girl whoserved as maid-of-all-work ran out to keep company with her sweetheart. These accidents destiny turned to account with diabolical malignity. Atabout midnight, Madame d'Imbleval was seized with the first pains. Thenurse, Mlle. Boussignol, had had some training as a midwife and did notlose her head. But, an hour later, Madame Vaurois' turn came; and thetragedy, or I might rather say the tragi-comedy, was enacted amid thescreams and moans of the two patients and the bewildered agitation of thenurse running from one to the other, bewailing her fate, opening the windowto call out for the doctor or falling on her knees to implore the aid ofProvidence. .. . Madame Vaurois was the first to bring a son into the world. Mlle. Boussignol hurriedly carried him in here, washed and tended him andlaid him in the cradle prepared for him. .. . But Madame d'Imbleval wasscreaming with pain; and the nurse had to attend to her while the newbornchild was yelling like a stuck pig and the terrified mother, unable to stirfrom her bed, fainted. .. . Add to this all the wretchedness of darkness anddisorder, the only lamp, without any oil, for the servant had neglected tofill it, the candles burning out, the moaning of the wind, the screechingof the owls, and you will understand that Mlle. Boussignol was scaredout of her wits. However, at five o'clock in the morning, after manytragic incidents, she came in here with the d'Imbleval baby, likewise aboy, washed and tended him, laid him in his cradle and went off to helpMadame Vaurois, who had come to herself and was crying out, while Madamed'Imbleval had fainted in her turn. And, when Mlle. Boussignol, havingsettled the two mothers, but half-crazed with fatigue, her brain in awhirl, returned to the new-born children, she realized with horror that shehad wrapped them in similar binders, thrust their feet into similar woolensocks and laid them both, side by side, _in the same cradle_, so thatit was impossible to tell Louis d'Imbleval from Jean Vaurois!. .. To makematters worse, when she lifted one of them out of the cradle, she foundthat his hands were cold as ice and that he had ceased to breathe. He wasdead. What was his name and what the survivor's?. .. Three hours later, thedoctor found the two women in a condition of frenzied delirium, while thenurse was dragging herself from one bed to the other, entreating the twomothers to forgive her. She held me out first to one, then to the other, to receive their caresses--for I was the surviving child--and they firstkissed me and then pushed me away; for, after all, who was I? The son ofthe widowed Madame d'Imbleval and the late merchant-captain or the son ofthe widowed Madame Vaurois and the late commercial traveller? There wasnot a clue by which they could tell. .. . The doctor begged each of the twomothers to sacrifice her rights, at least from the legal point of view, so that I might be called either Louis d'Imbleval or Jean Vaurois. Theyrefused absolutely. 'Why Jean Vaurois, if he's a d'Imbleval?' protested theone. 'Why Louis d'Imbleval, if he's a Vaurois?' retorted the other. And Iwas registered under the name of Jean Louis, the son of an unknown fatherand mother. "

Prince Rénine had listened in silence. But Hortense, as the storyapproached its conclusion, had given way to a hilarity which she could nolonger restrain and suddenly, in spite of all her efforts, she burst intoa fit of the wildest laughter:

"Forgive me, " she said, her eyes filled with tears, "do forgive me; it'stoo much for my nerves. .. . "

"Don't apologize, madame, " said the young man, gently, in a voice freefrom resentment. "I warned you that my story was laughable; I, better thanany one, know how absurd, how nonsensical it is. Yes, the whole thing isperfectly grotesque. But believe me when I tell you that it was no fun inreality. It seems a humorous situation and it remains humorous by the forceof circumstances; but it is also horrible. You can see that for yourself, can't you? The two mothers, neither of whom was certain of being a mother, but neither of whom was certain that she was not one, both clung to JeanLouis. He might be a stranger; on the other hand, he might be their ownflesh and blood. They loved him to excess and fought for him furiously. And, above all, they both came to hate each other with a deadly hatred. Differing completely in character and education and obliged to livetogether because neither was willing to forego the advantage of herpossible maternity, they lived the life of irreconcilable enemies who cannever lay their weapons aside. .. . I grew up in the midst of this hatred andhad it instilled into me by both of them. When my childish heart, hungeringfor affection, inclined me to one of them, the other would seek to inspireme with loathing and contempt for her. In this manor-house, which theybought on the old doctor's death and to which they added the two wings, Iwas the involuntary torturer and their daily victim. Tormented as a child, and, as a young man, leading the most hideous of lives, I doubt if any oneon earth ever suffered more than I did. "

"You ought to have left them!" exclaimed Hortense, who had stoppedlaughing. 

"One can't leave one's mother; and one of those two women was my mother. And a woman can't abandon her son; and each of them was entitled to believethat I was her son. We were all three chained together like convicts, withchains of sorrow, compassion, doubt and also of hope that the truth mightone day become apparent. And here we still are, all three, insulting oneanother and blaming one another for our wasted lives. Oh, what a hell! Andthere was no escaping it. I tried often enough . .. But in vain. The brokenbonds became tied again. Only this summer, under the stimulus of my lovefor Geneviève, I tried to free myself and did my utmost to persuade the twowomen whom I call mother. And then . .. And then! I was up against theircomplaints, their immediate hatred of the wife, of the stranger, whom Iwas proposing to force upon them. .. . I gave way. What sort of a life wouldGeneviève have had here, between Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vaurois? Ihad no right to victimize her. "

Jean Louis, who had been gradually becoming excited, uttered these lastwords in a firm voice, as though he would have wished his conduct tobe ascribed to conscientious motives and a sense of duty. In reality, as Rénine and Hortense clearly saw, his was an unusually weak nature, incapable of reacting against a ridiculous position from which he hadsuffered ever since he was a child and which he had come to look upon asfinal and irremediable. He endured it as a man bears a cross which he hasno right to cast aside; and at the same time he was ashamed of it. He hadnever spoken of it to Geneviève, from dread of ridicule; and afterwards, onreturning to his prison, he had remained there out of habit and weakness. 

He sat down to a writing-table and quickly wrote a letter which he handedto Rénine:

"Would you be kind enough to give this note to Mlle. Aymard and beg heronce more to forgive me?"

Rénine did not move and, when the other pressed the letter upon him, hetook it and tore it up. 

"What does this mean?" asked the young man. 

"It means that I will not charge myself with any message. "

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us. "

"I?"

"Yes. You will see Mlle. Aymard to-morrow and ask for her hand inmarriage. "

Jean Louis looked at Rénine with a rather disdainful air, as though he werethinking:

"Here's a man who has not understood a word of what I've been explaining tohim. "

But Hortense went up to Rénine:

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it will be as I say. "

"But you must have your reasons?"

"One only; but it will be enough, provided this gentleman is so kind as tohelp me in my enquiries. "

"Enquiries? With what object?" asked the young man. 

"With the object of proving that your story is not quite accurate. "

Jean Louis took umbrage at this:

"I must ask you to believe, monsieur, that I have not said a word which isnot the exact truth. "

"I expressed myself badly, " said Rénine, with great kindliness. "Certainlyyou have not said a word that does not agree with what you believe to bethe exact truth. But the truth is not, cannot be what you believe it tobe. "

The young man folded his arms:

"In any case, monsieur, it seems likely that I should know the truth betterthan you do. "

"Why better? What happened on that tragic night can obviously be known toyou only at secondhand. You have no proofs. Neither have Madame d'Imblevaland Madame Vaurois. "

"No proofs of what?" exclaimed Jean Louis, losing patience. 

"No proofs of the confusion that took place. "

"What! Why, it's an absolute certainty! The two children were laid in thesame cradle, with no marks to distinguish one from the other; and the nursewas unable to tell. .. . "

"At least, that's her version of it, " interrupted Rénine. 

"What's that? Her version? But you're accusing the woman. "

"I'm accusing her of nothing. "

"Yes, you are: you're accusing her of lying. And why should she lie? Shehad no interest in doing so; and her tears and despair are so much evidenceof her good faith. For, after all, the two mothers were there . .. They sawthe woman weeping . .. They questioned her. .. . And then, I repeat, whatinterest had she . .. ?"

Jean Louis was greatly excited. Close beside him, Madame d'Imbleval andMadame Vaurois, who had no doubt been listening behind the doors and whohad stealthily entered the room, stood stammering, in amazement:

"No, no . .. It's impossible. .. . We've questioned her over and over again. Why should she tell a lie?. .. "

"Speak, monsieur, speak, " Jean Louis enjoined. "Explain yourself. Give yourreasons for trying to cast doubt upon an absolute truth!"

"Because that truth is inadmissible, " declared Rénine, raising his voiceand growing excited in turn to the point of punctuating his remarks bythumping the table. "No, things don't happen like that. No, fate does notdisplay those refinements of cruelty and chance is not added to chance withsuch reckless extravagance! It was already an unprecedented chance that, onthe very night on which the doctor, his man-servant and his maid were outof the house, the two ladies should be seized with labour-pains at the samehour and should bring two sons into the world at the same time. Don't letus add a still more exceptional event! Enough of the uncanny! Enough oflamps that go out and candles that refuse to burn! No and again no, itis not admissable that a midwife should become confused in the essentialdetails of her trade. However bewildered she may be by the unforeseennature of the circumstances, a remnant of instinct is still on the alert, so that there is a place prepared for each child and each is kept distinctfrom the other. The first child is here, the second is there. Even if theyare lying side by side, one is on the left and the other on the right. Even if they are wrapped in the same kind of binders, some little detaildiffers, a trifle which is recorded by the memory and which is inevitablyrecalled to the mind without any need of reflection. Confusion? I refuseto believe in it. Impossible to tell one from the other? It isn't true. Inthe world of fiction, yes, one can imagine all sorts of fantastic accidentsand heap contradiction on contradiction. But, in the world of reality, atthe very heart of reality, there is always a fixed point, a solid nucleus, about which the facts group themselves in accordance with a logical order. I therefore declare most positively that Nurse Boussignol could not havemixed up the two children. "

All this he said decisively, as though he had been present during the nightin question; and so great was his power of persuasion that from the veryfirst he shook the certainty of those who for more than a quarter of acentury had never doubted. 

The two women and their son pressed round him and questioned him withbreathless anxiety:

"Then you think that she may know . .. That she may be able to tell us. .. . ?"

He corrected himself:

"I don't say yes and I don't say no. All I say is that there was somethingin her behaviour during those hours that does not tally with her statementsand with reality. All the vast and intolerable mystery that has weigheddown upon you three arises not from a momentary lack of attention but fromsomething of which we do not know, but of which she does. That is what Imaintain; and that is what happened. "

Jean Louis said, in a husky voice:

"She is alive. .. . She lives at Carhaix. .. . We can send for her. .. . "

Hortense at once proposed:

"Would you like me to go for her? I will take the motor and bring her backwith me. Where does she live?"

"In the middle of the town, at a little draper's shop. The chauffeur willshow you. Mlle. Boussignol: everybody knows her. .. . "

"And, whatever you do, " added Rénine, "don't warn her in any way. If she'suneasy, so much the better. But don't let her know what we want with her. "

Twenty minutes passed in absolute silence. Rénine paced the room, in whichthe fine old furniture, the handsome tapestries, the well-bound books andpretty knick-knacks denoted a love of art and a seeking after style in JeanLouis. This room was really his. In the adjoining apartments on eitherside, through the open doors, Rénine was able to note the bad taste of thetwo mothers. 

He went up to Jean Louis and, in a low voice, asked:

"Are they well off?"

"Yes. "

"And you?"

"They settled the manor-house upon me, with all the land around it, whichmakes me quite independent. "

"Have they any relations?"

"Sisters, both of them. "

"With whom they could go to live?"

"Yes; and they have sometimes thought of doing so. But there can't be anyquestion of that. Once more, I assure you. .. . "

Meantime the car had returned. The two women jumped up hurriedly, ready tospeak. 

"Leave it to me, " said Rénine, "and don't be surprised by anything that Isay. It's not a matter of asking her questions but of frightening her, offlurrying her. .. . The sudden attack, " he added between his teeth. 

The car drove round the lawn and drew up outside the windows. Hortensesprang out and helped an old woman to alight, dressed in a fluted linencap, a black velvet bodice and a heavy gathered skirt. 

The old woman entered in a great state of alarm. She had a pointed face, like a weasel's, with a prominent mouth full of protruding teeth. 

"What's the matter, Madame d'Imbleval?" she asked, timidly stepping intothe room from which the doctor had once driven her. "Good day to you, Madame Vaurois. "

The ladies did not reply. Rénine came forward and said, sternly:

"Mlle. Boussignol, I have been sent by the Paris police to throw lightupon a tragedy which took place here twenty-seven years ago. I have justsecured evidence that you have distorted the truth and that, as the resultof your false declarations, the birth-certificate of one of the childrenborn in the course of that night is inaccurate. Now false declarations inmatters of birth-certificates are misdemeanours punishable by law. I shalltherefore be obliged to take you to Paris to be interrogated . .. Unlessyou are prepared here and now to confess everything that might repair theconsequences of your offence. "

The old maid was shaking in every limb. Her teeth were chattering. She wasevidently incapable of opposing the least resistance to Rénine. 

"Are you ready to confess everything?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she panted. 

"Without delay? I have to catch a train. The business must be settledimmediately. If you show the least hesitation, I take you with me. Haveyou made up your mind to speak?"

"Yes. "

He pointed to Jean Louis:

"Whose son is this gentleman? Madame d'Imbleval's?"

"No. "

"Madame Vaurois', therefore?"

"No. "

A stupefied silence welcomed the two replies. 

"Explain yourself, " Rénine commanded, looking at his watch. 

Then Madame Boussignol fell on her knees and said, in so low and dull avoice that they had to bend over her in order to catch the sense of whatshe was mumbling:

"Some one came in the evening . .. A gentleman with a new-born baby wrappedin blankets, which he wanted the doctor to look after. As the doctor wasn'tthere, he waited all night and it was he who did it all. "

"Did what?" asked Rénine. "What did he do? What happened?"

"Well, what happened was that it was not one child but the two of them thatdied: Madame d'Imbleval's and Madame Vaurois' too, both in convulsions. Then the gentleman, seeing this, said, 'This shows me where my duty lies. Imust seize this opportunity of making sure that my own boy shall be happyand well cared for. Put him in the place of one of the dead children. ' Heoffered me a big sum of money, saying that this one payment would save himthe expense of providing for his child every month; and I accepted. Only, Idid not know in whose place to put him and whether to say that the boy wasLouis d'Imbleval or Jean Vaurois. The gentleman thought a moment and saidneither. Then he explained to me what I was to do and what I was to sayafter he had gone. And, while I was dressing his boy in vest and bindersthe same as one of the dead children, he wrapped the other in the blanketshe had brought with him and went out into the night. "

Mlle. Boussignol bent her head and wept. After a moment, Rénine said:

"Your deposition agrees with the result of my investigations. "

"Can I go?"

"Yes. "

"And is it over, as far as I'm concerned? They won't be talking about thisall over the district?"

"No. Oh, just one more question: do you know the man's name?"

"No. He didn't tell me his name. "

"Have you ever seen him since?"

"Never. "

"Have you anything more to say?"

"No. "

"Are you prepared to sign the written text of your confession?"

"Yes. "

"Very well. I shall send for you in a week or two. Till then, not a word toanybody. "

He saw her to the door and closed it after her. When he returned, JeanLouis was between the two old ladies and all three were holding hands. Thebond of hatred and wretchedness which had bound them had suddenly snapped;and this rupture, without requiring them to reflect upon the matter, filledthem with a gentle tranquillity of which they were hardly conscious, butwhich made them serious and thoughtful. 

"Let's rush things, " said Rénine to Hortense. "This is the decisive momentof the battle. We must get Jean Louis on board. "

Hortense seemed preoccupied. She whispered:

"Why did you let the woman go? Were you satisfied with her statement?"

"I don't need to be satisfied. She told us what happened. What more do youwant?"

"Nothing. .. . I don't know. .. . "

"We'll talk about it later, my dear. For the moment, I repeat, we must getJean Louis on board. And immediately. .. . Otherwise. .. . "

He turned to the young man:

"You agree with me, don't you, that, things being as they are, it is bestfor you and Madame Vaurois and Madame d'Imbleval to separate for a time?That will enable you all to see matters more clearly and to decide inperfect freedom what is to be done. Come with us, monsieur. The mostpressing thing is to save Geneviève Aymard, your _fiancée_. "

Jean Louis stood perplexed and undecided. Rénine turned to the two women:

"That is your opinion too, I am sure, ladies?"

They nodded. 

"You see, monsieur, " he said to Jean Louis, "we are all agreed. In greatcrises, there is nothing like separation . .. A few days' respite. Quicklynow, monsieur. "

And, without giving him time to hesitate, he drove him towards his bedroomto pack up. 

Half an hour later, Jean Louis left the manor-house with his new friends. 

"And he won't go back until he's married, " said Rénine to Hortense, as theywere waiting at Carhaix station, to which the car had taken them, whileJean Louis was attending to his luggage. "Everything's for the best. Areyou satisfied?"

"Yes, Geneviève will be glad, " she replied, absently. 

When they had taken their seats in the train, Rénine and she repaired tothe dining-car. Rénine, who had asked Hortense several questions to whichshe had replied only in monosyllables, protested:

"What's the matter with you, my child? You look worried!"

"I? Not at all!"

"Yes, yes, I know you. Now, no secrets, no mysteries!"

She smiled:

"Well, since you insist on knowing if I am satisfied, I am bound toadmit that of course I am . .. As regards my friend Geneviève, but that, in another respect--from the point of view of the adventure--I have anuncomfortable sort of feeling. .. . "

"To speak frankly, I haven't 'staggered' you this time?"

"Not very much. "

"I seem to you to have played a secondary part. For, after all, what have Idone? We arrived. We listened to Jean Louis' tale of woe. I had a midwifefetched. And that was all. "

"Exactly. I want to know if that _was_ all; and I'm not quite sure. To tell you the truth, our other adventures left behind them an impressionwhich was--how shall I put it?--more definite, clearer. "

"And this one strikes you as obscure?"

"Obscure, yes, and incomplete. "

"But in what way?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it has something to do with that woman's confession. Yes, very likely that is it. It was all so unexpected and so short. "

"Well, of course, I cut it short, as you can readily imagine!" said Rénine, laughing. "We didn't want too many explanations. "

"What do you mean?"

"Why, if she had given her explanations with too much detail, we shouldhave ended by doubting what she was telling us. "

"By doubting it?"

"Well, hang it all, the story is a trifle far-fetched! That fellow arrivingat night, with a live baby in his pocket, and going away with a dead one:the thing hardly holds water. But you see, my dear, I hadn't much time tocoach the unfortunate woman in her part. "

Hortense stared at him in amazement:

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, you know how dull-witted these countrywomen are. And she and Ihad no time to spare. So we worked out a little scene in a hurry . .. Andshe really didn't act it so badly. It was all in the right key: terror, _tremolo_, tears. .. . "

"Is it possible?" murmured Hortense. "Is it possible? You had seen herbeforehand?"

"I had to, of course. "

"But when?"

"This morning, when we arrived. While you were titivating yourself atthe hotel at Carhaix, I was running round to see what information Icould pick up. As you may imagine, everybody in the district knows thed'Imbleval-Vaurois story. I was at once directed to the former midwife, Mlle. Boussignol. With Mlle. Boussignol it did not take long. Three minutesto settle a new version of what had happened and ten thousand francs toinduce her to repeat that . .. More or less credible . .. Version to thepeople at the manor-house. "

"A quite incredible version!"

"Not so bad as all that, my child, seeing that you believed it . .. Andthe others too. And that was the essential thing. What I had to do was todemolish at one blow a truth which had been twenty-seven years in existenceand which was all the more firmly established because it was founded onactual facts. That was why I went for it with all my might and attacked itby sheer force of eloquence. Impossible to identify the children? I denyit. Inevitable confusion? It's not true. 'You're all three, ' I say, 'thevictims of something which I don't know but which it is your duty to clearup!' 'That's easily done, ' says Jean Louis, whose conviction is at onceshaken. 'Let's send for Mlle. Boussignol. ' 'Right! Let's send for her. 'Whereupon Mlle. Boussignol arrives and mumbles out the little speech whichI have taught her. Sensation! General stupefaction . .. Of which I takeadvantage to carry off our young man!"

Hortense shook her head:

"But they'll get over it, all three of them, on thinking!"

"Never! Never! They will have their doubts, perhaps. But they willnever consent to feel certain! They will never agree to think! Use yourimagination! Here are three people whom I have rescued from the hell inwhich they have been floundering for a quarter of a century. Do you thinkthey're going back to it? Here are three people who, from weakness or afalse sense of duty, had not the courage to escape. Do you think that theywon't cling like grim death to the liberty which I'm giving them? Nonsense!Why, they would have swallowed a hoax twice as difficult to digest as thatwhich Mlle. Boussignol dished up for them! After all, my version was nomore absurd than the truth. On the contrary. And they swallowed it whole!Look at this: before we left, I heard Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vauroisspeak of an immediate removal. They were already becoming quiteaffectionate at the thought of seeing the last of each other. "

"But what about Jean Louis?"

"Jean Louis? Why, he was fed up with his two mothers! By Jingo, one can'tdo with two mothers in a life-time! What a situation! And when one has theluck to be able to choose between having two mothers or none at all, why, bless me, one doesn't hesitate! And, besides, Jean Louis is in love withGeneviève. " He laughed. "And he loves her well enough, I hope and trust, not to inflict two mothers-in-law upon her! Come, you may be easy in yourmind. Your friend's happiness is assured; and that is all you asked for. All that matters is the object which we achieve and not the more or lesspeculiar nature of the methods which we employ. And, if some adventuresare wound up and some mysteries elucidated by looking for and findingcigarette-ends, or incendiary water-bottles and blazing hat-boxes as on ourlast expedition, others call for psychology and for purely psychologicalsolutions. I have spoken. And I charge you to be silent. "

"Silent?"

"Yes, there's a man and woman sitting behind us who seem to be sayingsomething uncommonly interesting. "

"But they're talking in whispers. "

"Just so. When people talk in whispers, it's always about something shady. "

He lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. Hortense listened, but invain. As for him, he was emitting little slow puffs of smoke. 

Fifteen minutes later, the train stopped and the man and woman got out. 

"Pity, " said Rénine, "that I don't know their names or where they're going. But I know where to find them. My dear, we have a new adventure before us. "

Hortense protested:

"Oh, no, please, not yet!. .. Give me a little rest!. .. And oughtn't we tothink of Geneviève?"

He seemed greatly surprised:

"Why, all that's over and done with! Do you mean to say you want to wasteany more time over that old story? Well, I for my part confess that I'velost all interest in the man with the two mammas. "

And this was said in such a comical tone and with such diverting sinceritythat Hortense was once more seized with a fit of giggling. Laughter alonewas able to relax her exasperated nerves and to distract her from so manycontradictory emotions. 

IV

THE TELL-TALE FILM

"Do look at the man who's playing the butler, " said Serge Rénine. 

"What is there peculiar about him?" asked Hortense. 

They were sitting in the balcony at a picture-palace, to which Hortense hadasked to be taken so that she might see on the screen the daughter of alady, now dead, who used to give her piano-lessons. Rose Andrée, a lovelygirl with lissome movements and a smiling face, was that evening figuringin a new film, _The Happy Princess_, which she lit up with her highspirits and her warm, glowing beauty. 

Rénine made no direct reply, but, during a pause in the performance, continued:

"I sometimes console myself for an indifferent film by watching thesubordinate characters. It seems to me that those poor devils, who are madeto rehearse certain scenes ten or twenty times over, must often be thinkingof other things than their parts at the time of the final exposure. Andit's great fun noting those little moments of distraction which revealsomething of their temperament, of their instinct self. As, for instance, in the case of that butler: look!"

The screen now showed a luxuriously served table. The Happy Princess sat atthe head, surrounded by all her suitors. Half-a-dozen footmen moved aboutthe room, under the orders of the butler, a big fellow with a dull, coarseface, a common appearance and a pair of enormous eyebrows which met acrosshis forehead in a single line. 

"He looks a brute, " said Hortense, "but what do you see in him that'speculiar?"

"Just note how he gazes at the princess and tell me if he doesn't stare ather oftener than he ought to. "

"I really haven't noticed anything, so far, " said Hortense. 

"Why, of course he does!" Serge Rénine declared. "It is quite obvious thatin actual life he entertains for Rose Andrée personal feelings which arequite out of place in a nameless servant. It is possible that, in reallife, no one has any idea of such a thing; but, on the screen, when he isnot watching himself, or when he thinks that the actors at rehearsal cannotsee him, his secret escapes him. Look. .. . "

The man was standing still. It was the end of dinner. The princess wasdrinking a glass of champagne and he was gloating over her with hisglittering eyes half-hidden behind their heavy lids. 

Twice again they surprised in his face those strange expressions to whichRénine ascribed an emotional meaning which Hortense refused to see:

"It's just his way of looking at people, " she said. 

The first part of the film ended. There were two parts, divided by an_entr'acte_. The notice on the programme stated that "a year hadelapsed and that the Happy Princess was living in a pretty Norman cottage, all hung with creepers, together with her husband, a poor musician. "

The princess was still happy, as was evident on the screen, still asattractive as ever and still besieged by the greatest variety of suitors. Nobles and commoners, peasants and financiers, men of all kinds fellswooning at her feet; and prominent among them was a sort of boorishsolitary, a shaggy, half-wild woodcutter, whom she met whenever she wentout for a walk. Armed with his axe, a formidable, crafty being, he prowledaround the cottage; and the spectators felt with a sense of dismay that aperil was hanging over the Happy Princess' head. 

"Look at that!" whispered Rénine. "Do you realise who the man of the woodsis?"

"No. "

"Simply the butler. The same actor is doubling the two parts. "

In fact, notwithstanding the new figure which he cut, the butler'smovements and postures were apparent under the heavy gait and roundedshoulders of the woodcutter, even as under the unkempt beard and long, thick hair the once clean-shaven face was visible with the cruel expressionand the bushy line of the eyebrows. 

The princess, in the background, was seen to emerge from the thatchedcottage. The man hid himself behind a clump of trees. From time to time, the screen displayed, on an enormously enlarged scale, his fiercely rollingeyes or his murderous hands with their huge thumbs. 

"The man frightens me, " said Hortense. "He is really terrifying. "

"Because he's acting on his own account, " said Rénine. "You must understandthat, in the space of three or four months that appears to separate thedates at which the two films were made, his passion has made progress; andto him it is not the princess who is coming but Rose Andrée. "

The man crouched low. The victim approached, gaily and unsuspectingly. Shepassed, heard a sound, stopped and looked about her with a smiling airwhich became attentive, then uneasy, and then more and more anxious. Thewoodcutter had pushed aside the branches and was coming through the copse. 

They were now standing face to face. He opened his arms as though to seizeher. She tried to scream, to call out for help; but the arms closed aroundher before she could offer the slightest resistance. Then he threw her overhis shoulder and began to run. 

"Are you satisfied?" whispered Rénine. "Do you think that this fourth-rateactor would have had all that strength and energy if it had been any otherwoman than Rose Andrée?"

Meanwhile the woodcutter was crossing the skirt of a forest and plungingthrough great trees and masses of rocks. After setting the princess down, he cleared the entrance to a cave which the daylight entered by a slantingcrevice. 

A succession of views displayed the husband's despair, the search and thediscovery of some small branches which had been broken by the princessand which showed the path that had been taken. Then came the final scene, with the terrible struggle between the man and the woman when the woman, vanquished and exhausted, is flung to the ground, the sudden arrival of thehusband and the shot that puts an end to the brute's life. .. . 

 * * * * *

"Well, " said Rénine, when they had left the picture-palace--and hespoke with a certain gravity--"I maintain that the daughter of your oldpiano-teacher has been in danger ever since the day when that last scenewas filmed. I maintain that this scene represents not so much an assault bythe man of the woods on the Happy Princess as a violent and frantic attackby an actor on the woman he desires. Certainly it all happened within thebounds prescribed by the part and nobody saw anything in it--nobody exceptperhaps Rose Andrée herself--but I, for my part, have detected flashesof passion which leave not a doubt in my mind. I have seen glances thatbetrayed the wish and even the intention to commit murder. I have seenclenched hands, ready to strangle, in short, a score of details which proveto me that, at that time, the man's instinct was urging him to kill thewoman who could never be his. "

"And it all amounts to what?"

"We must protect Rose Andrée if she is still in danger and if it is not toolate. "

"And to do this?"

"We must get hold of further information. "

"From whom?"

"From the World's Cinema Company, which made the film. I will go to themto-morrow morning. Will you wait for me in your flat about lunch-time?"

At heart, Hortense was still sceptical. All these manifestations ofpassion, of which she denied neither the ardour nor the ferocity, seemedto her to be the rational behaviour of a good actor. She had seen nothingof the terrible tragedy which Rénine contended that he had divined; andshe wondered whether he was not erring through an excess of imagination. 

"Well, " she asked, next day, not without a touch of irony, "how far haveyou got? Have you made a good bag? Anything mysterious? Anythingthrilling?"

"Pretty good. "

"Oh, really? And your so-called lover. .. . "

"Is one Dalbrèque, originally a scene-painter, who played the butler in thefirst part of the film and the man of the woods in the second and was somuch appreciated that they engaged him for a new film. Consequently, he hasbeen acting lately. He was acting near Paris. But, on the morning of Fridaythe 18th of September, he broke into the garage of the World's CinemaCompany and made off with a magnificent car and forty thousand francsin money. Information was lodged with the police; and on the Sunday thecar was found a little way outside Dreux. And up to now the enquiry hasrevealed two things, which will appear in the papers to-morrow: first, Dalbrèque is alleged to have committed a murder which created a great stirlast year, the murder of Bourguet, the jeweller; secondly, on the day afterhis two robberies, Dalbrèque was driving through Le Havre in a motor-carwith two men who helped him to carry off, in broad daylight and in acrowded street, a lady whose identity has not yet been discovered. "

"Rose Andrée?" asked Hortense, uneasily. 

"I have just been to Rose Andrée's: the World's Cinema Company gave me heraddress. Rose Andrée spent this summer travelling and then stayed for afortnight in the Seine-inférieure, where she has a small place of her own, the actual cottage in _The Happy Princess_. On receiving an invitationfrom America to do a film there, she came back to Paris, registered herluggage at the Gare Saint-Lazare and left on Friday the 18th of September, intending to sleep at Le Havre and take Saturday's boat. "

"Friday the 18th, " muttered Hortense, "the same day on which that man. .. . "

"And it was on the Saturday that a woman was carried off by him atLe Havre. I looked in at the Compagnie Transatlantique and a briefinvestigation showed that Rose Andrée had booked a cabin but that thecabin remained unoccupied. The passenger did not turn up. "

"This is frightful. She has been carried off. You were right. "

"I fear so. "

"What have you decided to do?"

"Adolphe, my chauffeur, is outside with the car. Let us go to Le Havre. Upto the present, Rose Andrée's disappearance does not seem to have becomeknown. Before it does and before the police identify the woman carried offby Dalbrèque with the woman who did not turn up to claim her cabin, we willget on Rose Andrée's track. "

There was not much said on the journey. At four o'clock Hortense and Réninereached Rouen. But here Rénine changed his road. 

"Adolphe, take the left bank of the Seine. "

He unfolded a motoring-map on his knees and, tracing the route with hisfinger, showed Hortense that, if you draw a line from Le Havre, or ratherfrom Quillebeuf, where the road crosses the Seine, to Dreux, where thestolen car was found, this line passes through Routot, a market-town lyingwest of the forest of Brotonne:

"Now it was in the forest of Brotonne, " he continued, "according to what Iheard, that the second part of _The Happy Princess_ was filmed. Andthe question that arises is this: having got hold of Rose Andrée, would itnot occur to Dalbrèque, when passing near the forest on the Saturday night, to hide his prey there, while his two accomplices went on to Dreux and fromthere returned to Paris? The cave was quite near. Was he not bound to go toit? How should he do otherwise? Wasn't it while running to this cave, a fewmonths ago, that he held in his arms, against his breast, within reach ofhis lips, the woman whom he loved and whom he has now conquered? By everyrule of fate and logic, the adventure is being repeated all over again . .. But this time in reality. Rose Andrée is a captive. There is no hopeof rescue. The forest is vast and lonely. That night, or on one of thefollowing nights, Rose Andrée must surrender . .. Or die. "

Hortense gave a shudder:

"We shall be too late. Besides, you don't suppose that he's keeping her aprisoner?"

"Certainly not. The place I have in mind is at a cross-roads and is not asafe retreat. But we may discover some clue or other. "

The shades of night were falling from the tall trees when they entered theancient forest of Brotonne, full of Roman remains and mediaeval relics. Rénine knew the forest well and remembered that near a famous oak, knownas the Wine-cask, there was a cave which must be the cave of the HappyPrincess. He found it easily, switched on his electric torch, rummaged inthe dark corners and brought Hortense back to the entrance:

"There's nothing inside, " he said, "but here is the evidence which I waslooking for. Dalbrèque was obsessed by the recollection of the film, but sowas Rose Andrée. The Happy Princess had broken off the tips of the brancheson the way through the forest. Rose Andrée has managed to break off some tothe right of this opening, in the hope that she would be discovered as onthe first occasion. "

"Yes, " said Hortense, "it's a proof that she has been here; but the proofis three weeks old. Since that time. .. . "

"Since that time, she is either dead and buried under a heap of leaves orelse alive in some hole even lonelier than this. "

"If so, where is he?"

Rénine pricked up his ears. Repeated blows of the axe were sounding fromsome distance, no doubt coming from a part of the forest that was beingcleared. 

"He?" said Rénine, "I wonder whether he may not have continued to behaveunder the influence of the film and whether the man of the woods in _TheHappy Princess_ has not quite naturally resumed his calling. For how isthe man to live, to obtain his food, without attracting attention? He willhave found a job. "

"We can't make sure of that. "

"We might, by questioning the woodcutters whom we can hear. "

The car took them by a forest-road to another cross-roads where theyentered on foot a track which was deeply rutted by waggon-wheels. The soundof axes ceased. After walking for a quarter of an hour, they met a dozenmen who, having finished work for the day, were returning to the villagesnear by. 

"Will this path take us to Routot?" ask Rénine, in order to open aconversation with them. 

"No, you're turning your backs on it, " said one of the men, gruffly. 

And he went on, accompanied by his mates. 

Hortense and Rénine stood rooted to the spot. They had recognized thebutler. His cheeks and chin were shaved, but his upper lip was covered bya black moustache, evidently dyed. The eyebrows no longer met and werereduced to normal dimensions. 

 * * * * *

Thus, in less than twenty hours, acting on the vague hints supplied by thebearing of a film-actor, Serge Rénine had touched the very heart of thetragedy by means of purely psychological arguments. 

"Rose Andrée is alive, " he said. "Otherwise Dalbrèque would have left thecountry. The poor thing must be imprisoned and bound up; and he takes hersome food at night. "

"We will save her, won't we?"

"Certainly, by keeping a watch on him and, if necessary, but in the lastresort, compelling him by force to give up his secret. "

They followed the woodcutter at a distance and, on the pretext that the carneeded overhauling, engaged rooms in the principal inn at Routot. 

Attached to the inn was a small café from which they were separated by theentrance to the yard and above which were two rooms, reached by a woodenouter staircase, at one side. Dalbrèque occupied one of these rooms andRénine took the other for his chauffeur. 

Next morning he learnt from Adolphe that Dalbrèque, on the previousevening, after all the lights were out, had carried down a bicycle from hisroom and mounted it and had not returned until shortly before sunrise. 

The bicycle tracks led Rénine to the uninhabited Château des Landes, fivemiles from the village. They disappeared in a rocky path which ran besidethe park down to the Seine, opposite the Jumièges peninsula. 

Next night, he took up his position there. At eleven o'clock, Dalbrèqueclimbed a bank, scrambled over a wire fence, hid his bicycle under thebranches and moved away. It seemed impossible to follow him in the pitchydarkness, on a mossy soil that muffled the sound of footsteps. Rénine didnot make the attempt; but, at daybreak, he came with his chauffeur andhunted through the park all the morning. Though the park, which coveredthe side of a hill and was bounded below by the river, was not very large, he found no clue which gave him any reason to suppose that Rose Andrée wasimprisoned there. 

He therefore went back to the village, with the firm intention of takingaction that evening and employing force:

"This state of things cannot go on, " he said to Hortense. "I must rescueRose Andrée at all costs and save her from that ruffian's clutches. He mustbe made to speak. He must. Otherwise there's a danger that we may be toolate. "

That day was Sunday; and Dalbrèque did not go to work. He did not leave hisroom except for lunch and went upstairs again immediately afterwards. Butat three o'clock Rénine and Hortense, who were keeping a watch on him fromthe inn, saw him come down the wooden staircase, with his bicycle on hisshoulder. Leaning it against the bottom step, he inflated the tires andfastened to the handle-bar a rather bulky object wrapped in a newspaper. 

"By Jove!" muttered Rénine. 

"What's the matter?"

In front of the café was a small terrace bordered on the right and left byspindle-trees planted in boxes, which were connected by a paling. Behindthe shrubs, sitting on a bank but stooping forward so that they could seeDalbrèque through the branches, were four men. 

"Police!" said Rénine. "What bad luck! If those fellows take a hand, theywill spoil everything. "

"Why? On the contrary, I should have thought. .. . "

"Yes, they will. They will put Dalbrèque out of the way . .. And then? Willthat give us Rose Andrée?"

Dalbrèque had finished his preparations. Just as he was mounting hisbicycle, the detectives rose in a body, ready to make a dash for him. ButDalbrèque, though quite unconscious of their presence, changed his mind andwent back to his room as though he had forgotten something. 

"Now's the time!" said Rénine. "I'm going to risk it. But it's a difficultsituation and I've no great hopes. "

He went out into the yard and, at a moment when the detectives were notlooking, ran up the staircase, as was only natural if he wished to give anorder to his chauffeur. But he had no sooner reached the rustic balcony atthe back of the house, which gave admission to the two bedrooms than hestopped. Dalbrèque's door was open. Rénine walked in. 

Dalbrèque stepped back, at once assuming the defensive:

"What do you want? Who said you could. .. . "

"Silence!" whispered Rénine, with an imperious gesture. "It's all up withyou!"

"What are you talking about?" growled the man, angrily. 

"Lean out of your window. There are four men below on the watch for you toleave, four detectives. "

Dalbrèque leant over the terrace and muttered an oath:

"On the watch for me?" he said, turning round. "What do I care?"

"They have a warrant. "

He folded his arms:

"Shut up with your piffle! A warrant! What's that to me?"

"Listen, " said Rénine, "and let us waste no time. It's urgent. Your name'sDalbrèque, or, at least, that's the name under which you acted in _TheHappy Princess_ and under which the police are looking for you as beingthe murderer of Bourguet the jeweller, the man who stole a motor-car andforty thousand francs from the World's Cinema Company and the man whoabducted a woman at Le Havre. All this is known and proved . .. And here'sthe upshot. Four men downstairs. Myself here, my chauffeur in the nextroom. You're done for. Do you want me to save you?"

Dalbrèque gave his adversary a long look:

"Who are you?"

"A friend of Rose Andrée's, " said Rénine. 

The other started and, to some extent dropping his mask, retorted:

"What are your conditions?"

"Rose Andrée, whom you have abducted and tormented, is dying in some holeor corner. Where is she?"

A strange thing occurred and impressed Rénine. Dalbrèque's face, usually socommon, was lit up by a smile that made it almost attractive. But this wasonly a flashing vision: the man immediately resumed his hard and impassiveexpression. 

"And suppose I refuse to speak?" he said. 

"So much the worse for you. It means your arrest. "

"I dare say; but it means the death of Rose Andrée. Who will release her?"

"You. You will speak now, or in an hour, or two hours hence at least. Youwill never have the heart to keep silent and let her die. "

Dalbrèque shrugged his shoulders. Then, raising his hand, he said:

"I swear on my life that, if they arrest me, not a word will leave mylips. "

"What then?"

"Then save me. We will meet this evening at the entrance to the Parc desLandes and say what we have to say. "

"Why not at once?"

"I have spoken. "

"Will you be there?"

"I shall be there. "

Rénine reflected. There was something in all this that he failed to grasp. In any case, the frightful danger that threatened Rose Andrée dominated thewhole situation; and Rénine was not the man to despise this threat and topersist out of vanity in a perilous course. Rose Andrée's life came beforeeverything. 

He struck several blows on the wall of the next bedroom and called hischauffeur. 

"Adolphe, is the car ready?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Set her going and pull her up in front of the terrace outside the café, right against the boxes so as to block the exit. As for you, " he continued, addressing Dalbrèque, "you're to jump on your machine and, instead ofmaking off along the road, cross the yard. At the end of the yard is apassage leading into a lane. There you will be free. But no hesitation andno blundering . .. Else you'll get yourself nabbed. Good luck to you. "

He waited till the car was drawn up in accordance with his instructionsand, when he reached it, he began to question his chauffeur, in order toattract the detectives' attention. 

One of them, however, having cast a glance through the spindle-trees, caught sight of Dalbrèque just as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He gave the alarm and darted forward, followed by his comrades, but hadto run round the car and bumped into the chauffeur, which gave Dalbrèquetime to mount his bicycle and cross the yard unimpeded. He thus had someseconds' start. Unfortunately for him as he was about to enter the passageat the back, a troop of boys and girls appeared, returning from vespers. Onhearing the shouts of the detectives, they spread their arms in front ofthe fugitive, who gave two or three lurches and ended by falling. 

Cries of triumph were raised:

"Lay hold of him! Stop him!" roared the detectives as they rushed forward. 

Rénine, seeing that the game was up, ran after the others and called out:

"Stop him!"

He came up with them just as Dalbrèque, after regaining his feet, knockedone of the policemen down and levelled his revolver. Rénine snatched it outof his hands. But the two other detectives, startled, had also producedtheir weapons. They fired. Dalbrèque, hit in the leg and the chest, pitchedforward and fell. 

"Thank you, sir, " said the inspector to Rénine introducing himself. "We owea lot to you. "

"It seems to me that you've done for the fellow, " said Rénine. "Who is he?"

"One Dalbrèque, a scoundrel for whom we were looking. "

Rénine was beside himself. Hortense had joined him by this time; and hegrowled:

"The silly fools! Now they've killed him!"

"Oh, it isn't possible!"

"We shall see. But, whether he's dead or alive, it's death to Rose Andrée. How are we to trace her? And what chance have we of finding the place--someinaccessible retreat--where the poor thing is dying of misery andstarvation?"

The detectives and peasants had moved away, bearing Dalbrèque with them onan improvised stretcher. Rénine, who had at first followed them, in orderto find out what was going to happen, changed his mind and was now standingwith his eyes fixed on the ground. The fall of the bicycle had unfastenedthe parcel which Dalbrèque had tied to the handle-bar; and the newspaperhad burst, revealing its contents, a tin saucepan, rusty, dented, batteredand useless. 

"What's the meaning of this?" he muttered. "What was the idea?. .. "

He picked it up examined it. Then he gave a grin and a click of the tongueand chuckled, slowly:

"Don't move an eyelash, my dear. Let all these people clear off. All thisis no business of ours, is it? The troubles of police don't concern us. Weare two motorists travelling for our pleasure and collecting old saucepansif we feel so inclined. "

He called his chauffeur:

"Adolphe, take us to the Parc des Landes by a roundabout road. "

Half an hour later they reached the sunken track and began to scramble downit on foot beside the wooded slopes. The Seine, which was very low at thistime of day, was lapping against a little jetty near which lay aworm-eaten, mouldering boat, full of puddles of water. 

Rénine stepped into the boat and at once began to bale out the puddles withhis saucepan. He then drew the boat alongside of the jetty, helped Hortensein and used the one oar which he shipped in a gap in the stern to work herinto midstream:

"I believe I'm there!" he said, with a laugh. "The worst that can happento us is to get our feet wet, for our craft leaks a trifle. But haven't wea saucepan? Oh, blessings on that useful utensil! Almost as soon as I seteyes upon it, I remembered that people use those articles to bale out thebottoms of leaky boats. Why, there was bound to be a boat in the Landeswoods! How was it I never thought of that? But of course Dalbrèque made useof her to cross the Seine! And, as she made water, he brought a saucepan. "

"Then Rose Andrée . .. ?" asked Hortense. 

"Is a prisoner on the other bank, on the Jumièges peninsula. You see thefamous abbey from here. "

They ran aground on a beach of big pebbles covered with slime. 

"And it can't be very far away, " he added. "Dalbrèque did not spend thewhole night running about. "

A tow-path followed the deserted bank. Another path led away from it. Theychose the second and, passing between orchards enclosed by hedges, came toa landscape that seemed strangely familiar to them. Where had they seenthat pool before, with the willows overhanging it? And where had they seenthat abandoned hovel?

Suddenly both of them stopped with one accord:

"Oh!" said Hortense. "I can hardly believe my eyes!"

Opposite them was the white gate of a large orchard, at the back of which, among groups of old, gnarled apple-trees, appeared a cottage with blueshutters, the cottage of the Happy Princess. 

"Of course!" cried Rénine. "And I ought to have known it, consideringthat the film showed both this cottage and the forest close by. And isn'teverything happening exactly as in _The Happy Princess_? Isn'tDalbrèque dominated by the memory of it? The house, which is certainly theone in which Rose Andrée spent the summer, was empty. He has shut her upthere. "

"But the house, you told me, was in the Seine-inférieure. "

"Well, so are we! To the left of the river, the Eure and the forest ofBrotonne; to the right, the Seine-inférieure. But between them is theobstacle of the river, which is why I didn't connect the two. A hundred andfifty yards of water form a more effective division than dozens of miles. "

The gate was locked. They got through the hedge a little lower down andwalked towards the house, which was screened on one side by an old wallshaggy with ivy and roofed with thatch. 

"It seems as if there was somebody there, " said Hortense. "Didn't I hearthe sound of a window?"

"Listen. "

Some one struck a few chords on a piano. Then a voice arose, a woman'svoice softly and solemnly singing a ballad that thrilled with restrainedpassion. The woman's whole soul seemed to breathe itself into the melodiousnotes. 

They walked on. The wall concealed them from view, but they saw asitting-room furnished with bright wall-paper and a blue Roman carpet. Thethrobbing voice ceased. The piano ended with a last chord; and the singerrose and appeared framed in the window. 

"Rose Andrée!" whispered Hortense. 

"Well!" said Rénine, admitting his astonishment. "This is the last thingthat I expected! Rose Andrée! Rose Andrée at liberty! And singing Massenetin the sitting room of her cottage!"

"What does it all mean? Do you understand?"

"Yes, but it has taken me long enough! But how could we have guessed . .. ?"

Although they had never seen her except on the screen, they had not theleast doubt that this was she. It was really Rose Andrée, or rather, the Happy Princess, whom they had admired a few days before, amidst thefurniture of that very sitting-room or on the threshold of that verycottage. She was wearing the same dress; her hair was done in the same way;she had on the same bangles and necklaces as in _The Happy Princess_;and her lovely face, with its rosy cheeks and laughing eyes, bore the samelook of joy and serenity. 

Some sound must have caught her ear, for she leant over towards a clump ofshrubs beside the cottage and whispered into the silent garden:

"Georges . .. Georges . .. Is that you, my darling?"

Receiving no reply, she drew herself up and stood smiling at the happythoughts that seemed to flood her being. 

But a door opened at the back of the room and an old peasant woman enteredwith a tray laden with bread, butter and milk:

"Here, Rose, my pretty one, I've brought you your supper. Milk fresh fromthe cow. .. . "

And, putting down the tray, she continued:

"Aren't you afraid, Rose, of the chill of the night air? Perhaps you'reexpecting your sweetheart?"

"I haven't a sweetheart, my dear old Catherine. "

"What next!" said the old woman, laughing. "Only this morning there werefootprints under the window that didn't look at all proper!"

"A burglar's footprints perhaps, Catherine. "

"Well, I don't say they weren't, Rose dear, especially as in your callingyou have a lot of people round you whom it's well to be careful of. Forinstance, your friend Dalbrèque, eh? Nice goings on his are! You saw thepaper yesterday. A fellow who has robbed and murdered people and carriedoff a woman at Le Havre . .. !"

Hortense and Rénine would have much liked to know what Rose Andrée thoughtof the revelations, but she had turned her back to them and was sitting ather supper; and the window was now closed, so that they could neither hearher reply nor see the expression of her features. 

They waited for a moment. Hortense was listening with an anxious face. ButRénine began to laugh:

"Very funny, really funny! And such an unexpected ending! And we who werehunting for her in some cave or damp cellar, a horrible tomb where the poorthing was dying of hunger! It's a fact, she knew the terrors of that firstnight of captivity; and I maintain that, on that first night, she wasflung, half-dead, into the cave. Only, there you are: the next morningshe was alive! One night was enough to tame the little rogue and tomake Dalbrèque as handsome as Prince Charming in her eyes! For see thedifference. On the films or in novels, the Happy Princesses resist orcommit suicide. But in real life . .. Oh, woman, woman!"

"Yes, " said Hortense, "but the man she loves is almost certainly dead. "

"And a good thing too! It would be the best solution. What would be theoutcome of this criminal love for a thief and murderer?"

A few minutes passed. Then, amid the peaceful silence of the waning day, mingled with the first shadows of the twilight, they again heard thegrating of the window, which was cautiously opened. Rose Andrée leant overthe garden and waited, with her eyes turned to the wall, as though she sawsomething there. 

Presently, Rénine shook the ivy-branches. 

"Ah!" she said. "This time I know you're there! Yes, the ivy's moving. Georges, Georges darling, why do you keep me waiting? Catherine has gone. I am all alone. .. . "

She had knelt down and was distractedly stretching out her shapely armscovered with bangles which clashed with a metallic sound:

"Georges!. .. Georges!. .. "

Her every movement, the thrill of her voice, her whole being expresseddesire and love. Hortense, deeply touched, could not help saying:

"How the poor thing loves him! If she but knew. .. . "

"Ah!" cried the girl. "You've spoken. You're there, and you want me to cometo you, don't you? Here I am, Georges!. .. "

She climbed over the window-ledge and began to run, while Rénine went roundthe wall and advanced to meet her. 

She stopped short in front of him and stood choking at the sight of thisman and woman whom she did not know and who were stepping out of the veryshadow from which her beloved appeared to her each night. 

Rénine bowed, gave his name and introduced his companion:

"Madame Hortense Daniel, a pupil and friend of your mother's. "

Still motionless with stupefaction, her features drawn, she stammered:

"You know who I am?. .. And you were there just now?. .. You heard what Iwas saying . .. ?"

Rénine, without hesitating or pausing in his speech, said:

"You are Rose Andrée, the Happy Princess. We saw you on the films the otherevening; and circumstances led us to set out in search of you . .. To LeHavre, where you were abducted on the day when you were to have left forAmerica, and to the forest of Brotonne, where you were imprisoned. "

She protested eagerly, with a forced laugh:

"What is all this? I have not been to Le Havre. I came straight here. Abducted? Imprisoned? What nonsense!"

"Yes, imprisoned, in the same cave as the Happy Princess; and you broke offsome branches to the right of the cave. "

"But how absurd! Who would have abducted me? I have no enemy. "

"There is a man in love with you: the one whom you were expecting justnow. "

"Yes, my lover, " she said, proudly. "Have I not the right to receive whom Ilike?"

"You have the right; you are a free agent. But the man who comes to see youevery evening is wanted by the police. His name is Georges Dalbrèque. Hekilled Bourguet the jeweller. "

The accusation made her start with indignation and she exclaimed:

"It's a lie! An infamous fabrication of the newspapers! Georges was inParis on the night of the murder. He can prove it. "

"He stole a motor car and forty thousand francs in notes. "

She retorted vehemently:

"The motor-car was taken back by his friends and the notes will berestored. He never touched them. My leaving for America had made him losehis head. "

"Very well. I am quite willing to believe everything that you say. But thepolice may show less faith in these statements and less indulgence. "

She became suddenly uneasy and faltered:

"The police. .. . There's nothing to fear from them. .. . They won't know. .. . "

"Where to find him? I succeeded, at all events. He's working as awoodcutter, in the forest of Brotonne. "

"Yes, but . .. You . .. That was an accident . .. Whereas the police. .. . "

The words left her lips with the greatest difficulty. Her voice wastrembling. And suddenly she rushed at Rénine, stammering:

"He is arrested?. .. I am sure of it!. .. And you have come to tell me. .. . Arrested! Wounded! Dead perhaps?. .. Oh, please, please!. .. "

She had no strength left. All her pride, all the certainty of her greatlove gave way to an immense despair and she sobbed out. 

"No, he's not dead, is he? No, I feel that he's not dead. Oh, sir, howunjust it all is! He's the gentlest man, the best that ever lived. He haschanged my whole life. Everything is different since I began to love him. And I love him so! I love him! I want to go to him. Take me to him. I wantthem to arrest me too. I love him. .. . I could not live without him. .. . "

An impulse of sympathy made Hortense put her arms around the girl's neckand say warmly:

"Yes, come. He is not dead, I am sure, only wounded; and Prince Rénine willsave him. You will, won't you, Rénine?. .. Come. Make up a story for yourservant: say that you're going somewhere by train and that she is not totell anybody. Be quick. Put on a wrap. We will save him, I swear we will. "

Rose Andrée went indoors and returned almost at once, disguised beyondrecognition in a long cloak and a veil that shrouded her face; and they alltook the road back to Routot. At the inn, Rose Andrée passed as a friendwhom they had been to fetch in the neighbourhood and were taking to Pariswith them. Rénine ran out to make enquiries and came back to the two women. 

"It's all right. Dalbrèque is alive. They have put him to bed in a privateroom at the mayor's offices. He has a broken leg and a rather hightemperature; but all the same they expect to move him to Rouen to-morrowand they have telephoned there for a motor-car. "

"And then?" asked Rose Andrée, anxiously. 

Rénine smiled:

"Why, then we shall leave at daybreak. We shall take up our positions in asunken road, rifle in hand, attack the motor-coach and carry off Georges!"

"Oh, don't laugh!" she said, plaintively. "I am so unhappy!"

But the adventure seemed to amuse Rénine; and, when he was alone withHortense, he exclaimed:

"You see what comes of preferring dishonour to death! But hang it all, whocould have expected this? It isn't a bit the way in which things happenin the pictures! Once the man of the woods had carried off his victim andconsidering that for three weeks there was no one to defend her, how couldwe imagine--we who had been proceeding all along under the influence ofthe pictures--that in the space of a few hours the victim would become aprincess in love? Confound that Georges! I now understand the sly, humorouslook which I surprised on his mobile features! He remembered, Georges did, and he didn't care a hang for me! Oh, he tricked me nicely! And you, mydear, he tricked you too! And it was all the influence of the film. Theyshow us, at the cinema, a brute beast, a sort of long-haired, ape-facedsavage. What can a man like that be in real life? A brute, inevitably, don't you agree? Well, he's nothing of the kind; he's a Don Juan! Thehumbug!"

"You will save him, won't you?" said Hortense, in a beseeching tone. 

"Are you very anxious that I should?"

"Very. "

"In that case, promise to give me your hand to kiss. "

"You can have both hands, Rénine, and gladly. "

The night was uneventful. Rénine had given orders for the two ladies tobe waked at an early hour. When they came down, the motor was leaving theyard and pulling up in front of the inn. It was raining; and Adolphe, thechauffeur, had fixed up the long, low hood and packed the luggage inside. 

Rénine called for his bill. They all three took a cup of coffee. But, justas they were leaving the room, one of the inspector's men came rushing in:

"Have you seen him?" he asked. "Isn't he here?"

The inspector himself arrived at a run, greatly excited:

"The prisoner has escaped! He ran back through the inn! He can't be faraway!"

A dozen rustics appeared like a whirlwind. They ransacked the lofts, thestables, the sheds. They scattered over the neighbourhood. But the searchled to no discovery. 

"Oh, hang it all!" said Rénine, who had taken his part in the hunt. "Howcan it have happened?"

"How do I know?" spluttered the inspector in despair. "I left my three menwatching in the next room. I found them this morning fast asleep, stupefiedby some narcotic which had been mixed with their wine! And the Dalbrèquebird had flown!"

"Which way?"

"Through the window. There were evidently accomplices, with ropes and aladder. And, as Dalbrèque had a broken leg, they carried him off on thestretcher itself. "

"They left no traces?"

"No traces of footsteps, true. The rain has messed everything up. But theywent through the yard, because the stretcher's there. "

"You'll find him, Mr. Inspector, there's no doubt of that. In any case, youmay be sure that you won't have any trouble over the affair. I shall be inParis this evening and shall go straight to the prefecture, where I haveinfluential friends. "

Rénine went back to the two women in the coffee-room and Hortense at oncesaid:

"It was you who carried him off, wasn't it? Please put Rose Andrée's mindat rest. She is so terrified!"

He gave Rose Andrée his arm and led her to the car. She was staggering andvery pale; and she said, in a faint voice:

"Are we going? And he: is he safe? Won't they catch him again?"

Looking deep into her eyes, he said:

"Swear to me, Rose Andrée, that in two months, when he is well and whenI have proved his innocence, swear that you will go away with him toAmerica. "

"I swear. "

"And that, once there, you will marry him. "

"I swear. "

He spoke a few words in her ear. 

"Ah!" she said. "May Heaven bless you for it!"

Hortense took her seat in front, with Rénine, who sat at the wheel. Theinspector, hat in hand, fussed around the car until it moved off. 

They drove through the forest, crossed the Seine at La Mailleraie andstruck into the Havre-Rouen road. 

"Take off your glove and give me your hand to kiss, " Rénine ordered. "Youpromised that you would. "

"Oh!" said Hortense. "But it was to be when Dalbrèque was saved. "

"He is saved. "

"Not yet. The police are after him. They may catch him again. He will notbe really saved until he is with Rose Andrée. "

"He is with Rose Andrée, " he declared. 

"What do you mean?"

"Turn round. "

She did so. 

In the shadow of the hood, right at the back, behind the chauffeur, RoseAndrée was kneeling beside a man lying on the seat. 

"Oh, " stammered Hortense, "it's incredible! Then it was you who hid himlast night? And he was there, in front of the inn, when the inspector wasseeing us off?"

"Lord, yes! He was there, under the cushions and rugs!"

"It's incredible!" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "It's incredible! Howwere you able to manage it all?"

"I wanted to kiss your hand, " he said. 

She removed her glove, as he bade her, and raised her hand to his lips. 

The car was speeding between the peaceful Seine and the white cliffs thatborder it. They sat silent for a long while. Then he said:

"I had a talk with Dalbrèque last night. He's a fine fellow and is readyto do anything for Rose Andrée. He's right. A man must do anything forthe woman he loves. He must devote himself to her, offer her all that isbeautiful in this world: joy and happiness . .. And, if she should be bored, stirring adventures to distract her, to excite her and to make her smile. .. Or even weep. "

Hortense shivered; and her eyes were not quite free from tears. For thefirst time he was alluding to the sentimental adventure that bound them bya tie which as yet was frail, but which became stronger and more enduringwith each of the ventures on which they entered together, pursuing themfeverishly and anxiously to their close. Already she felt powerless anduneasy with this extraordinary man, who subjected events to his will andseemed to play with the destinies of those whom he fought or protected. Hefilled her with dread and at the same time he attracted her. She thought ofhim sometimes as her master, sometimes as an enemy against whom she mustdefend herself, but oftenest as a perturbing friend, full of charm andfascination. .. . 

V

THÉRÈSE AND GERMAINE

The weather was so mild that autumn that, on the 12th of October, in themorning, several families still lingering in their villas at Étretat hadgone down to the beach. The sea, lying between the cliffs and the clouds onthe horizon, might have suggested a mountain-lake slumbering in the hollowof the enclosing rocks, were it not for that crispness in the air and thosepale, soft and indefinite colours in the sky which give a special charm tocertain days in Normandy. 

"It's delicious, " murmured Hortense. But the next moment she added: "Allthe same, we did not come here to enjoy the spectacle of nature or towonder whether that huge stone Needle on our left was really at one timethe home of Arsène Lupin. "

"We came here, " said Prince Rénine, "because of the conversation which Ioverheard, a fortnight ago, in a dining-car, between a man and a woman. "

"A conversation of which I was unable to catch a single word. "

"If those two people could have guessed for an instant that it was possibleto hear a single word of what they were saying, they would not have spoken, for their conversation was one of extraordinary gravity and importance. ButI have very sharp ears; and though I could not follow every sentence, Iinsist that we may be certain of two things. First, that man and woman, whoare brother and sister, have an appointment at a quarter to twelve thismorning, the 12th of October, at the spot known as the Trois Mathildes, with a third person, who is married and who wishes at all costs to recoverhis or her liberty. Secondly, this appointment, at which they will cometo a final agreement, is to be followed this evening by a walk along thecliffs, when the third person will bring with him or her the man or woman, I can't definitely say which, whom they want to get rid of. That is thegist of the whole thing. Now, as I know a spot called the Trois Mathildessome way above Étretat and as this is not an everyday name, we came downyesterday to thwart the plan of these objectionable persons. "

"What plan?" asked Hortense. "For, after all, it's only your assumptionthat there's to be a victim and that the victim is to be flung off thetop of the cliffs. You yourself told me that you heard no allusion to apossible murder. "

"That is so. But I heard some very plain words relating to the marriage ofthe brother or the sister with the wife or the husband of the third person, which implies the need for a crime. "

They were sitting on the terrace of the casino, facing the stairs which rundown to the beach. They therefore overlooked the few privately-owned cabinson the shingle, where a party of four men were playing bridge, while agroup of ladies sat talking and knitting. 

A short distance away and nearer to the sea was another cabin, standing byitself and closed. 

Half-a-dozen bare-legged children were paddling in the water. 

"No, " said Hortense, "all this autumnal sweetness and charm fails toattract me. I have so much faith in all your theories that I can't helpthinking, in spite of everything, of this dreadful problem. Which of thosepeople yonder is threatened? Death has already selected its victim. Who isit? Is it that young, fair-haired woman, rocking herself and laughing? Isit that tall man over there, smoking his cigar? And which of them has thethought of murder hidden in his heart? All the people we see are quietlyenjoying themselves. Yet death is prowling among them. "

"Capital!" said Rénine. "You too are becoming enthusiastic. What did I tellyou? The whole of life's an adventure; and nothing but adventure is worthwhile. At the first breath of coming events, there you are, quivering inevery nerve. You share in all the tragedies stirring around you; and thefeeling of mystery awakens in the depths of your being. See, how closelyyou are observing that couple who have just arrived. You never can tell:that may be the gentleman who proposes to do away with his wife? Or perhapsthe lady contemplates making away with her husband?"

"The d'Ormevals? Never! A perfectly happy couple! Yesterday, at the hotel, I had a long talk with the wife. And you yourself. .. . "

"Oh, I played a round of golf with Jacques d'Ormeval, who rather fancieshimself as an athlete, and I played at dolls with their two charming littlegirls!"

The d'Ormevals came up and exchanged a few words with them. Madamed'Ormeval said that her two daughters had gone back to Paris that morningwith their governess. Her husband, a great tall fellow with a yellow beard, carrying his blazer over his arm and puffing out his chest under a cellularshirt, complained of the heat:

"Have you the key of the cabin, Thérèse?" he asked his wife, when they hadleft Rénine and Hortense and stopped at the top of the stairs, a few yardsaway. 

"Here it is, " said the wife. "Are you going to read your papers?"

"Yes. Unless we go for a stroll?. .. "

"I had rather wait till the afternoon: do you mind? I have a lot of lettersto write this morning. "

"Very well. We'll go on the cliff. "

Hortense and Rénine exchanged a glance of surprise. Was this suggestionaccidental? Or had they before them, contrary to their expectations, thevery couple of whom they were in search?

Hortense tried to laugh:

"My heart is thumping, " she said. "Nevertheless, I absolutely refuse tobelieve in anything so improbable. 'My husband and I have never had theslightest quarrel, ' she said to me. No, it's quite clear that those two geton admirably. "

"We shall see presently, at the Trois Mathildes, if one of them comes tomeet the brother and sister. "

M. D'Ormeval had gone down the stairs, while his wife stood leaning on thebalustrade of the terrace. She had a beautiful, slender, supple figure. Herclear-cut profile was emphasized by a rather too prominent chin when atrest; and, when it was not smiling, the face gave an expression of sadnessand suffering. 

"Have you lost something, Jacques?" she called out to her husband, who wasstooping over the shingle. 

"Yes, the key, " he said. "It slipped out of my hand. "

She went down to him and began to look also. For two or three minutes, as they sheered off to the right and remained close to the bottom of theunder-cliff, they were invisible to Hortense and Rénine. Their voices werecovered by the noise of a dispute which had arisen among thebridge-players. 

They reappeared almost simultaneously. Madame d'Ormeval slowly climbed afew steps of the stairs and then stopped and turned her face towards thesea. Her husband had thrown his blazer over his shoulders and was makingfor the isolated cabin. As he passed the bridge-players, they asked him fora decision, pointing to their cards spread out upon the table. But, with awave of the hand, he refused to give an opinion and walked on, covered thethirty yards which divided them from the cabin, opened the door and wentin. 

Thérèse d'Ormeval came back to the terrace and remained for ten minutessitting on a bench. Then she came out through the casino. Hortense, onleaning forward, saw her entering one of the chalets annexed to the HôtelHauville and, a moment later, caught sight of her again on the balcony. 

"Eleven o'clock, " said Rénine. "Whoever it is, he or she, or one of thecard-players, or one of their wives, it won't be long before some one goesto the appointed place. "

Nevertheless, twenty minutes passed and twenty-five; and no one stirred. 

"Perhaps Madame d'Ormeval has gone. " Hortense suggested, anxiously. "She isno longer on her balcony. "

"If she is at the Trois Mathildes, " said Rénine, "we will go and catch herthere. "

He was rising to his feet, when a fresh discussion broke out among thebridge-players and one of them exclaimed:

"Let's put it to d'Ormeval. "

"Very well, " said his adversary. "I'll accept his decision . .. If heconsents to act as umpire. He was rather huffy just now. "

They called out:

"D'Ormeval! D'Ormeval!"

They then saw that d'Ormeval must have shut the door behind him, which kepthim in the half dark, the cabin being one of the sort that has no window. 

"He's asleep, " cried one. "Let's wake him up. "

All four went to the cabin, began by calling to him and, on receiving noanswer, thumped on the door:

"Hi! D'Ormeval! Are you asleep?"

On the terrace Serge Rénine suddenly leapt to his feet with so uneasy anair that Hortense was astonished. He muttered:

"If only it's not too late!"

And, when Hortense asked him what he meant, he tore down the steps andstarted running to the cabin. He reached it just as the bridge-players weretrying to break in the door:

"Stop!" he ordered. "Things must be done in the regular fashion. "

"What things?" they asked. 

He examined the Venetian shutters at the top of each of the folding-doorsand, on finding that one of the upper slats was partly broken, hung on asbest he could to the roof of the cabin and cast a glance inside. Then hesaid to the four men:

"I was right in thinking that, if M. D'Ormeval did not reply, he must havebeen prevented by some serious cause. There is every reason to believe thatM. D'Ormeval is wounded . .. Or dead. "

"Dead!" they cried. "What do you mean? He has only just left us. "

Rénine took out his knife, prized open the lock and pulled back the twodoors. 

There were shouts of dismay. M. D'Ormeval was lying flat on his face, clutching his jacket and his newspaper in his hands. Blood was flowingfrom his back and staining his shirt. 

"Oh!" said some one. "He has killed himself!"

"How can he have killed himself?" said Rénine. "The wound is right in themiddle of the back, at a place which the hand can't reach. And, besides, there's not a knife in the cabin. "

The others protested:

"If so, he has been murdered. But that's impossible! There has been nobodyhere. We should have seen, if there had been. Nobody could have passed uswithout our seeing. .. . "

The other men, all the ladies and the children paddling in the sea had comerunning up. Rénine allowed no one to enter the cabin, except a doctor whowas present. But the doctor could only say that M. D'Ormeval was dead, stabbed with a dagger. 

At that moment, the mayor and the policeman arrived, together with somepeople of the village. After the usual enquiries, they carried away thebody. 

A few persons went on ahead to break the news to Thérèse d'Ormeval, who wasonce more to be seen on her balcony. 

 * * * * *

And so the tragedy had taken place without any clue to explain how a man, protected by a closed door with an uninjured lock, could have been murderedin the space of a few minutes and in front of twenty witnesses, one mightalmost say, twenty spectators. No one had entered the cabin. No one hadcome out of it. As for the dagger with which M. D'Ormeval had been stabbedbetween the shoulders, it could not be traced. And all this would havesuggested the idea of a trick of sleight-of-hand performed by a cleverconjuror, had it not concerned a terrible murder, committed under the mostmysterious conditions. 

Hortense was unable to follow, as Rénine would have liked, the small partywho were making for Madame d'Ormeval; she was paralysed with excitement andincapable of moving. It was the first time that her adventures with Réninehad taken her into the very heart of the action and that, instead of notingthe consequences of a murder, or assisting in the pursuit of the criminals, she found herself confronted with the murder itself. 

It left her trembling all over; and she stammered: "How horrible!. .. Thepoor fellow!. .. Ah, Rénine, you couldn't save him this time!. .. And that'swhat upsets me more than anything, that we could and should have saved him, since we knew of the plot. .. . "

Rénine made her sniff at a bottle of salts; and when she had quiterecovered her composure, he said, while observing her attentively:

"So you think that there is some connection between the murder and theplot which we were trying to frustrate?"

"Certainly, " said she, astonished at the question. 

"Then, as that plot was hatched by a husband against his wife or by a wifeagainst her husband, you admit that Madame d'Ormeval . .. ?"

"Oh, no, impossible!" she said. "To begin with, Madame d'Ormeval did notleave her rooms . .. And then I shall never believe that pretty womancapable. .. . No, no, of course there was something else. .. . "

"What else?"

"I don't know. .. . You may have misunderstood what the brother and sisterwere saying to each other. .. . You see, the murder has been committed underquite different conditions . .. At another hour and another place. .. . "

"And therefore, " concluded Rénine, "the two cases are not in any wayrelated?"

"Oh, " she said, "there's no making it out! It's all so strange!"

Rénine became a little satirical:

"My pupil is doing me no credit to-day, " he said. "Why, here is a perfectlysimple story, unfolded before your eyes. You have seen it reeled off likea scene in the cinema; and it all remains as obscure to you as though youwere hearing of an affair that happened in a cave a hundred miles away!"

Hortense was confounded:

"What are you saying? Do you mean that you have understood it? What clueshave you to go by?"

Rénine looked at his watch:

"I have not understood everything, " he said. "The murder itself, the merebrutal murder, yes. But the essential thing, that is to say, the psychologyof the crime: I've no clue to that. Only, it is twelve o'clock. The brotherand sister, seeing no one come to the appointment at the Trois Mathildes, will go down to the beach. Don't you think that we shall learn somethingthen of the accomplice whom I accuse them of having and of the connectionbetween the two cases?"

They reached the esplanade in front of the Hauville chalets, with thecapstans by which the fishermen haul up their boats to the beach. A numberof inquisitive persons were standing outside the door of one of thechalets. Two coastguards, posted at the door, prevented them from entering. 

The mayor shouldered his way eagerly through the crowd. He was back fromthe post-office, where he had been telephoning to Le Havre, to the officeof the procurator-general, and had been told that the public prosecutorand an examining-magistrate would come on to Étretat in the course of theafternoon. 

"That leaves us plenty of time for lunch, " said Rénine. "The tragedy willnot be enacted before two or three o'clock. And I have an idea that it willbe sensational. "

They hurried nevertheless. Hortense, overwrought by fatigue and her desireto know what was happening, continually questioned Rénine, who repliedevasively, with his eyes turned to the esplanade, which they could seethrough the windows of the coffee-room. 

"Are you watching for those two?" asked Hortense. 

"Yes, the brother and sister. "

"Are you sure that they will venture?. .. "

"Look out! Here they come!"

He went out quickly. 

Where the main street opened on the sea-front, a lady and gentleman wereadvancing with hesitating steps, as though unfamiliar with the place. Thebrother was a puny little man, with a sallow complexion. He was wearing amotoring-cap. The sister too was short, but rather stout, and was wrappedin a large cloak. She struck them as a woman of a certain age, but stillgood-looking under the thin veil that covered her face. 

They saw the groups of bystanders and drew nearer. Their gait betrayeduneasiness and hesitation. 

The sister asked a question of a seaman. At the first words of his answer, which no doubt conveyed the news of d'Ormeval's death, she uttered a cryand tried to force her way through the crowd. The brother, learning in histurn what had happened, made great play with his elbows and shouted to thecoast-guards:

"I'm a friend of d'Ormeval's!. .. Here's my card! Frédéric Astaing. .. . Mysister, Germaine Astaing, knows Madame d'Ormeval intimately!. .. They wereexpecting us. .. . We had an appointment!. .. "

They were allowed to pass. Rénine, who had slipped behind them, followedthem in without a word, accompanied by Hortense. 

The d'Ormevals had four bedrooms and a sitting-room on the second floor. The sister rushed into one of the rooms and threw herself on her kneesbeside the bed on which the corpse lay stretched. Thérèse d'Ormeval was inthe sitting-room and was sobbing in the midst of a small company of silentpersons. The brother sat down beside her, eagerly seized her hands andsaid, in a trembling voice:

"My poor friend!. .. My poor friend!. .. "

Rénine and Hortense gazed at the pair of them: and Hortense whispered:

"And she's supposed to have killed him for that? Impossible!"

"Nevertheless, " observed Rénine, "they are acquaintances; and we know thatAstaing and his sister were also acquainted with a third person who wastheir accomplice. So that. .. . "

"It's impossible!" Hortense repeated. 

And, in spite of all presumption, she felt so much attracted by Thérèsethat, when Frédéric Astaing stood up, she proceeded straightway to sit downbeside her and consoled her in a gentle voice. The unhappy woman's tearsdistressed her profoundly. 

Rénine, on the other hand, applied himself from the outset to watchingthe brother and sister, as though this were the only thing that mattered, and did not take his eyes off Frédéric Astaing, who, with an air ofindifference, began to make a minute inspection of the premises, examiningthe sitting-room, going into all the bedrooms, mingling with the variousgroups of persons present and asking questions about the manner in whichthe murder had been committed. Twice his sister came up and spoke to him. Then he went back to Madame d'Ormeval and again sat down beside her, fullof earnest sympathy. Lastly, in the lobby, he had a long conversation withhis sister, after which they parted, like people who have come to a perfectunderstanding. Frédéric then left. These manoeuvers had lasted quite thirtyor forty minutes. 

It was at this moment that the motor-car containing theexamining-magistrate and the public prosecutor pulled up outside thechalets. Rénine, who did not expect them until later, said to Hortense:

"We must be quick. On no account leave Madame d'Ormeval. "

Word was sent up to the persons whose evidence might be of any servicethat they were to go to the beach, where the magistrate was beginning apreliminary investigation. He would call on Madame d'Ormeval afterwards. Accordingly, all who were present left the chalet. No one remained behindexcept the two guards and Germaine Astaing. 

Germaine knelt down for the last time beside the dead man and, bending low, with her face in her hands, prayed for a long time. Then she rose and wasopening the door on the landing, when Rénine came forward:

"I should like a few words with you, madame. "

She seemed surprised and replied:

"What is it, monsieur? I am listening. "

"Not here. "

"Where then, monsieur?"

"Next door, in the sitting-room. "

"No, " she said, sharply. 

"Why not? Though you did not even shake hands with her, I presume thatMadame d'Ormeval is your friend?"

He gave her no time to reflect, drew her into the next room, closed thedoor and, at once pouncing upon Madame d'Ormeval, who was trying to go outand return to her own room, said:

"No, madame, listen, I implore you. Madame Astaing's presence need notdrive you away. We have very serious matters to discuss, without losing aminute. "

The two women, standing face to face, were looking at each other with thesame expression of implacable hatred, in which might be read the sameconfusion of spirit and the same restrained anger. Hortense, who believedthem to be friends and who might, up to a certain point, have believed themto be accomplices, foresaw with terror the hostile encounter which she feltto be inevitable. She compelled Madame d'Ormeval to resume her seat, whileRénine took up his position in the middle of the room and spoke in resolutetones:

"Chance, which has placed me in possession of part of the truth, willenable me to save you both, if you are willing to assist me with a frankexplanation that will give me the particulars which I still need. Each ofyou knows the danger in which she stands, because each of you is consciousin her heart of the evil for which she is responsible. But you arecarried away by hatred; and it is for me to see clearly and to act. Theexamining-magistrate will be here in half-an-hour. By that time, you musthave come to an agreement. "

They both started, as though offended by such a word. 

"Yes, an agreement, " he repeated, in a more imperious tone. "Whether youlike it or not, you will come to an agreement. You are not the only ones tobe considered. There are your two little daughters, Madame d'Ormeval. Sincecircumstances have set me in their path, I am intervening in their defenceand for their safety. A blunder, a word too much; and they are ruined. Thatmust not happen. "

At the mention of her children, Madame d'Ormeval broke down and sobbed. Germaine Astaing shrugged her shoulders and made a movement towards thedoor. Rénine once more blocked the way:

"Where are you going?"

"I have been summoned by the examining-magistrate. "

"No, you have not. "

"Yes, I have. Just as all those have been who have any evidence to give. "

"You were not on the spot. You know nothing of what happened. Nobody knowsanything of the murder. "

"I know who committed it. "

"That's impossible. "

"It was Thérèse d'Ormeval. "

The accusation was hurled forth in an outburst of rage and with a fiercelythreatening gesture. 

"You wretched creature!" exclaimed madame d'Ormeval, rushing at her. "Go!Leave the room! Oh, what a wretch the woman is!"

Hortense was trying to restrain her, but Rénine whispered:

"Let them be. It's what I wanted . .. To pitch them one against the otherand so to let in the day-light. "

Madame Astaing had made a convulsive effort to ward off the insult with ajest; and she sniggered:

"A wretched creature? Why? Because I have accused you?"

"Why? For every reason! You're a wretched creature! You hear what I say, Germaine: you're a wretch!"

Thérèse d'Ormeval was repeating the insult as though it afforded her somerelief. Her anger was abating. Very likely also she no longer had thestrength to keep up the struggle; and it was Madame Astaing who returnedto the attack, with her fists clenched and her face distorted and suddenlyaged by fully twenty years:

"You! You dare to insult me, you! You after the murder you have committed!You dare to lift up your head when the man whom you killed is lying inthere on his death-bed! Ah, if one of us is a wretched creature, it's you, Thérèse, and you know it! You have killed your husband! You have killedyour husband!"

She leapt forward, in the excitement of the terrible words which she wasuttering; and her finger-nails were almost touching her friend's face. 

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't kill him!" she cried. "Don't saythat: I won't let you. Don't say it. The dagger is there, in yourbag. My brother felt it, while he was talking to you; and his handcame out with stains of blood upon it: your husband's blood, Thérèse. Andthen, even if I had not discovered anything, do you think that I should nothave guessed, in the first few minutes? Why, I knew the truth at once, Thérèse! When a sailor down there answered, 'M. D'Ormeval? He has beenmurdered, ' I said to myself then and there, 'It's she, it's Thérèse, shekilled him. '"

Thérèse did not reply. She had abandoned her attitude of protest. Hortense, who was watching her with anguish, thought that she could perceive in herthe despondency of those who know themselves to be lost. Her cheeks hadfallen in and she wore such an expression of despair that Hortense, movedto compassion, implored her to defend herself:

"Please, please, explain things. When the murder was committed, you werehere, on the balcony. .. . But then the dagger . .. How did you come to haveit . .. ? How do you explain it?. .. "

"Explanations!" sneered Germaine Astaing. "How could she possibly explain?What do outward appearances matter? What does it matter what any one sawor did not see? The proof is the thing that tells. .. . The dagger is there, in your bag, Thérèse: that's a fact. .. . Yes, yes, it was you who did it!You killed him! You killed him in the end!. .. Ah, how often I've told mybrother, 'She will kill him yet!' Frédéric used to try to defend you. Healways had a weakness for you. But in his innermost heart he foresaw whatwould happen. .. . And now the horrible thing has been done. A stab in theback! Coward! Coward!. .. And you would have me say nothing? Why, I didn'thesitate a moment! Nor did Frédéric. We looked for proofs at once. .. . AndI've denounced you of my own free will, perfectly well aware of what I wasdoing. .. . And it's over, Thérèse. You're done for. Nothing can save younow. The dagger is in that bag which you are clutching in your hand. Themagistrate is coming; and the dagger will be found, stained with the bloodof your husband. So will your pocket-book. They're both there. And theywill be found. .. . "

Her rage had incensed her so vehemently that she was unable to continue andstood with her hand outstretched and her chin twitching with nervoustremors. 

Rénine gently took hold of Madame d'Ormeval's bag. She clung to it, but heinsisted and said:

"Please allow me, madame. Your friend Germaine is right. Theexamining-magistrate will be here presently; and the fact that the daggerand the pocket-book are in your possession will lead to your immediatearrest. This must not happen. Please allow me. "

His insinuating voice diminished Thérèse d'Ormeval's resistance. Shereleased her fingers, one by one. He took the bag, opened it, produceda little dagger with an ebony handle and a grey leather pocket-book andquietly slipped the two into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

Germaine Astaing gazed at him in amazement: "You're mad, monsieur! Whatright have you . .. ?"

"These things must not be left lying about. I sha'n't worry now. Themagistrate will never look for them in my pocket. "

"But I shall denounce you to the police, " she exclaimed, indignantly. "They shall be told!"

"No, no, " he said, laughing, "you won't say anything! The police havenothing to do with this. The quarrel between you must be settled inprivate. What an idea, to go dragging the police into every incident ofone's life!"

Madame Astaing was choking with fury:

"But you have no right to talk like this, monsieur! Who are you, after all?A friend of that woman's?"

"Since you have been attacking her, yes. "

"But I'm only attacking her because she's guilty. For you can't deny it:she has killed her husband. "

"I don't deny it, " said Rénine, calmly. "We are all agreed on that point. Jacques d'Ormeval was killed by his wife. But, I repeat, the police mustnot know the truth. "

"They shall know it through me, monsieur, I swear they shall. That womanmust be punished: she has committed murder. "

Rénine went up to her and, touching her on the shoulder:

"You asked me just now by what right I was interfering. And you yourself, madame?"

"I was a friend of Jacques d'Ormeval. "

"Only a friend?"

She was a little taken aback, but at once pulled herself together andreplied:

"I was his friend and it is my duty to avenge his death. "

"Nevertheless, you will remain silent, as he did. "

"He did not know, when he died. "

"That's where you are wrong. He could have accused his wife, if he hadwished. He had ample time to accuse her; and he said nothing. "

"Why?"

"Because of his children. "

Madame Astaing was not appeased; and her attitude displayed the samelonging for revenge and the same detestation. But she was influenced byRénine in spite of herself. In the small, closed room, where there wassuch a clash of hatred, he was gradually becoming the master; and GermaineAstaing understood that it was against him that she had to struggle, whileMadame d'Ormeval felt all the comfort of that unexpected support which wasoffering itself on the brink of the abyss:

"Thank you, monsieur, " she said. "As you have seen all this so clearly, youalso know that it was for my children's sake that I did not give myself up. But for that . .. I am so tired . .. !"

And so the scene was changing and things assuming a different aspect. Thanks to a few words let fall in the midst of the dispute, the culprit waslifting her head and taking heart, whereas her accuser was hesitating andseemed to be uneasy. And it also came about that the accuser dared not sayanything further and that the culprit was nearing the moment at which theneed is felt of breaking silence and of speaking, quite naturally, wordsthat are at once a confession and a relief. 

"The time, I think, has come, " said Rénine to Thérèse, with the sameunvarying gentleness, "when you can and ought to explain yourself. "

She was again weeping, lying huddled in a chair. She too revealed a faceaged and ravaged by sorrow; and, in a very low voice, with no display ofanger, she spoke, in short, broken sentences:

"She has been his mistress for the last four years. .. . I can't tell you howI suffered. .. . She herself told me of it . .. Out of sheer wickedness . .. Her loathing for me was even greater than her love for Jacques . .. Andevery day I had some fresh injury to bear . .. She would ring me up to tellme of her appointments with my husband . .. She hoped to make me suffer somuch I should end by killing myself. .. . I did think of it sometimes, but Iheld out, for the children's sake . .. Jacques was weakening. She wanted himto get a divorce . .. And little by little he began to consent . .. Dominatedby her and by her brother, who is slyer than she is, but quite as dangerous. .. I felt all this . .. Jacques was becoming harsh to me. .. . He had not thecourage to leave me, but I was the obstacle and he bore me a grudge. .. . Heavens, the tortures I suffered!. .. "

"You should have given him his liberty, " cried Germaine Astaing. "A womandoesn't kill her husband for wanting a divorce. "

Thérèse shook her head and answered:

"I did not kill him because he wanted a divorce. If he had really wantedit, he would have left me; and what could I have done? But your plans hadchanged, Germaine; divorce was not enough for you; and it was somethingelse that you would have obtained from him, another, much more seriousthing which you and your brother had insisted on . .. And to which he hadconsented . .. Out of cowardice . .. In spite of himself. .. . "

"What do you mean?" spluttered Germaine. "What other thing?"

"My death. "

"You lie!" cried Madame Astaing. 

Thérèse did not raise her voice. She made not a movement of aversion orindignation and simply repeated:

"My death, Germaine. I have read your latest letters, six letters from youwhich he was foolish enough to leave about in his pocket-book and which Iread last night, six letters in which the terrible word is not set down, but in which it appears between every line. I trembled as I read it! ThatJacques should come to this!. .. Nevertheless the idea of stabbing him didnot occur to me for a second. A woman like myself, Germaine, does notreadily commit murder. .. . If I lost my head, it was after that . .. And itwas your fault. .. . "

She turned her eyes to Rénine as if to ask him if there was no danger inher speaking and revealing the truth. 

"Don't be afraid, " he said. "I will be answerable for everything. "

She drew her hand across her forehead. The horrible scene was beingreenacted within her and was torturing her. Germaine Astaing did not move, but stood with folded arms and anxious eyes, while Hortense Daniel satdistractedly awaiting the confession of the crime and the explanation ofthe unfathomable mystery. 

"It was after that and it was through your fault Germaine . .. I had putback the pocket-book in the drawer where it was hidden; and I said nothingto Jacques this morning . .. I did not want to tell him what I knew. .. . It was too horrible. .. . All the same, I had to act quickly; your lettersannounced your secret arrival to-day. .. . I thought at first of runningaway, of taking the train. .. . I had mechanically picked up that dagger, to defend myself. .. . But when Jacques and I went down to the beach, I wasresigned. .. . Yes, I had accepted death: 'I will die, ' I thought, 'and putan end to all this nightmare!'. .. Only, for the children's sake, I wasanxious that my death should look like an accident and that Jacques shouldhave no part in it. That was why your plan of a walk on the cliff suitedme. .. . A fall from the top of a cliff seems quite natural . .. Jacquestherefore left me to go to his cabin, from which he was to join you laterat the Trois Mathildes. On the way, below the terrace, he dropped the keyof the cabin. I went down and began to look for it with him . .. And ithappened then . .. Through your fault . .. Yes, Germaine, through your fault. .. Jacques' pocket-book had slipped from his jacket, without his noticingit, and, together with the pocket-book, a photograph which I recognizedat once: a photograph, taken this year, of myself and my two children. Ipicked it up . .. And I saw. .. . You know what I saw, Germaine. Instead of myface, the face in the photograph was _yours_!. .. You had put in yourlikeness, Germaine, and blotted me out! It was your face! One of your armswas round my elder daughter's neck; and the younger was sitting on yourknees. .. . It was you, Germaine, the wife of my husband, the future motherof my children, you, who were going to bring them up . .. You, you! . .. ThenI lost my head. I had the dagger . .. Jacques was stooping . .. I stabbedhim. .. . "

Every word of her confession was strictly true. Those who listened to herfelt this profoundly; and nothing could have given Hortense and Rénine akeener impression of tragedy. 

She had fallen back into her chair, utterly exhausted. Nevertheless, shewent on speaking unintelligible words; and it was only gradually by leaningover her, that they were able to make out:

"I thought that there would be an outcry and that I should be arrested. Butno. It happened in such a way and under such conditions that no one hadseen anything. Further, Jacques had drawn himself up at the same time asmyself; and he actually did not fall. No, he did not fall! I had stabbedhim; and he remained standing! I saw him from the terrace, to which I hadreturned. He had hung his jacket over his shoulders, evidently to hide hiswound, and he moved away without staggering . .. Or staggering so littlethat I alone was able to perceive it. He even spoke to some friends whowere playing cards. Then he went to his cabin and disappeared. .. . In a fewmoments, I came back indoors. I was persuaded that all of this was only abad dream . .. That I had not killed him . .. Or that at the worst the woundwas a slight one. Jacques would come out again. I was certain of it. .. . Iwatched from my balcony. .. . If I had thought for a moment that he neededassistance, I should have flown to him. .. . But truly I didn't know . .. Ididn't guess. .. . People speak of presentiments: there are no such things. Iwas perfectly calm, just as one is after a nightmare of which the memory isfading away. .. . No, I swear to you, I knew nothing . .. Until the moment. .. "

She interrupted herself, stifled by sobs. 

Rénine finished her sentence for her, "Until the moment when they came and told you, I suppose?"

Thérèse stammered:

"Yes. It was not till then that I was conscious of what I had done . .. AndI felt that I was going mad and that I should cry out to all those people, 'Why, it was I who did it! Don't search! Here is the dagger . .. I am theculprit!' Yes, I was going to say that, when suddenly I caught sight ofmy poor Jacques. .. . They were carrying him along. .. . His face was verypeaceful, very gentle. .. . And, in his presence, I understood my duty, as hehad understood his. .. . He had kept silent, for the sake of the children. I would be silent too. We were both guilty of the murder of which he wasthe victim; and we must both do all we could to prevent the crime fromrecoiling upon them. .. . He had seen this clearly in his dying agony. Hehad had the amazing courage to keep his feet, to answer the people whospoke to him and to lock himself up to die. He had done this, wiping outall his faults with a single action, and in so doing had granted me hisforgiveness, because he was not accusing me . .. And was ordering me to holdmy peace . .. And to defend myself . .. Against everybody . .. Especiallyagainst you, Germaine. "

She uttered these last words more firmly. At first wholly overwhelmed bythe unconscious act which she had committed in killing her husband, shehad recovered her strength a little in thinking of what she had done andin defending herself with such energy. Faced by the intriguing woman whosehatred had driven both of them to death and crime, she clenched her fists, ready for the struggle, all quivering with resolution. 

Germaine Astaing did not flinch. She had listened without a word, with arelentless expression which grew harder and harder as Thérèse's confessionsbecame precise. No emotion seemed to soften her and no remorse to penetrateher being. At most, towards the end, her thin lips shaped themselves into afaint smile. She was holding her prey in her clutches. 

Slowly, with her eyes raised to a mirror, she adjusted her hat and powderedher face. Then she walked to the door. 

Thérèse darted forward:

"Where are you going?"

"Where I choose. "

"To see the examining-magistrate?"

"Very likely. "

"You sha'n't pass!"

"As you please. I'll wait for him here. "

"And you'll tell him what?"

"Why, all that you've said, of course, all that you've been silly enoughto say. How could he doubt the story? You have explained it all to me sofully. "

Thérèse took her by the shoulders:

"Yes, but I'll explain other things to him at the same time, Germaine, things that concern you. If I'm ruined, so shall you be. "

"You can't touch me. "

"I can expose you, show your letters. "

"What letters?"

"Those in which my death was decided on. "

"Lies, Thérèse! You know that famous plot exists only in your imagination. Neither Jacques nor I wished for your death. "

"You did, at any rate. Your letters condemn you. "

"Lies! They were the letters of a friend to a friend. "

"Letters of a mistress to her paramour. "

"Prove it. "

"They are there, in Jacques' pocket-book. "

"No, they're not. "

"What's that you say?"

"I say that those letters belonged to me. I've taken them back, or rathermy brother has. "

"You've stolen them, you wretch! And you shall give them back again, " criedThérèse, shaking her. 

"I haven't them. My brother kept them. He has gone. "

Thérèse staggered and stretched out her hands to Rénine with an expressionof despair. Rénine said:

"What she says is true. I watched the brother's proceedings while he wasfeeling in your bag. He took out the pocket-book, looked through it withhis sister, came and put it back again and went off with the letters. "

Rénine paused and added, "Or, at least, with five of them. "

The two women moved closer to him. What did he intend to convey? IfFrédéric Astaing had taken away only five letters, what had become of thesixth?

"I suppose, " said Rénine, "that, when the pocket-book fell on the shingle, that sixth letter slipped out at the same time as the photograph and thatM. D'Ormeval must have picked it up, for I found it in the pocket of hisblazer, which had been hung up near the bed. Here it is. It's signedGermaine Astaing and it is quite enough to prove the writer's intentionsand the murderous counsels which she was pressing upon her lover. "

Madame Astaing had turned grey in the face and was so much disconcertedthat she did not try to defend herself. Rénine continued, addressing hisremarks to her:

"To my mind, madame, you are responsible for all that happened. Penniless, no doubt, and at the end of your resources, you tried to profit by thepassion with which you inspired M. D'Ormeval in order to make him marryyou, in spite of all the obstacles, and to lay your hands upon his fortune. I have proofs of this greed for money and these abominable calculations andcan supply them if need be. A few minutes after I had felt in the pocket ofthat jacket, you did the same. I had removed the sixth letter, but had lefta slip of paper which you looked for eagerly and which also must havedropped out of the pocket-book. It was an uncrossed cheque for a hundredthousand francs, drawn by M. D'Ormeval in your brother's name . .. Just alittle wedding-present . .. What we might call pin-money. Acting on yourinstructions, your brother dashed off by motor to Le Havre to reach thebank before four o'clock. I may as well tell you that he will not havecashed the cheque, for I had a telephone-message sent to the bank toannounce the murder of M. D'Ormeval, which stops all payments. The upshotof all this is that the police, if you persist in your schemes of revenge, will have in their hands all the proofs that are wanted against you andyour brother. I might add, as an edifying piece of evidence, the story ofthe conversation which I overheard between your brother and yourself in adining-car on the railway between Brest and Paris, a fortnight ago. But Ifeel sure that you will not drive me to adopt these extreme measures andthat we understand each other. Isn't that so?"

Natures like Madame Astaing's, which are violent and headstrong so long asa fight is possible and while a gleam of hope remains, are easily swayed indefeat. Germaine was too intelligent not to grasp the fact that the leastattempt at resistance would be shattered by such an adversary as this. Shewas in his hands. She could but yield. 

She therefore did not indulge in any play-acting, nor in any demonstrationsuch as threats, outbursts of fury or hysterics. She bowed:

"We are agreed, " she said. "What are your terms?"

"Go away. If ever you are called upon for your evidence, say that you knownothing. "

She walked away. At the door, she hesitated and then, between her teeth, said:

"The cheque. "

Rénine looked at Madame d'Ormeval, who declared:

"Let her keep it. I would not touch that money. "

 * * * * *

When Rénine had given Thérèse d'Ormeval precise instructions as to how shewas to behave at the enquiry and to answer the questions put to her, heleft the chalet, accompanied by Hortense Daniel. 

On the beach below, the magistrate and the public prosecutor werecontinuing their investigations, taking measurements, examining thewitnesses and generally laying their heads together. 

"When I think, " said Hortense, "that you have the dagger and M. D'Ormeval'spocket-book on you!"

"And it strikes you as awfully dangerous, I suppose?" he said, laughing. "It strikes _me_ as awfully comic. "

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"That they may suspect something?"

"Lord, they won't suspect a thing! We shall tell those good people whatwe saw and our evidence will only increase their perplexity, for we sawnothing at all. For prudence sake we will stay a day or two, to see whichway the wind is blowing. But it's quite settled: they will never be able tomake head or tail of the matter. "

"Nevertheless, _you_ guessed the secret and from the first. Why?"

"Because, instead of seeking difficulties where none exist, as peoplegenerally do, I always put the question as it should be put; and thesolution comes quite naturally. A man goes to his cabin and locks himselfin. Half an hour later, he is found inside, dead. No one has gone in. Whathas happened? To my mind there is only one answer. There is no need tothink about it. As the murder was not committed in the cabin, it must havebeen committed beforehand and the man was already mortally wounded whenhe entered his cabin. And forthwith the truth in this particular caseappeared to me. Madame d'Ormeval, who was to have been killed this evening, forestalled her murderers and while her husband was stooping to the ground, in a moment of frenzy stabbed him in the back. There was nothing left to dobut look for the reasons that prompted her action. When I knew them, I tookher part unreservedly. That's the whole story. "

The day was beginning to wane. The blue of the sky was becoming darker andthe sea, even more peaceful than before. 

"What are you thinking of?" asked Rénine, after a moment. 

"I am thinking, " she said, "that if I too were the victim of somemachination, I should trust you whatever happened, trust you through andagainst all. I know, as certainly as I know that I exist, that you wouldsave me, whatever the obstacles might be. There is no limit to the powerof your will. "

He said, very softly:

"There is no limit to my wish to please you. "

VI

THE LADY WITH THE HATCHET

One of the most incomprehensible incidents that preceded the great warwas certainly the one which was known as the episode of the lady with thehatchet. The solution of the mystery was unknown and would never havebeen known, had not circumstances in the cruellest fashion obliged PrinceRénine--or should I say, Arsène Lupin?--to take up the matter and had I notbeen able to-day to tell the true story from the details supplied by him. 

Let me recite the facts. In a space of eighteen months, five womendisappeared, five women of different stations in life, all between twentyand thirty years of age and living in Paris or the Paris district. 

I will give their names: Madame Ladoue, the wife of a doctor; Mlle. Ardant, the daughter of a banker; Mlle. Covereau, a washer-woman of Courbevoie;Mlle. Honorine Vernisset, a dressmaker; and Madame Grollinger, an artist. These five women disappeared without the possibility of discovering asingle particular to explain why they had left their homes, why they didnot return to them, who had enticed them away, and where and how they weredetained. 

Each of these women, a week after her departure, was found somewhere orother in the western outskirts of Paris; and each time it was a dead bodythat was found, the dead body of a woman who had been killed by a blow onthe head from a hatchet. And each time, not far from the woman, who wasfirmly bound, her face covered with blood and her body emaciated by lack offood, the marks of carriage-wheels proved that the corpse had been drivento the spot. 

The five murders were so much alike that there was only a singleinvestigation, embracing all the five enquiries and, for that matter, leading to no result. A woman disappeared; a week later, to a day, her bodywas discovered; and that was all. The bonds that fastened her were similarin each case; so were the tracks left by the wheels; so were the blows ofthe hatchet, all of which were struck vertically at the top and right inthe middle of the forehead. 

The motive of the crime? The five women had been completely stripped oftheir jewels, purses and other objects of value. But the robberies mightwell have been attributed to marauders or any passersby, since the bodieswere lying in deserted spots. Were the authorities to believe in theexecution of a plan of revenge or of a plan intended to do away with theseries of persons mutually connected, persons, for instance, likely tobenefit by a future inheritance? Here again the same obscurity prevailed. Theories were built up, only to be demolished forthwith by an examinationof the facts. Trails were followed and at once abandoned. 

And suddenly there was a sensation. A woman engaged in sweeping the roadspicked up on the pavement a little note-book which she brought to the localpolice-station. The leaves of this note-book were all blank, exceptingone, on which was written a list of the murdered women, with their namesset down in order of date and accompanied by three figures: Ladoue, 132;Vernisset, 118; and so on. 

Certainly no importance would have been attached to these entries, whichanybody might have written, since every one was acquainted with thesinister list. But, instead of five names, it included six! Yes, belowthe words "Grollinger, 128, " there appeared "Williamson, 114. " Did thisindicate a sixth murder?

The obviously English origin of the name limited the field of theinvestigations, which did not in fact take long. It was ascertained that, a fortnight ago, a Miss Hermione Williamson, a governess in a family atAuteuil, had left her place to go back to England and that, since then, hersisters, though she had written to tell them that she was coming over, hadheard no more of her. 

A fresh enquiry was instituted. A postman found the body in the Meudonwoods. Miss Williamson's skull was split down the middle. 

I need not describe the public excitement at this stage nor the shudderof horror which passed through the crowd when it read this list, writtenwithout a doubt in the murderer's own hand. What could be more frightfulthan such a record, kept up to date like a careful tradesman's ledger:

"On such a day, I killed so-and-so; on such a day so-and-so!"

And the sum total was six dead bodies. 

Against all expectation, the experts in handwriting had no difficulty inagreeing and unanimously declared that the writing was "that of a woman, aneducated woman, possessing artistic tastes, imagination and an extremelysensitive nature. " The "lady with the hatchet, " as the journalistschristened her, was decidedly no ordinary person; and scores ofnewspaper-articles made a special study of her case, exposing her mentalcondition and losing themselves in far-fetched explanations. 

Nevertheless it was the writer of one of these articles, a young journalistwhose chance discovery made him the centre of public attention, whosupplied the one element of truth and shed upon the darkness the only rayof light that was to penetrate it. In casting about for the meaning of thefigures which followed the six names, he had come to ask himself whetherthose figures did not simply represent the number of the days separatingone crime from the next. All that he had to do was to check the dates. Heat once found that his theory was correct. Mlle. Vernisset had been carriedoff one hundred and thirty-two days after Madame Ladoue; Mlle. Covereau onehundred and eighteen days after Honorine Vernisset; and so on. 

There was therefore no room for doubt; and the police had no choice but toaccept a solution which so precisely fitted the circumstances: the figurescorresponded with the intervals. There was no mistake in the records of thelady with the hatchet. 

But then one deduction became inevitable. Miss Williamson, the latestvictim, had been carried off on the 26th of June last, and her name wasfollowed by the figures 114: was it not to be presumed that a fresh crimewould be committed a hundred and fourteen days later, that is to say, onthe 18th of October? Was it not probable that the horrible business wouldbe repeated in accordance with the murderer's secret intentions? Were theynot bound to pursue to its logical conclusion the argument which ascribedto the figures--to all the figures, to the last as well as to theothers--their value as eventual dates?

Now it was precisely this deduction which was drawn and was being weighedand discussed during the few days that preceded the 18th of October, when logic demanded the performance of yet another act of the abominabletragedy. And it was only natural that, on the morning of that day, PrinceRénine and Hortense, when making an appointment by telephone for theevening, should allude to the newspaper-articles which they had both beenreading:

"Look out!" said Rénine, laughing. "If you meet the lady with the hatchet, take the other side of the road!"

"And, if the good lady carries me off, what am I to do?"

"Strew your path with little white pebbles and say, until the very momentwhen the hatchet flashes in the air, 'I have nothing to fear; _he_will save me. ' _He_ is myself . .. And I kiss your hands. Till thisevening, my dear. "

That afternoon, Rénine had an appointment with Rose Andrée and Dalbrèque toarrange for their departure for the States. [Footnote: See _The Tell-taleFilm_. ] Before four and seven o'clock, he bought the different editionsof the evening papers. None of them reported an abduction. 

At nine o'clock he went to the Gymnase, where he had taken a private box. 

At half-past nine, as Hortense had not arrived, he rang her up, thoughwithout thought of anxiety. The maid replied that Madame Daniel had notcome in yet. 

Seized with a sudden fear, Rénine hurried to the furnished flat whichHortense was occupying for the time being, near the Parc Monceau, andquestioned the maid, whom he had engaged for her and who was completelydevoted to him. The woman said that her mistress had gone out at twoo'clock, with a stamped letter in her hand, saying that she was going tothe post and that she would come back to dress. This was the last that hadbeen seen of her. 

"To whom was the letter addressed?"

"To you, sir. I saw the writing on the envelope: Prince Serge Rénine. "

He waited until midnight, but in vain. Hortense did not return; nor did shereturn next day. 

"Not a word to any one, " said Rénine to the maid. "Say that your mistressis in the country and that you are going to join her. "

For his own part, he had not a doubt: Hortense's disappearance wasexplained by the very fact of the date, the 18th of October. She was theseventh victim of the lady with the hatchet. 

 * * * * *

"The abduction, " said Rénine to himself, "precedes the blow of the hatchetby a week. I have, therefore, at the present moment, seven full days beforeme. Let us say six, to avoid any surprise. This is Saturday: Hortense mustbe set free by mid-day on Friday; and, to make sure of this, I must knowher hiding-place by nine o'clock on Thursday evening at latest. "

Rénine wrote, "THURSDAY EVENING, NINE O'CLOCK, " in big letters, on a cardwhich he nailed above the mantelpiece in his study. Then at midday onSaturday, the day after the disappearance, he locked himself into thestudy, after telling his man not to disturb him except for meals andletters. 

He spent four days there, almost without moving. He had immediately sentfor a set of all the leading newspapers which had spoken in detail of thefirst six crimes. When he had read and reread them, he closed the shutters, drew the curtains and lay down on the sofa in the dark, with the doorbolted, thinking. 

By Tuesday evening he was no further advanced than on the Saturday. Thedarkness was as dense as ever. He had not discovered the smallest clue forhis guidance, nor could he see the slightest reason to hope. 

At times, notwithstanding his immense power of self-control and hisunlimited confidence in the resources at his disposal, at times he wouldquake with anguish. Would he arrive in time? There was no reason why heshould see more clearly during the last few days than during those whichhad already elapsed. And this meant that Hortense Daniel would inevitablybe murdered. 

The thought tortured him. He was attached to Hortense by a much strongerand deeper feeling than the appearance of the relations between them wouldhave led an onlooker to believe. The curiosity at the beginning, the firstdesire, the impulse to protect Hortense, to distract her, to inspire herwith a relish for existence: all this had simply turned to love. Neither ofthem was aware of it, because they barely saw each other save at criticaltimes when they were occupied with the adventures of others and not withtheir own. But, at the first onslaught of danger, Rénine realized the placewhich Hortense had taken in his life and he was in despair at knowing herto be a prisoner and a martyr and at being unable to save her. 

He spent a feverish, agitated night, turning the case over and over fromevery point of view. The Wednesday morning was also a terrible time forhim. He was losing ground. Giving up his hermit-like seclusion, he threwopen the windows and paced to and fro through his rooms, ran out into thestreet and came in again, as though fleeing before the thought thatobsessed him:

"Hortense is suffering. .. . Hortense is in the depths. .. . She sees thehatchet. .. . She is calling to me. .. . She is entreating me. .. . And I can donothing. .. . "

It was at five o'clock in the afternoon that, on examining the list of thesix names, he received that little inward shock which is a sort of signalof the truth that is being sought for. A light shot through his mind. Itwas not, to be sure, that brilliant light in which every detail is madeplain, but it was enough to tell him in which direction to move. 

His plan of campaign was formed at once. He sent Adolphe, his chauffeur, to the principal newspapers, with a few lines which were to appear in typeamong the next morning's advertisements. Adolphe was also told to go to thelaundry at Courbevoie, where Mlle. Covereau, the second of the six victims, had been employed. 

On the Thursday, Rénine did not stir out of doors. In the afternoon, hereceived several letters in reply to his advertisement. Then two telegramsarrived. Lastly, at three o'clock, there came a pneumatic letter, bearingthe Trocadéro postmark, which seemed to be what he was expecting. 

He turned up a directory, noted an address--"M. De Lourtier-Vaneau, retiredcolonial governor, 47 _bis_, Avenue Kléber"--and ran down to his car:

"Adolphe, 47 _bis_, Avenue Kléber. "

 * * * * *

He was shown into a large study furnished with magnificent book-casescontaining old volumes in costly bindings. M. De Lourtier-Vaneau was a manstill in the prime of life, wearing a slightly grizzled beard and, by hisaffable manners and genuine distinction, commanding confidence and liking. 

"M. De Lourtier, " said Rénine, "I have ventured to call on your excellencybecause I read in last year's newspapers that you used to know one of thevictims of the lady with the hatchet, Honorine Vernisset. "

"Why, of course we knew her!" cried M. De Lourtier. "My wife used to employher as a dressmaker by the day. Poor girl!"

"M. De Lourtier, a lady of my acquaintance has disappeared as the other sixvictims disappeared. 

"What!" exclaimed M. De Lourtier, with a start. "But I have followed thenewspapers carefully. There was nothing on the 18th of October. "

"Yes, a woman of whom I am very fond, Madame Hortense Daniel, was abductedon the 17th of October. "

"And this is the 22nd!"

"Yes; and the murder will be committed on the 24th. "

"Horrible! Horrible! It must be prevented at all costs. .. . "

"And I shall perhaps succeed in preventing it, with your excellency'sassistance. "

"But have you been to the police?"

"No. We are faced by mysteries which are, so to speak, absolute andcompact, which offer no gap through which the keenest eyes can see andwhich it is useless to hope to clear up by ordinary methods, such asinspection of the scenes of the crimes, police enquiries, searching forfinger-prints and so on. As none of those proceedings served any goodpurpose in the previous cases, it would be waste of time to resort to themin a seventh, similar case. An enemy who displays such skill and subtletywould not leave behind her any of those clumsy traces which are the firstthings that a professional detective seizes upon. "

"Then what have you done?"

"Before taking any action, I have reflected. I gave four days to thinkingthe matter over. "

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau examined his visitor closely and, with a touch ofirony, asked:

"And the result of your meditations . .. ?"

"To begin with, " said Rénine, refusing to be put out of countenance, "Ihave submitted all these cases to a comprehensive survey, which hithertono one else had done. This enabled me to discover their general meaning, to put aside all the tangle of embarrassing theories and, since no one wasable to agree as to the motives of all this filthy business, to attributeit to the only class of persons capable of it. "

"That is to say?"

"Lunatics, your excellency. "

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau started:

"Lunatics? What an idea!"

"M. De Lourtier, the woman known as the lady with the hatchet is amadwoman. "

"But she would be locked up!"

"We don't know that she's not. We don't know that she is not one of thosehalf-mad people, apparently harmless, who are watched so slightly that theyhave full scope to indulge their little manias, their wild-beast instincts. Nothing could be more treacherous than these creatures. Nothing could bemore crafty, more patient, more persistent, more dangerous and at the sametime more absurd and more logical, more slovenly and more methodical. Allthese epithets, M. De Lourtier, may be applied to the doings of the ladywith the hatchet. The obsession of an idea and the continual repetitionof an act are characteristics of the maniac. I do not yet know the ideaby which the lady with the hatchet is obsessed but I do know the act thatresults from it; and it is always the same. The victim is bound withprecisely similar ropes. She is killed after the same number of days. Sheis struck by an identical blow, with the same instrument, in the sameplace, the middle of the forehead, producing an absolutely vertical wound. An ordinary murderer displays some variety. His trembling hand swervesaside and strikes awry. The lady with the hatchet does not tremble. It isas though she had taken measurements; and the edge of her weapon does notswerve by a hair's breadth. Need I give you any further proofs or examineall the other details with you? Surely not. You now possess the key to theriddle; and you know as I do that only a lunatic can behave in this way, stupidly, savagely, mechanically, like a striking clock or the blade of theguillotine. .. . "

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau nodded his head:

"Yes, that is so. One can see the whole affair from that angle . .. And Iam beginning to believe that this is how one ought to see it. But, if weadmit that this madwoman has the sort of mathematical logic which governedthe murders of the six victims, I see no connection between the victimsthemselves. She struck at random. Why this victim rather than that?"

"Ah, " said Rénine. "Your excellency is asking me a question which I askedmyself from the first moment, the question which sums up the whole problemand which cost me so much trouble to solve! Why Hortense Daniel rather thananother? Among two millions of women who might have been selected, whyHortense? Why little Vernisset? Why Miss Williamson? If the affair is suchas I conceived it, as a whole, that is to say, based upon the blind andfantastic logic of a madwoman, a choice was inevitably exercised. Now inwhat did that choice consist? What was the quality, or the defect, or thesign needed to induce the lady with the hatchet to strike? In a word, ifshe chose--and she must have chosen--what directed her choice?"

"Have you found the answer?"

Rénine paused and replied:

"Yes, your excellency, I have. And I could have found it at the veryoutset, since all that I had to do was to make a careful examination of thelist of victims. But these flashes of truth are never kindled save in abrain overstimulated by effort and reflection. I stared at the list twentytimes over, before that little detail took a definite shape. "

"I don't follow you, " said M. De Lourtier-Vaneau. 

"M. De Lourtier, it may be noted that, if a number of persons are broughttogether in any transaction, or crime, or public scandal or what not, theyare almost invariably described in the same way. On this occasion, thenewspapers never mentioned anything more than their surnames in speakingof Madame Ladoue, Mlle. Ardent or Mlle. Covereau. On the other hand, Mlle. Vernisset and Miss Williamson were always described by their Christiannames as well: Honorine and Hermione. If the same thing had been done inthe case of all the six victims, there would have been no mystery. "

"Why not?"

"Because we should at once have realized the relation existing between thesix unfortunate women, as I myself suddenly realized it on comparing thosetwo Christian names with that of Hortense Daniel. You understand now, don'tyou? You see the three Christian names before your eyes. .. . "

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau seemed to be perturbed. Turning a little pale, hesaid:

"What do you mean? What do you mean?"

"I mean, " continued Rénine, in a clear voice, sounding each syllableseparately, "I mean that you see before your eyes three Christian nameswhich all three begin with the same initial and which all three, by aremarkable coincidence, consist of the same number of letters, as you mayprove. If you enquire at the Courbevoie laundry, where Mlle. Covereauused to work, you will find that her name was Hilairie. Here again wehave the same initial and the same number of letters. There is no needto seek any farther. We are sure, are we not, that the Christian namesof all the victims offer the same peculiarities? And this gives us, withabsolute certainty, the key to the problem which was set us. It explainsthe madwoman's choice. We now know the connection between the unfortunatevictims. There can be no mistake about it. It's that and nothing else. Andhow this method of choosing confirms my theory! What proof of madness! Whykill these women rather than any others? Because their names begin withan H and consist of eight letters! You understand me, M. De Lourtier, doyou not? The number of letters is eight. The initial letter is the eighthletter of the alphabet; and the word _huit_, eight, begins with an H. Always the letter H. _And the implement used to commit the crime was ahatchet_. Is your excellency prepared to tell me that the lady with thehatchet is not a madwoman?"

Rénine interrupted himself and went up to M. De Lourtier-Vaneau:

"What's the matter, your excellency? Are you unwell?"

"No, no, " said M. De Lourtier, with the perspiration streaming down hisforehead. "No . .. But all this story is so upsetting! Only think, I knewone of the victims! And then. .. . "

Rénine took a water-bottle and tumbler from a small table, filled the glassand handed it to M. De Lourtier, who sipped a few mouthfuls from it andthen, pulling himself together, continued, in a voice which he strove tomake firmer than it had been:

"Very well. We'll admit your supposition. Even so, it is necessary that itshould lead to tangible results. What have you done?"

"This morning I published in all the newspapers an advertisement worded asfollows: 'Excellent cook seeks situation. Write before 5 P. M. To Herminie, Boulevard Haussmann, etc. ' You continue to follow me, don't you, M. DeLourtier? Christian names beginning with an H and consisting of eightletters are extremely rare and are all rather out of date: Herminie, Hilairie, Hermione. Well, these Christian names, for reasons which I do notunderstand, are essential to the madwoman. She cannot do without them. Tofind women bearing one of these Christian names and for this purpose onlyshe summons up all her remaining powers of reason, discernment, reflectionand intelligence. She hunts about. She asks questions. She lies in wait. She reads newspapers which she hardly understands, but in which certaindetails, certain capital letters catch her eye. And consequently I did notdoubt for a second that this name of Herminie, printed in large type, wouldattract her attention and that she would be caught to-day in the trap of myadvertisement. "

"Did she write?" asked M. De Lourtier-Vaneau, anxiously. 

"Several ladies, " Rénine continued, "wrote the letters which are usual insuch cases, to offer a home to the so-called Herminie. But I received anexpress letter which struck me as interesting. "

"From whom?"

"Read it, M. De Lourtier. "

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau snatched the sheet from Rénine's hands and cast aglance at the signature. His first movement was one of surprise, as thoughhe had expected something different. Then he gave a long, loud laugh ofsomething like joy and relief. 

"Why do you laugh, M. De Lourtier? You seem pleased. "

"Pleased, no. But this letter is signed by my wife. "

"And you were afraid of finding something else?"

"Oh no! But since it's my wife. .. . "

He did not finish his sentence and said to Rénine:

"Come this way. "

He led him through a passage to a little drawing-room where a fair-hairedlady, with a happy and tender expression on her comely face, was sitting inthe midst of three children and helping them with their lessons. 

She rose. M. De Lourtier briefly presented his visitor and asked his wife:

"Suzanne, is this express message from you?"

"To Mlle. Herminie, Boulevard Haussmann? Yes, " she said, "I sent it. As youknow, our parlour-maid's leaving and I'm looking out for a new one. "

Rénine interrupted her:

"Excuse me, madame. Just one question: where did you get the woman'saddress?"

She flushed. Her husband insisted:

"Tell us, Suzanne. Who gave you the address?"

"I was rung up. "

"By whom?"

She hesitated and then said:

"Your old nurse. "

"Félicienne?"

"Yes. "

M. De Lourtier cut short the conversation and, without permitting Rénine toask any more questions, took him back to the study:

"You see, monsieur, that pneumatic letter came from a quite natural source. Félicienne, my old nurse, who lives not far from Paris on an allowancewhich I make her, read your advertisement and told Madame de Lourtier ofit. For, after all, " he added laughing, "I don't suppose that you suspectmy wife of being the lady with the hatchet. "

"No. "

"Then the incident is closed . .. At least on my side. I have done what Icould, I have listened to your arguments and I am very sorry that I can beof no more use to you. .. . "

He drank another glass of water and sat down. His face was distorted. Rénine looked at him for a few seconds, as a man will look at a failingadversary who has only to receive the knock-out blow, and, sitting downbeside him, suddenly gripped his arm:

"Your excellency, if you do not speak, Hortense Daniel will be the seventhvictim. "

"I have nothing to say, monsieur! What do you think I know?"

"The truth! My explanations have made it plain to you. Your distress, yourterror are positive proofs. "

"But, after all, monsieur, if I knew, why should I be silent?"

"For fear of scandal. There is in your life, so a profound intuitionassures me, something that you are constrained to hide. The truth aboutthis monstrous tragedy, which suddenly flashed upon you, this truth, ifit were known, would spell dishonour to you, disgrace . .. And you areshrinking from your duty. "

M. De Lourtier did not reply. Rénine leant over him and, looking him inthe eyes, whispered:

"There will be no scandal. I shall be the only person in the world toknow what has happened. And I am as much interested as yourself in notattracting attention, because I love Hortense Daniel and do not wish hername to be mixed up in your horrible story. "

They remained face to face during a long interval. Rénine's expression washarsh and unyielding. M. De Lourtier felt that nothing would bend him ifthe necessary words remained unspoken; but he could not bring himself toutter them:

"You are mistaken, " he said. "You think you have seen things that don'texist. "

Rénine received a sudden and terrifying conviction that, if this man tookrefuge in a stolid silence, there was no hope for Hortense Daniel; and hewas so much infuriated by the thought that the key to the riddle lay there, within reach of his hand, that he clutched M. De Lourtier by the throat andforced him backwards:

"I'll have no more lies! A woman's life is at stake! Speak . .. And speak atonce! If not . .. !"

M. De Lourtier had no strength left in him. All resistance was impossible. It was not that Rénine's attack alarmed him, or that he was yielding tothis act of violence, but he felt crushed by that indomitable will, whichseemed to admit no obstacle, and he stammered:

"You are right. It is my duty to tell everything, whatever comes of it. "

"Nothing will come of it, I pledge my word, on condition that you saveHortense Daniel. A moment's hesitation may undo us all. Speak. No details, but the actual facts. "

"Madame de Lourtier is not my wife. The only woman who has the right tobear my name is one whom I married when I was a young colonial official. She was a rather eccentric woman, of feeble mentality and incrediblysubject to impulses that amounted to monomania. We had two children, twins, whom she worshipped and in whose company she would no doubt have recoveredher mental balance and moral health, when, by a stupid accident--apassing carriage--they were killed before her eyes. The poor thing wentmad . .. With the silent, secretive madness which you imagined. Some timeafterwards, when I was appointed to an Algerian station, I brought her toFrance and put her in the charge of a worthy creature who had nursed me andbrought me up. Two years later, I made the acquaintance of the woman whowas to become the joy of my life. You saw her just now. She is the motherof my children and she passes as my wife. Are we to sacrifice her? Is ourwhole existence to be shipwrecked in horror and must our name be coupledwith this tragedy of madness and blood?"

Rénine thought for a moment and asked:

"What is the other one's name?"

"Hermance. "

"Hermance! Still that initial . .. Still those eight letters!"

"That was what made me realize everything just now, " said M. De Lourtier. "When you compared the different names, I at once reflected that my unhappywife was called Hermance and that she was mad . .. And all the proofs leaptto my mind. "

"But, though we understand the selection of the victims, how are we toexplain the murders? What are the symptoms of her madness? Does she sufferat all?"

"She does not suffer very much at present. But she has suffered in thepast, the most terrible suffering that you can imagine: since the momentwhen her two children were run over before her eyes, night and day she hadthe horrible spectacle of their death before her eyes, without a moment'sinterruption, for she never slept for a single second. Think of the tortureof it! To see her children dying through all the hours of the long day andall the hours of the interminable night!"

"Nevertheless, " Rénine objected, "it is not to drive away that picture thatshe commits murder?"

"Yes, possibly, " said M. De Lourtier, thoughtfully, "to drive it away bysleep. "

"I don't understand. "

"You don't understand, because we are talking of a madwoman . .. And becauseall that happens in that disordered brain is necessarily incoherent andabnormal?"

"Obviously. But, all the same, is your supposition based on facts thatjustify it?"

"Yes, on facts which I had, in a way, overlooked but which to-day assumetheir true significance. The first of these facts dates a few years back, to a morning when my old nurse for the first time found Hermance fastasleep. Now she was holding her hands clutched around a puppy which she hadstrangled. And the same thing was repeated on three other occasions. "

"And she slept?"

"Yes, each time she slept a sleep which lasted for several nights. "

"And what conclusion did you draw?"

"I concluded that the relaxation of the nerves provoked by taking lifeexhausted her and predisposed her for sleep. "

Rénine shuddered:

"That's it! There's not a doubt of it! The taking life, the effort ofkilling makes her sleep. And she began with women what had served her sowell with animals. All her madness has become concentrated on that onepoint: she kills them to rob them of their sleep! She wanted sleep; and shesteals the sleep of others! That's it, isn't it? For the past two years, she has been sleeping?"

"For the past two years, she has been sleeping, " stammered M. De Lourtier. 

Rénine gripped him by the shoulder:

"And it never occurred to you that her madness might go farther, that shewould stop at nothing to win the blessing of sleep! Let us make haste, monsieur! All this is horrible!"

They were both making for the door, when M. De Lourtier hesitated. Thetelephone-bell was ringing. 

"It's from there, " he said. 

"From there?"

"Yes, my old nurse gives me the news at the same time every day. "

He unhooked the receivers and handed one to Rénine, who whispered in hisear the questions which he was to put. 

"Is that you, Félicienne? How is she?"

"Not so bad, sir. "

"Is she sleeping well?"

"Not very well, lately. Last night, indeed, she never closed her eyes. Soshe's very gloomy just now. "

"What is she doing at the moment?"

"She is in her room. "

"Go to her, Félicienne, and don't leave her. "

"I can't. She's locked herself in. "

"You must, Félicienne. Break open the door. I'm coming straight on. .. . Hullo! Hullo!. .. Oh, damnation, they've cut us off!"

Without a word, the two men left the flat and ran down to the avenue. Rénine hustled M. De Lourtier into the car:

"What address?"

"Ville d'Avray. "

"Of course! In the very center of her operations . .. Like a spider in themiddle of her web! Oh, the shame of it!"

He was profoundly agitated. He saw the whole adventure in its monstrousreality. 

"Yes, she kills them to steal their sleep, as she used to kill the animals. It is the same obsession, but complicated by a whole array of utterlyincomprehensible practices and superstitions. She evidently fancies thatthe similarity of the Christian names to her own is indispensable and thatshe will not sleep unless her victim is an Hortense or an Honorine. It'sa madwoman's argument; its logic escapes us and we know nothing of itsorigin; but we can't get away from it. She has to hunt and has to find. Andshe finds and carries off her prey beforehand and watches over it for theappointed number of days, until the moment when, crazily, through the holewhich she digs with a hatchet in the middle of the skull, she absorbs thesleep which stupefies her and grants her oblivion for a given period. Andhere again we see absurdity and madness. Why does she fix that period at somany days? Why should one victim ensure her a hundred and twenty days ofsleep and another a hundred and twenty-five? What insanity! The calculationis mysterious and of course mad; but the fact remains that, at the end ofa hundred or a hundred and twenty-five days, as the case may be, a freshvictim is sacrificed; and there have been six already and the seventh isawaiting her turn. Ah, monsieur, what a terrible responsibility for you!Such a monster as that! She should never have been allowed out of sight!"

M. De Lourtier-Vaneau made no protest. His air of dejection, his pallor, his trembling hands, all proved his remorse and his despair: "She deceivedme, " he murmured. "She was outwardly so quiet, so docile! And, after all, she's in a lunatic asylum. "

"Then how can she . .. ?"

"The asylum, " explained M. De Lourtier, "is made up of a number of separatebuildings scattered over extensive grounds. The sort of cottage in whichHermance lives stands quite apart. There is first a room occupied byFélicienne, then Hermance's bedroom and two separate rooms, one of whichhas its windows overlooking the open country. I suppose it is there thatshe locks up her victims. "

"But the carriage that conveys the dead bodies?"

"The stables of the asylum are quite close to the cottage. There's a horseand carriage there for station work. Hermance no doubt gets up at night, harnesses the horse and slips the body through the window. "

"And the nurse who watches her?"

"Félicienne is very old and rather deaf. "

"But by day she sees her mistress moving to and fro, doing this and that. Must we not admit a certain complicity?"

"Never! Félicienne herself has been deceived by Hermance's hypocrisy. "

"All the same, it was she who telephoned to Madame de Lourtier first, aboutthat advertisement. .. . "

"Very naturally. Hermance, who talks now and then, who argues, who buriesherself in the newspapers, which she does not understand, as you weresaying just now, but reads through them attentively, must have seen theadvertisement and, having heard that we were looking for a servant, musthave asked Félicienne to ring me up. "

"Yes . .. Yes . .. That is what I felt, " said Rénine, slowly. "She marks downher victims. .. . With Hortense dead, she would have known, once she had usedup her allowance of sleep, where to find an eighth victim. .. . But how didshe entice the unfortunate women? How did she entice Hortense?"

The car was rushing along, but not fast enough to please Rénine, who ratedthe chauffeur:

"Push her along, Adolphe, can't you?. .. We're losing time, my man. "

Suddenly the fear of arriving too late began to torture him. The logic ofthe insane is subject to sudden changes of mood, to any perilous idea thatmay enter the mind. The madwoman might easily mistake the date and hastenthe catastrophe, like a clock out of order which strikes an hour too soon. 

On the other hand, as her sleep was once more disturbed, might she not betempted to take action without waiting for the appointed moment? Was thisnot the reason why she had locked herself into her room? Heavens, whatagonies her prisoner must be suffering! What shudders of terror at theexecutioner's least movement!

"Faster, Adolphe, or I'll take the wheel myself! Faster, hang it. "

At last they reached Ville d'Avray. There was a steep, sloping road on theright and walls interrupted by a long railing. 

"Drive round the grounds, Adolphe. We mustn't give warning of our presence, must we, M. De Lourtier? Where is the cottage?"

"Just opposite, " said M. De Lourtier-Vaneau. 

They got out a little farther on. Rénine began to run along a bank at theside of an ill-kept sunken road. It was almost dark. M. De Lourtier said:

"Here, this building standing a little way back. .. . Look at that window onthe ground-floor. It belongs to one of the separate rooms . .. And that isobviously how she slips out. "

"But the window seems to be barred. "

"Yes; and that is why no one suspected anything. But she must have foundsome way to get through. "

The ground-floor was built over deep cellars. Rénine quickly clambered up, finding a foothold on a projecting ledge of stone. 

Sure enough, one of the bars was missing. 

He pressed his face to the window-pane and looked in. 

The room was dark inside. Nevertheless he was able to distinguish at theback a woman seated beside another woman, who was lying on a mattress. Thewoman seated was holding her forehead in her hands and gazing at the womanwho was lying down. 

"It's she, " whispered M. De Lourtier, who had also climbed the wall. "Theother one is bound. "

Rénine took from his pocket a glazier's diamond and cut out one of thepanes without making enough noise to arouse the madwoman's attention. Henext slid his hand to the window-fastening and turned it softly, while withhis left hand he levelled a revolver. 

"You're not going to fire, surely!" M. De Lourtier-Vaneau entreated. 

"If I must, I shall. "

Rénine pushed open the window gently. But there was an obstacle of which hewas not aware, a chair which toppled over and fell. 

He leapt into the room and threw away his revolver in order to seize themadwoman. But she did not wait for him. She rushed to the door, opened itand fled, with a hoarse cry. 

M. De Lourtier made as though to run after her. 

"What's the use?" said Rénine, kneeling down, "Let's save the victimfirst. "

He was instantly reassured: Hortense was alive. 

The first thing that he did was to cut the cords and remove the gag thatwas stifling her. Attracted by the noise, the old nurse had hastened tothe room with a lamp, which Rénine took from her, casting its light onHortense. 

He was astounded: though livid and exhausted, with emaciated features andeyes blazing with fever, Hortense was trying to smile. She whispered:

"I was expecting you . .. I did not despair for a moment . .. I was sure ofyou. .. . "

She fainted. 

An hour later, after much useless searching around the cottage, they foundthe madwoman locked into a large cupboard in the loft. She had hangedherself. 

 * * * * *

Hortense refused to stay another night. Besides, it was better that thecottage should be empty when the old nurse announced the madwoman'ssuicide. Rénine gave Félicienne minute directions as to what she should doand say; and then, assisted by the chauffeur and M. De Lourtier, carriedHortense to the car and brought her home. 

She was soon convalescent. Two days later, Rénine carefully questioned herand asked her how she had come to know the madwoman. 

"It was very simple, " she said. "My husband, who is not quite sane, as Ihave told you, is being looked after at Ville d'Avray; and I sometimes goto see him, without telling anybody, I admit. That was how I came to speakto that poor madwoman and how, the other day, she made signs that shewanted me to visit her. We were alone. I went into the cottage. She threwherself upon me and overpowered me before I had time to cry for help. Ithought it was a jest; and so it was, wasn't it: a madwoman's jest? She wasquite gentle with me. .. . All the same, she let me starve. But I was so sureof you!"

"And weren't you frightened?"

"Of starving? No. Besides, she gave me some food, now and then, when thefancy took her. .. . And then I was sure of you!"

"Yes, but there was something else: that other peril. .. . "

"What other peril?" she asked, ingenuously. 

Rénine gave a start. He suddenly understood--it seemed strange at first, though it was quite natural--that Hortense had not for a moment suspectedand did not yet suspect the terrible danger which she had run. Her mind hadnot connected with her own adventure the murders committed by the lady withthe hatchet. 

He thought that it would always be time enough to tell her the truth. Forthat matter, a few days later her husband, who had been locked up foryears, died in the asylum at Ville d'Avray, and Hortense, who had beenrecommended by her doctor a short period of rest and solitude, went to staywith a relation living near the village of Bassicourt, in the centre ofFrance. 

VII

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

_To Prince Serge Rénine, Boulevard Haussmann, Paris_

LA RONCIÈRE NEAR BASSICOURT, 14 NOVEMBER. 

"MY DEAR FRIEND, --

"You must be thinking me very ungrateful. I have been here three weeks; andyou have had not one letter from me! Not a word of thanks! And yet I endedby realizing from what terrible death you saved me and understanding thesecret of that terrible business! But indeed, indeed I couldn't help it! Iwas in such a state of prostration after it all! I needed rest and solitudeso badly! Was I to stay in Paris? Was I to continue my expeditions withyou? No, no, no! I had had enough adventures! Other people's are veryinteresting, I admit. But when one is one's self the victim and barelyescapes with one's life?. .. Oh, my dear friend, how horrible it was! ShallI ever forget it?. .. 

"Here, at la Roncière, I enjoy the greatest peace. My old spinster cousinErmelin pets and coddles me like an invalid. I am getting back my colourand am very well, physically . .. So much so, in fact, that I no longerever think of interesting myself in other people's business. Never again!For instance (I am only telling you this because you are incorrigible, asinquisitive as any old charwoman, and always ready to busy yourself withthings that don't concern you), yesterday I was present at a rather curiousmeeting. Antoinette had taken me to the inn at Bassicourt, where we werehaving tea in the public room, among the peasants (it was market-day), whenthe arrival of three people, two men and a woman, caused a sudden pause inthe conversation. 

"One of the men was a fat farmer in a long blouse, with a jovial, red face, framed in white whiskers. The other was younger, was dressed in corduroyand had lean, yellow, cross-grained features. Each of them carried a gunslung over his shoulder. Between them was a short, slender young woman, ina brown cloak and a fur cap, whose rather thin and extremely pale face wassurprisingly delicate and distinguished-looking. 

"'Father, son and daughter-in-law, ' whispered my cousin. 

"'What! Can that charming creature be the wife of that clod-hopper?'

"'And the daughter-in-law of Baron de Gorne. '

"'Is the old fellow over there a baron?'

"'Yes, descended from a very ancient, noble family which used to own thechâteau in the old days. He has always lived like a peasant: a greathunter, a great drinker, a great litigant, always at law with somebody, nowvery nearly ruined. His son Mathias was more ambitious and less attached tothe soil and studied for the bar. Then he went to America. Next, the lackof money brought him back to the village, whereupon he fell in love with ayoung girl in the nearest town. The poor girl consented, no one knows why, to marry him; and for five years past she has been leading the life of ahermit, or rather of a prisoner, in a little manor-house close by, theManoir-au-Puits, the Well Manor. '

"'With the father and the son?' I asked. 

"'No, the father lives at the far end of the village, on a lonely farm. '

"'And is Master Mathias jealous?'

"'A perfect tiger!'

"'Without reason?'

"'Without reason, for Natalie de Gorne is the straightest woman in the worldand it is not her fault if a handsome young man has been hanging around themanor-house for the past few months. However, the de Gornes can't get overit. '

"'What, the father neither?'

"'The handsome young man is the last descendant of the people who bought thechâteau long ago. This explains old de Gorne's hatred. Jérôme Vignal--Iknow him and am very fond of him--is a good-looking fellow and very welloff; and he has sworn to run off with Natalie de Gorne. It's the old manwho says so, whenever he has had a drop too much. There, listen!'

"The old chap was sitting among a group of men who were amusing themselvesby making him drink and plying him with questions. He was already a littlebit 'on' and was holding forth with a tone of indignation and a mockingsmile which formed the most comic contrast:

"'He's wasting his time, I tell you, the coxcomb! It's no manner of use hispoaching round our way and making sheep's-eyes at the wench. .. . The covertsare watched! If he comes too near, it means a bullet, eh, Mathias?'

"He gripped his daughter-in-law's hand:

"'And then the little wench knows how to defend herself too, ' he chuckled. 'Eh, you don't want any admirers, do you Natalie?'

"The young wife blushed, in her confusion at being addressed in theseterms, while her husband growled:

"'You'd do better to hold your tongue, father. There are things one doesn'ttalk about in public. '

"'Things that affect one's honour are best settled in public, ' retorted theold one. 'Where I'm concerned, the honour of the de Gornes comes beforeeverything; and that fine spark, with his Paris airs, sha'n't. .. . '

"He stopped short. Before him stood a man who had just come in and whoseemed to be waiting for him to finish his sentence. The newcomer was atall, powerfully-built young fellow, in riding-kit, with a hunting-crop inhis hand. His strong and rather stern face was lighted up by a pair of fineeyes in which shone an ironical smile. 

"'Jérôme Vignal, ' whispered my cousin. 

"The young man seemed not at all embarrassed. On seeing Natalie, he made alow bow; and, when Mathias de Gorne took a step forward, he eyed him fromhead to foot, as though to say:

"'Well, what about it?'

"And his attitude was so haughty and contemptuous that the de Gornesunslung their guns and took them in both hands, like sportsmen about toshoot. The son's expression was very fierce. 

"Jérôme was quite unmoved by the threat. After a few seconds, turning tothe inn-keeper, he remarked:

"'Oh, I say! I came to see old Vasseur. But his shop is shut. Would you mindgiving him the holster of my revolver? It wants a stitch or two. '

"He handed the holster to the inn-keeper and added, laughing:

"'I'm keeping the revolver, in case I need it. You never can tell!'

"Then, still very calmly, he took a cigarette from a silver case, lit itand walked out. We saw him through the window vaulting on his horse andriding off at a slow trot. 

"Old de Gorne tossed off a glass of brandy, swearing most horribly. 

"His son clapped his hand to the old man's mouth and forced him to sitdown. Natalie de Gorne was weeping beside them. .. . 

"That's my story, dear friend. As you see, it's not tremendouslyinteresting and does not deserve your attention. There's no mystery in itand no part for you to play. Indeed, I particularly insist that you shouldnot seek a pretext for any untimely interference. Of course, I should beglad to see the poor thing protected: she appears to be a perfect martyr. But, as I said before, let us leave other people to get out of their owntroubles and go no farther with our little experiments. .. . "

 * * * * *

Rénine finished reading the letter, read it over again and ended by saying:

"That's it. Everything's right as right can be. She doesn't want tocontinue our little experiments, because this would make the seventh andbecause she's afraid of the eighth, which under the terms of our agreementhas a very particular significance. She doesn't want to . .. And she doeswant to . .. Without seeming to want to. "

 * * * * *

He rubbed his hands. The letter was an invaluable witness to the influencewhich he had gradually, gently and patiently gained over Hortense Daniel. It betrayed a rather complex feeling, composed of admiration, unboundedconfidence, uneasiness at times, fear and almost terror, but also love:he was convinced of that. His companion in adventures which she sharedwith a good fellowship that excluded any awkwardness between them, shehad suddenly taken fright; and a sort of modesty, mingled with a certaincoquetry; was impelling her to hold back. 

That very evening, Sunday, Rénine took the train. 

And, at break of day, after covering by diligence, on a road white withsnow, the five miles between the little town of Pompignat, where healighted, and the village of Bassicourt, he learnt that his journey mightprove of some use: three shots had been heard during the night in thedirection of the Manoir-au-Puits. 

"Three shots, sergeant. I heard them as plainly as I see you standingbefore me, " said a peasant whom the gendarmes were questioning in theparlour of the inn which Rénine had entered. 

"So did I, " said the waiter. "Three shots. It may have been twelve o'clockat night. The snow, which had been falling since nine, had stopped . .. And the shots sounded across the fields, one after the other: bang, bang, bang. "

Five more peasants gave their evidence. The sergeant and his men hadheard nothing, because the police-station backed on the fields. But afarm-labourer and a woman arrived, who said that they were in Mathiasde Gorne's service, that they had been away for two days because of theintervening Sunday and that they had come straight from the manor-house, where they were unable to obtain admission:

"The gate of the grounds is locked, sergeant, " said the man. "It's thefirst time I've known this to happen. M. Mathias comes out to open ithimself, every morning at the stroke of six, winter and summer. Well, it'spast eight now. I called and shouted. Nobody answered. So we came on here. "

"You might have enquired at old M. De Gorne's, " said the sergeant. "Helives on the high-road. "

"On my word, so I might! I never thought of that. "

"We'd better go there now, " the sergeant decided. Two of his men went withhim, as well as the peasants and a locksmith whose services were calledinto requisition. Rénine joined the party. 

Soon, at the end of the village, they reached old de Gorne's farmyard, which Rénine recognized by Hortense's description of its position. 

The old fellow was harnessing his horse and trap. When they told him whathad happened, he burst out laughing:

"Three shots? Bang, bang, bang? Why, my dear sergeant, there are only twobarrels to Mathias' gun!"

"What about the locked gate?"

"It means that the lad's asleep, that's all. Last night, he came andcracked a bottle with me . .. Perhaps two . .. Or even three; and he'll besleeping it off, I expect . .. He and Natalie. "

He climbed on to the box of his trap--an old cart with a patched tilt--andcracked his whip:

"Good-bye, gentlemen all. Those three shots of yours won't stop me fromgoing to market at Pompignat, as I do every Monday. I've a couple of calvesunder the tilt; and they're just fit for the butcher. Good-day to you!"

The others walked on. Rénine went up to the sergeant and gave him his name:

"I'm a friend of Mlle. Ermelin, of La Roncière; and, as it's too early tocall on her yet, I shall be glad if you'll allow me to go round by themanor with you. Mlle. Ermelin knows Madame de Gorne; and it will be asatisfaction to me to relieve her mind, for there's nothing wrong at themanor-house, I hope?"

"If there is, " replied the sergeant, "we shall read all about it as plainlyas on a map, because of the snow. "

He was a likable young man and seemed smart and intelligent. From the veryfirst he had shown great acuteness in observing the tracks which Mathiashad left behind him, the evening before, on returning home, tracks whichsoon became confused with the footprints made in going and coming by thefarm-labourer and the woman. Meanwhile they came to the walls of a propertyof which the locksmith readily opened the gate. 

From here onward, a single trail appeared upon the spotless snow, that ofMathias; and it was easy to perceive that the son must have shared largelyin the father's libations, as the line of footprints described suddencurves which made it swerve right up to the trees of the avenue. 

Two hundred yards farther stood the dilapidated two-storeyed building ofthe Manoir-au-Puits. The principal door was open. 

"Let's go in, " said the sergeant. 

And, the moment he had crossed the threshold, he muttered:

"Oho! Old de Gorne made a mistake in not coming. They've been fighting inhere. "

The big room was in disorder. Two shattered chairs, the overturned tableand much broken glass and china bore witness to the violence of thestruggle. The tall clock, lying on the ground, had stopped at twenty pasteleven. 

With the farm-girl showing them the way, they ran up to the first floor. Neither Mathias nor his wife was there. But the door of their bedroom hadbeen broken down with a hammer which they discovered under the bed. 

Rénine and the sergeant went downstairs again. The living-room had apassage communicating with the kitchen, which lay at the back of the houseand opened on a small yard fenced off from the orchard. At the end of thisenclosure was a well near which one was bound to pass. 

Now, from the door of the kitchen to the well, the snow, which was notvery thick, had been pressed down to this side and that, as though a bodyhad been dragged over it. And all around the well were tangled traces oftrampling feet, showing that the struggle must have been resumed at thisspot. The sergeant again discovered Mathias' footprints, together withothers which were shapelier and lighter. 

These latter went straight into the orchard, by themselves. And, thirtyyards on, near the footprints, a revolver was picked up and recognized byone of the peasants as resembling that which Jérôme Vignal had produced inthe inn two days before. 

The sergeant examined the cylinder. Three of the seven bullets had beenfired. 

And so the tragedy was little by little reconstructed in its main outlines;and the sergeant, who had ordered everybody to stand aside and not to stepon the site of the footprints, came back to the well, leant over, put a fewquestions to the farm-girl and, going up to Rénine, whispered:

"It all seems fairly clear to me. "

Rénine took his arm:

"Let's speak out plainly, sergeant. I understand the business prettywell, for, as I told you, I know Mlle. Ermelin, who is a friend of JérômeVignal's and also knows Madame de Gorne. Do you suppose . .. ?"

"I don't want to suppose anything. I simply declare that some one camethere last night. .. . "

"By which way? The only tracks of a person coming towards the manor arethose of M. De Gorne. "

"That's because the other person arrived before the snowfall, that is tosay, before nine o'clock. "

"Then he must have hidden in a corner of the living-room and waited for thereturn of M. De Gorne, who came after the snow?"

"Just so. As soon as Mathias came in, the man went for him. There was afight. Mathias made his escape through the kitchen. The man ran after himto the well and fired three revolver-shots. "

"And where's the body?"

"Down the well. "

Rénine protested:

"Oh, I say! Aren't you taking a lot for granted?"

"Why, sir, the snow's there, to tell the story; and the snow plainly saysthat, after the struggle, after the three shots, one man alone walkedaway and left the farm, one man only, and his footprints are not thoseof Mathias de Gorne. Then where can Mathias de Gorne be?"

"But the well . .. Can be dragged?"

"No. The well is practically bottomless. It is known all over the districtand gives its name to the manor. "

"So you really believe . .. ?"

"I repeat what I said. Before the snowfall, a single arrival, Mathias, anda single departure, the stranger. "

"And Madame de Gorne? Was she too killed and thrown down the well like herhusband?"

"No, carried off. "

"Carried off?"

"Remember that her bedroom was broken down with a hammer. "

"Come, come, sergeant! You yourself declare that there was only onedeparture, the stranger's. "

"Stoop down. Look at the man's footprints. See how they sink into the snow, until they actually touch the ground. Those are the footprints of a man, laden with a heavy burden. The stranger was carrying Madame de Gorne on hisshoulder. "

"Then there's an outlet this way?"

"Yes, a little door of which Mathias de Gorne always had the key on him. The man must have taken it from him. "

"A way out into the open fields?"

"Yes, a road which joins the departmental highway three quarters of a milefrom here. .. . And do you know where?"

"Where?"

"At the corner of the château. "

"Jérôme Vignal's château?"

"By Jove, this is beginning to look serious! If the trail leads to thechâteau and stops there, we shall know where we stand. "

The trail did continue to the château, as they were able to perceive afterfollowing it across the undulating fields, on which the snow lay heaped inplaces. The approach to the main gates had been swept, but they saw thatanother trail, formed by the two wheels of a vehicle, was running in theopposite direction to the village. 

The sergeant rang the bell. The porter, who had also been sweeping thedrive, came to the gates, with a broom in his hand. In answer to aquestion, the man said that M. Vignal had gone away that morning beforeanyone else was up and that he himself had harnessed the horse to the trap. 

"In that case, " said Rénine, when they had moved away, "all we have to dois to follow the tracks of the wheels. "

"That will be no use, " said the sergeant. "They have taken the railway. "

"At Pompignat station, where I came from? But they would have passedthrough the village. "

"They have gone just the other way, because it leads to the town, where theexpress trains stop. The procurator-general has an office in the town. I'lltelephone; and, as there's no train before eleven o'clock, all that theyneed do is to keep a watch at the station. "

"I think you're doing the right thing, sergeant, " said Rénine, "and Icongratulate you on the way in which you have carried out yourinvestigation. "

They parted. Rénine went back to the inn in the village and sent a note toHortense Daniel by hand:

 "MY VERY DEAR FRIEND, "I seemed to gather from your letter that, touched as always by anything that concerns the heart, you were anxious to protect the love-affair of Jérôme and Natalie. Now there is every reason to suppose that these two, without consulting their fair protectress, have run away, after throwing Mathias de Gorne down a well. 

 "Forgive me for not coming to see you. The whole thing is extremely obscure; and, if I were with you, I should not have the detachment of mind which is needed to think the case over. "

It was then half-past ten. Rénine went for a walk into the country, withhis hands clasped behind his back and without vouchsafing a glance at theexquisite spectacle of the white meadows. He came back for lunch, stillabsorbed in his thoughts and indifferent to the talk of the customers ofthe inn, who on all sides were discussing recent events. 

He went up to his room and had been asleep some time when he was awakenedby a tapping at the door. He got up and opened it:

"Is it you?. .. Is it you?" he whispered. 

Hortense and he stood gazing at each other for some seconds in silence, holding each other's hands, as though nothing, no irrelevant thought and noutterance, must be allowed to interfere with the joy of their meeting. Thenhe asked:

"Was I right in coming?"

"Yes, " she said, gently, "I expected you. "

"Perhaps it would have been better if you had sent for me sooner, insteadof waiting. .. . Events did not wait, you see, and I don't quite know what'sto become of Jérôme Vignal and Natalie de Gorne. "

"What, haven't you heard?" she said, quickly. "They've been arrested. Theywere going to travel by the express. "

"Arrested? No. " Rénine objected. "People are not arrested like that. Theyhave to be questioned first. "

"That's what's being done now. The authorities are making a search. "

"Where?"

"At the château. And, as they are innocent. .. . For they are innocent, aren't they? You don't admit that they are guilty, any more than I do?"

He replied:

"I admit nothing, I can admit nothing, my dear. Nevertheless, I am boundto say that everything is against them . .. Except one fact, which is thateverything is too much against them. It is not normal for so many proofs tobe heaped up one on top of the other and for the man who commits a murderto tell his story so frankly. Apart from this, there's nothing but mysteryand discrepancy. "

"Well?"

"Well, I am greatly puzzled. "

"But you have a plan?"

"None at all, so far. Ah, if I could see him, Jérôme Vignal, and her, Natalie de Gorne, and hear them and know what they are saying in their owndefence! But you can understand that I sha'n't be permitted either to askthem any questions or to be present at their examination. Besides, it mustbe finished by this time. "

"It's finished at the château, " she said, "but it's going to be continuedat the manor-house. "

"Are they taking them to the manor-house?" he asked eagerly. 

"Yes . .. At least, judging by what was said to the chauffeur of one of theprocurator's two cars. "

"Oh, in that case, " exclaimed Rénine, "the thing's done! The manor-house!Why, we shall be in the front row of the stalls! We shall see and heareverything; and, as a word, a tone of the voice, a quiver of the eyelidswill be enough to give me the tiny clue I need, we may entertain some hope. Come along. "

He took her by the direct route which he had followed that morning, leadingto the gate which the locksmith had opened. The gendarmes on duty atthe manor-house had made a passage through the snow, beside the line offootprints and around the house. Chance enabled Rénine and Hortense toapproach unseen and through a side-window to enter a corridor near aback-staircase. A few steps up was a little chamber which received itsonly light through a sort of bull's-eye, from the large room on theground-floor. Rénine, during the morning visit, had noticed the bull's-eye, which was covered on the inside with a piece of cloth. He removed the clothand cut out one of the panes. 

A few minutes later, a sound of voices rose from the other side of thehouse, no doubt near the well. The sound grew more distinct. A number ofpeople flocked into the house. Some of them went up stairs to the firstfloor, while the sergeant arrived with a young man of whom Rénine andHortense were able to distinguish only the tall figure:

"Jérôme Vignal, " said she. 

"Yes, " said Rénine. "They are examining Madame de Gorne first, upstairs, in her bedroom. "

A quarter of an hour passed. Then the persons on the first floor camedownstairs and went in. They were the procurator's deputy, his clerk, acommissary of police and two detectives. 

Madame de Gorne was shown in and the deputy asked Jérôme Vignal to stepforward. 

Jérôme Vignal's face was certainly that of the strong man whom Hortense haddepicted in her letter. He displayed no uneasiness, but rather decision anda resolute will. Natalie, who was short and very slight, with a feverishlight in her eyes, nevertheless produced the same impression of quietconfidence. 

The deputy, who was examining the disordered furniture and the traces ofthe struggle, invited her to sit down and said to Jérôme:

"Monsieur, I have not asked you many questions so far. This is a summaryenquiry which I am conducting in your presence and which will be continuedlater by the examining-magistrate; and I wished above all to explain to youthe very serious reasons for which I asked you to interrupt your journeyand to come back here with Madame de Gorne. You are now in a position torefute the truly distressing charges that are hanging over you. I thereforeask you to tell me the exact truth. "

"Mr. Deputy, " replied Jérôme, "the charges in question trouble me verylittle. The truth for which you are asking will defeat all the lies whichchance has accumulated against me. It is this. "

He reflected for an instant and then, in clear, frank tones, said:

"I love Madame de Gorne. The first time I met her, I conceived the greatestsympathy and admiration for her. But my affection has always been directedby the sole thought of her happiness. I love her, but I respect her evenmore. Madame de Gorne must have told you and I tell you again that she andI exchanged our first few words last night. "

He continued, in a lower voice:

"I respect her the more inasmuch as she is exceedingly unhappy. All theworld knows that every minute of her life was a martyrdom. Her husbandpersecuted her with ferocious hatred and frantic jealousy. Ask theservants. They will tell you of the long suffering of Natalie de Gorne, ofthe blows which she received and the insults which she had to endure. Itried to stop this torture by restoring to the rights of appeal which themerest stranger may claim when unhappiness and injustice pass a certainlimit. I went three times to old de Gorne and begged him to interfere; butI found in him an almost equal hatred towards his daughter-in-law, thehatred which many people feel for anything beautiful and noble. At lastI resolved on direct action and last night I took a step with regard toMathias de Gorne which was . .. A little unusual, I admit, but which seemedlikely to succeed, considering the man's character. I swear, Mr. Deputy, that I had no other intention than to talk to Mathias de Gorne. Knowingcertain particulars of his life which enabled me to bring effectivepressure to bear upon him, I wished to make use of this advantage in orderto achieve my purpose. If things turned out differently, I am not whollyto blame. .. . So I went there a little before nine o'clock. The servants, Iknew, were out. He opened the door himself. He was alone. "

"Monsieur, " said the deputy, interrupting him, "you are sayingsomething--as Madame de Gorne, for that matter, did just now--which ismanifestly opposed to the truth. Mathias de Gorne did not come home lastnight until eleven o'clock. We have two definite proofs of this: hisfather's evidence and the prints of his feet in the snow, which fell froma quarter past nine o'clock to eleven. "

"Mr. Deputy, " Jérôme Vignal declared, without heeding the bad effect whichhis obstinacy was producing, "I am relating things as they were and not asthey may be interpreted. But to continue. That clock marked ten minutes tonine when I entered this room. M. De Gorne, believing that he was about tobe attacked, had taken down his gun. I placed my revolver on the table, outof reach of my hand, and sat down: 'I want to speak to you, monsieur, ' Isaid. 'Please listen to me. ' He did not stir and did not utter a singlesyllable. So I spoke. And straightway, crudely, without any previousexplanations which might have softened the bluntness of my proposal, Ispoke the few words which I had prepared beforehand: 'I have spent somemonths, monsieur, ' I said, 'in making careful enquiries into your financialposition. You have mortgaged every foot of your land. You have signedbills which will shortly be falling due and which it will be absolutelyimpossible for you to honour. You have nothing to hope for from yourfather, whose own affairs are in a very bad condition. So you are ruined. Ihave come to save you. '. .. He watched me, still without speaking, and satdown, which I took to mean that my suggestion was not entirely displeasing. Then I took a sheaf of bank-notes from my pocket, placed it before himand continued: 'Here is sixty thousand francs, monsieur. I will buy theManoir-au-Puits, its lands and dependencies and take over the mortgages. The sum named is exactly twice what they are worth. '. .. I saw his eyesglittering. He asked my conditions. 'Only one, ' I said, 'that you go toAmerica. '. .. Mr. Deputy, we sat discussing for two hours. It was not thatmy offer roused his indignation--I should not have risked it if I had notknown with whom I was dealing--but he wanted more and haggled greedily, though he refrained from mentioning the name of Madame de Gorne, to whom Imyself had not once alluded. We might have been two men engaged in adispute and seeking an agreement on common ground, whereas it was thehappiness and the whole destiny of a woman that were at stake. At last, weary of the discussion, I accepted a compromise and we came to terms, which I resolved to make definite then and there. Two letters wereexchanged between us: one in which he made the Manoir-au-Puits over to mefor the sum which I had paid him; and one, which he pocketed immediately, by which I was to send him as much more in America on the day on which thedecree of divorce was pronounced. .. . So the affair was settled. I am surethat at that moment he was accepting in good faith. He looked upon me lessas an enemy and a rival than as a man who was doing him a service. He evenwent so far as to give me the key of the little door which opens on thefields, so that I might go home by the short cut. Unfortunately, while Iwas picking up my cap and greatcoat, I made the mistake of leaving on thetable the letter of sale which he had signed. In a moment, Mathias de Gornehad seen the advantage which he could take of my slip: he could keep hisproperty, keep his wife . .. And keep the money. Quick as lightning, hetucked away the paper, hit me over the head with the butt-end of his gun, threw the gun on the floor and seized me by the throat with both hands. Hehad reckoned without his host. I was the stronger of the two; and after asharp but short struggle, I mastered him and tied him up with a cord whichI found lying in a corner . .. Mr. Deputy, if my enemy's resolve was sudden, mine was no less so. Since, when all was said, he had accepted the bargain, I would force him to keep it, at least in so far as I was interested. Avery few steps brought me to the first floor . .. I had not a doubt thatMadame de Gorne was there and had heard the sound of our discussion. Switching on the light of my pocket-torch, I looked into three bedrooms. The fourth was locked. I knocked at the door. There was no reply. But thiswas one of the moments in which a man allows no obstacle to stand in hisway. I had seen a hammer in one of the rooms. I picked it up and smashed inthe door. .. . Yes, Natalie was lying there, on the floor, in a dead faint. Itook her in my arms, carried her downstairs and went through the kitchen. On seeing the snow outside, I at once realized that my footprints would beeasily traced. But what did it matter? Was there any reason why I shouldput Mathias de Gorne off the scent? Not at all. With the sixty thousandfrancs in his possession, as well as the paper in which I undertook to payhim a like sum on the day of his divorce, to say nothing of his house andland, he would go away, leaving Natalie de Gorne to me. Nothing was changedbetween us, except one thing: instead of awaiting his good pleasure, Ihad at once seized the precious pledge which I coveted. What I feared, therefore, was not so much any subsequent attack on the part of Mathiasde Gorne, but rather the indignant reproaches of his wife. What would shesay when she realized that she was a prisoner in my hands?. .. The reasonswhy I escaped reproach Madame de Gorne has, I believe, had the franknessto tell you. Love calls forth love. That night, in my house, broken byemotion, she confessed her feeling for me. She loved me as I loved her. Our destinies were henceforth mingled. She and I set out at five o'clockthis morning . .. Not foreseeing for an instant that we were amenable tothe law. "

Jérôme Vignal's story was finished. He had told it straight off the reel, like a story learnt by heart and incapable of revision in any detail. 

There was a brief pause, during which Hortense whispered:

"It all sounds quite possible and, in any case, very logical. "

"There are the objections to come, " said Rénine. "Wait till you hear them. They are very serious. There's one in particular. .. . "

The deputy-procurator stated it at once:

"And what became of M. De Gorne in all this?"

"Mathias de Gorne?" asked Jérôme. 

"Yes. You have related, with an accent of great sincerity, a series offacts which I am quite willing to admit. Unfortunately, you have forgottena point of the first importance: what became of Mathias de Gorne? You tiedhim up here, in this room. Well, this morning he was gone. "

"Of course, Mr. Deputy, Mathias de Gorne accepted the bargain in the endand went away. "

"By what road?"

"No doubt by the road that leads to his father's house. "

"Where are his footprints? The expanse of snow is an impartial witness. After your fight with him, we see you, on the snow, moving away. Why don'twe see him? He came and did not go away again. Where is he? There is not atrace of him . .. Or rather. .. . "

The deputy lowered his voice:

"Or rather, yes, there are some traces on the way to the well and aroundthe well . .. Traces which prove that the last struggle of all took placethere. .. . And after that there is nothing . .. Not a thing. .. . "

Jérôme shrugged his shoulders:

"You have already mentioned this, Mr. Deputy, and it implies a charge ofhomicide against me. I have nothing to say to it. "

"Have you anything to say to the fact that your revolver was picked upwithin fifteen yards of the well?"

"No. "

"Or to the strange coincidence between the three shots heard in the nightand the three cartridges missing from your revolver?"

"No, Mr. Deputy, there was not, as you believe, a last struggle by thewell, because I left M. De Gorne tied up, in this room, and because I alsoleft my revolver here. On the other hand, if shots were heard, they werenot fired by me. "

"A casual coincidence, therefore?"

"That's a matter for the police to explain. My only duty is to tell thetruth and you are not entitled to ask more of me. "

"And if that truth conflicts with the facts observed?"

"It means that the facts are wrong, Mr. Deputy. "

"As you please. But, until the day when the police are able to make themagree with your statements, you will understand that I am obliged to keepyou under arrest. "

"And Madame de Gorne?" asked Jérôme, greatly distressed. 

The deputy did not reply. He exchanged a few words with the commissary ofpolice and then, beckoning to a detective, ordered him to bring up one ofthe two motor-cars. Then he turned to Natalie:

"Madame, you have heard M. Vignal's evidence. It agrees word for word withyour own. M. Vignal declares in particular that you had fainted when hecarried you away. But did you remain unconscious all the way?"

It seemed as though Jérôme's composure had increased Madame de Gorne'sassurance. She replied:

"I did not come to, monsieur, until I was at the château. "

"It's most extraordinary. Didn't you hear the three shots which were heardby almost every one in the village?"

"I did not. "

"And did you see nothing of what happened beside the well?"

"Nothing did happen. M. Vignal has told you so. "

"Then what has become of your husband?"

"I don't know. "

"Come, madame, you really must assist the officers of the law and at leasttell us what you think. Do you believe that there may have been an accidentand that possibly M. De Gorne, who had been to see his father and had moreto drink than usual, lost his balance and fell into the well?"

"When my husband came back from seeing his father, he was not in the leastintoxicated. "

"His father, however, has stated that he was. His father and he had drunktwo or three bottles of wine. "

"His father is not telling the truth. "

"But the snow tells the truth, madame, " said the deputy, irritably. "Andthe line of his footprints wavers from side to side. "

"My husband came in at half-past-eight, monsieur, before the snow had begunto fall. "

The deputy struck the table with his fist:

"But, really, madame, you're going right against the evidence!. .. Thatsheet of snow cannot speak false!. .. I may accept your denial of mattersthat cannot be verified. But these footprints in the snow . .. In thesnow. .. . "

He controlled himself. 

The motor-car drew up outside the windows. Forming a sudden resolve, hesaid to Natalie:

"You will be good enough to hold yourself at the disposal of theauthorities, madame, and to remain here, in the manor-house. .. . "

And he made a sign to the sergeant to remove Jérôme Vignal in the car. 

The game was lost for the two lovers. Barely united, they had to separateand to fight, far away from each other, against the most grievousaccusations. 

Jérôme took a step towards Natalie. They exchanged a long, sorrowful look. Then he bowed to her and walked to the door, in the wake of the sergeant ofgendarmes. 

"Halt!" cried a voice. "Sergeant, right about . .. Turn!. .. Jérôme Vignal, stay where you are!"

The ruffled deputy raised his head, as did the other people present. Thevoice came from the ceiling. The bulls-eye window had opened and Rénine, leaning through it, was waving his arms:

"I wish to be heard!. .. I have several remarks to make . .. Especially inrespect of the zigzag footprints!. .. It all lies in that!. .. Mathias hadnot been drinking!. .. "

He had turned round and put his two legs through the opening, saying toHortense, who tried to prevent him:

"Don't move. .. . No one will disturb you. "

And, releasing his hold, he dropped into the room. 

The deputy appeared dumfounded:

"But, really, monsieur, who are you? Where do you come from?"

Rénine brushed the dust from his clothes and replied:

"Excuse me, Mr. Deputy. I ought to have come the same way as everybodyelse. But I was in a hurry. Besides, if I had come in by the door insteadof falling from the ceiling, my words would not have made the sameimpression. "

The infuriated deputy advanced to meet him:

"Who are you?"

"Prince Rénine. I was with the sergeant this morning when he was pursuinghis investigations, wasn't I, sergeant? Since then I have been huntingabout for information. That's why, wishing to be present at the hearing, I found a corner in a little private room. .. . "

"You were there? You had the audacity?. .. "

"One must needs be audacious, when the truth's at stake. If I had notbeen there, I should not have discovered just the one little clue which Imissed. I should not have known that Mathias de Gorne was not the least bitdrunk. Now that's the key to the riddle. When we know that, we know thesolution. "

The deputy found himself in a rather ridiculous position. Since hehad failed to take the necessary precautions to ensure the secrecy ofhis enquiry, it was difficult for him to take any steps against thisinterloper. He growled:

"Let's have done with this. What are you asking?"

"A few minutes of your kind attention. "

"And with what object?"

"To establish the innocence of M. Vignal and Madame de Gorne. "

He was wearing that calm air, that sort of indifferent look which waspeculiar to him in moments of actions when the crisis of the drama dependedsolely upon himself. Hortense felt a thrill pass through her and at oncebecame full of confidence:

"They're saved, " she thought, with sudden emotion. "I asked him to protectthat young creature; and he is saving her from prison and despair. "

Jérôme and Natalie must have experienced the same impression of suddenhope, for they had drawn nearer to each other, as though this stranger, descended from the clouds, had already given them the right to clasp hands. 

The deputy shrugged his shoulders:

"The prosecution will have every means, when the time comes, ofestablishing their innocence for itself. You will be called. "

"It would be better to establish it here and now. Any delay might lead togrievous consequences. "

"I happen to be in a hurry. "

"Two or three minutes will do. "

"Two or three minutes to explain a case like this!"

"No longer, I assure you. "

"Are you as certain of it as all that?"

"I am now. I have been thinking hard since this morning. "

The deputy realized that this was one of those gentry who stick to youlike a leech and that there was nothing for it but to submit. In a ratherbantering tone, he asked:

"Does your thinking enable you to tell us the exact spot where M. Mathiasde Gorne is at this moment?"

Rénine took out his watch and answered:

"In Paris, Mr. Deputy. "

"In Paris? Alive then?"

"Alive and, what is more, in the pink of health. "

"I am delighted to hear it. But then what's the meaning of the footprintsaround the well and the presence of that revolver and those three shots?"

"Simply camouflage. "

"Oh, really? Camouflage contrived by whom?"

"By Mathias de Gorne himself. "

"That's curious! And with what object?"

"With the object of passing himself off for dead and of arrangingsubsequent matters in such a way that M. Vignal was bound to be accused ofthe death, the murder. "

"An ingenious theory, " the deputy agreed, still in a satirical tone. "Whatdo you think of it, M. Vignal?"

"It is a theory which flashed through my own mind. Mr. Deputy, " repliedJérôme. "It is quite likely that, after our struggle and after I had gone, Mathias de Gorne conceived a new plan by which, this time, his hatred wouldbe fully gratified. He both loved and detested his wife. He held me in thegreatest loathing. This must be his revenge. "

"His revenge would cost him dear, considering that, according to yourstatement, Mathias de Gorne was to receive a second sum of sixty thousandfrancs from you. "

"He would receive that sum in another quarter, Mr. Deputy. My examinationof the financial position of the de Gorne family revealed to me the factthat the father and son had taken out a life-insurance policy in eachother's favour. With the son dead, or passing for dead, the father wouldreceive the insurance-money and indemnify his son. "

"You mean to say, " asked the deputy, with a smile, "that in all thiscamouflage, as you call it, M. De Gorne the elder would act as his son'saccomplice?"

Rénine took up the challenge:

"Just so, Mr. Deputy. The father and son are accomplices. 

"Then we shall find the son at the father's?"

"You would have found him there last night. "

"What became of him?"

"He took the train at Pompignat. "

"That's a mere supposition. "

"No, a certainty. "

"A moral certainty, perhaps, but you'll admit there's not the slightestproof. "

The deputy did not wait for a reply. He considered that he had displayed anexcessive goodwill and that patience has its limits and he put an end tothe interview:

"Not the slightest proof, " he repeated, taking up his hat. "And, aboveall, . .. Above all, there's nothing in what you've said that can contradictin the very least the evidence of that relentless witness, the snow. To goto his father, Mathias de Gorne must have left this house. Which way did hego?"

"Hang it all, M. Vignal told you: by the road which leads from here to hisfather's!"

"There are no tracks in the snow. "

"Yes, there are. "

"But they show him coming here and not going away from here. "

"It's the same thing. "

"What?"

"Of course it is. There's more than one way of walking. One doesn't alwaysgo ahead by following one's nose. "

"In what other way can one go ahead?"

"By walking backwards, Mr. Deputy. "

These few words, spoken very simply, but in a clear tone which gave fullvalue to every syllable, produced a profound silence. Those present atonce grasped their extreme significance and, by adapting it to the actualhappenings, perceived in a flash the impenetrable truth, which suddenlyappeared to be the most natural thing in the world. 

Rénine continued his argument. Stepping backwards in the direction of thewindow, he said:

"If I want to get to that window, I can of course walk straight up to it;but I can just as easily turn my back to it and walk that way. In eithercase I reach my goal. "

And he at once proceeded in a vigorous tone:

"Here's the gist of it all. At half-past eight, before the snow fell, M. DeGorne comes home from his father's house. M. Vignal arrives twenty minuteslater. There is a long discussion and a struggle, taking up three hours inall. It is then, after M. Vignal has carried off Madame de Gorne and madehis escape, that Mathias de Gorne, foaming at the mouth, wild with rage, but suddenly seeing his chance of taking the most terrible revenge, hitsupon the ingenious idea of using against his enemy the very snowfall uponwhose evidence you are now relying. He therefore plans his own murder, orrather the appearance of his murder and of his fall to the bottom of thewell and makes off backwards, step by step, thus recording his arrivalinstead of his departure on the white page. "

The deputy sneered no longer. This eccentric intruder suddenly appeared tohim in the light of a person worthy of attention, whom it would not do tomake fun of. He asked:

"And how could he have left his father's house?"

"In a trap, quite simply. "

"Who drove it?"

"The father. This morning the sergeant and I saw the trap and spoke to thefather, who was going to market as usual. The son was hidden under thetilt. He took the train at Pompignat and is in Paris by now. "

Rénine's explanation, as promised, had taken hardly five minutes. He hadbased it solely on logic and the probabilities of the case. And yet not ajot was left of the distressing mystery in which they were floundering. Thedarkness was dispelled. The whole truth appeared. 

Madame de Gorne wept for joy and Jérôme Vignal thanked the good genius whowas changing the course of events with a stroke of his magic wand. 

"Shall we examine those footprints together, Mr. Deputy?" asked Rénine. "Doyou mind? The mistake which the sergeant and I made this morning was toinvestigate only the footprints left by the alleged murderer and to neglectMathias de Gorne's. Why indeed should they have attracted our attention?Yet it was precisely there that the crux of the whole affair was to befound. "

They stepped into the orchard and went to the well. It did not need along examination to observe that many of the footprints were awkward, hesitating, too deeply sunk at the heel and toe and differing from oneanother in the angle at which the feet were turned. 

"This clumsiness was unavoidable, " said Rénine. "Mathias de Gorne wouldhave needed a regular apprenticeship before his backward progress couldhave equalled his ordinary gait; and both his father and he must have beenaware of this, at least as regards the zigzags which you see here since oldde Gorne went out of his way to tell the sergeant that his son had had toomuch drink. " And he added "Indeed it was the detection of this falsehoodthat suddenly enlightened me. When Madame de Gorne stated that her husbandwas not drunk, I thought of the footprints and guessed the truth. "

The deputy frankly accepted his part in the matter and began to laugh:

"There's nothing left for it but to send detectives after the boguscorpse. "

"On what grounds, Mr. Deputy?" asked Rénine. "Mathias de Gorne hascommitted no offence against the law. There's nothing criminal in tramplingthe soil around a well, in shifting the position of a revolver that doesn'tbelong to you, in firing three shots or in walking backwards to one'sfather's house. What can we ask of him? The sixty thousand francs? Ipresume that this is not M. Vignal's intention and that he does not mean tobring a charge against him?"

"Certainly not, " said Jérôme. 

"Well, what then? The insurance-policy in favour of the survivor? But therewould be no misdemeanour unless the father claimed payment. And I should begreatly surprised if he did. .. . Hullo, here the old chap is! You'll soonknow all about it. "

Old de Gorne was coming along, gesticulating as he walked. His easy-goingfeatures were screwed up to express sorrow and anger. 

"Where's my son?" he cried. "It seems the brute's killed him!. .. My poorMathias dead! Oh, that scoundrel of a Vignal!"

And he shook his fist at Jérôme. 

The deputy said, bluntly:

"A word with you, M. De Gorne. Do you intend to claim your rights under acertain insurance-policy?"

"Well, what do _you_ think?" said the old man, off his guard. 

"The fact is . .. Your son's not dead. People are even saying that you werea partner in his little schemes and that you stuffed him under the tilt ofyour trap and drove him to the station. "

The old fellow spat on the ground, stretched out his hand as though hewere going to take a solemn oath, stood for an instant without moving andthen, suddenly, changing his mind and his tactics with ingenuous cynicism, he relaxed his features, assumed a conciliatory attitude and burst outlaughing:

"That blackguard Mathias! So he tried to pass himself off as dead? What arascal! And he reckoned on me to collect the insurance-money and send itto him? As if I should be capable of such a low, dirty trick!. .. You don'tknow me, my boy!"

And, without waiting for more, shaking with merriment like a jolly oldfellow amused by a funny story, he took his departure, not forgetting, however, to set his great hob-nail boots on each of the compromisingfootprints which his son had left behind him. 

 * * * * *

Later, when Rénine went back to the manor to let Hortense out, he foundthat she had disappeared. 

He called and asked for her at her cousin Ermelin's. Hortense sent downword asking him to excuse her: she was feeling a little tired and was lyingdown. 

"Capital!" thought Rénine. "Capital! She avoids me, therefore she loves me. The end is not far off. "

VIII

AT THE SIGN OF MERCURY

_To Madame Daniel, La Roncière, near Bassicourt. _

"PARIS 30 NOVEMBER

"My Dearest Friend, --

"There has been no letter from you for a fortnight; so I don't expect nowto receive one for that troublesome date of the 5th of December, which wefixed as the last day of our partnership. I rather wish it would come, because you will then be released from a contract which no longer seems togive you pleasure. To me the seven battles which we fought and won togetherwere a time of endless delight and enthusiasm. I was living beside you. Iwas conscious of all the good which that more active and stirring existencewas doing you. My happiness was so great that I dared not speak of it toyou or let you see anything of my secret feelings except my desire toplease you and my passionate devotion. To-day you have had enough of yourbrother in arms. Your will shall be law. 

"But, though I bow to your decree, may I remind I you what it was that Ialways believed our final adventure would be? May I repeat your words, notone of which I have forgotten?

"'I demand, ' you said, 'that you shall restore to me a small, antiqueclasp, made of a cornelian set in a filigree mount. It came to me from mymother; and every one knew that it used to bring her happiness and me too. Since the day when it vanished from my jewel-case, I have had nothing butunhappiness. Restore it to me, my good genius. '

"And, when I asked you when the clasp had disappeared, you answered, with alaugh:

"'Seven years ago . .. Or eight . .. Or nine: I don't know exactly. .. . Idon't know when . .. I don't know how . .. I know nothing about it. .. . '

"You were challenging me, were you not, and you set me that conditionbecause it was one which I could not fulfil? Nevertheless, I promised and Ishould like to keep my promise. What I have tried to do, in order to placelife before you in a more favourable light, would seem purposeless, if yourconfidence feels the lack of this talisman to which you attach so great avalue. We must not laugh at these little superstitions. They are often themainspring of our best actions. 

"Dear friend, if you had helped me, I should have achieved yet one morevictory. Alone and hard pushed by the proximity of the date, I have failed, not however without placing things on such a footing that the undertakingif you care to follow it up, has the greatest chance of success. 

"And you will follow it up, won't you? We have entered into a mutualagreement which we are bound to honour. It behooves us, within a fixedtime, to inscribe in the book of our common life eight good stories, towhich we shall have brought energy, logic, perseverance, some subtlety andoccasionally a little heroism. This is the eighth of them. It is for you toact so that it may be written in its proper place on the 5th of December, before the clock strikes eight in the evening. 

"And, on that day, you will act as I shall now tell you. 

"First of all--and above all, my dear, do not complain that my instructionsare fanciful: each of them is an indispensable condition of success--firstof all, cut in your cousin's garden three slender lengths of rush. Plaitthem together and bind up the two ends so as to make a rude switch, like achild's whip-lash. 

"When you get to Paris, buy a long necklace of jet beads, cut into facets, and shorten it so that it consists of seventy-five beads, of almost equalsize. 

"Under your winter cloak, wear a blue woollen gown. On your head, a toquewith red leaves on it. Round your neck, a feather boa. No gloves. No rings. 

"In the afternoon, take a cab along the left bank of the river to thechurch of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont. At four o'clock exactly, there will be, near the holy-water basin, just inside the church, an old woman dressedin black, saying her prayers on a silver rosary. She will offer you holywater. Give her your necklace. She will count the beads and hand it backto you. After this, you will walk behind her, you will cross an arm of theSeine and she will lead you, down a lonely street in the Ile Saint-Louis, to a house which you will enter by yourself. 

"On the ground-floor of this house, you will find a youngish man with avery pasty complexion. Take off your cloak and then say to him:

"'I have come to fetch my clasp. '

"Do not be astonished by his agitation or dismay. Keep calm in hispresence. If he questions you, if he wants to know your reason for applyingto him or what impels you to make that request, give him no explanation. Your replies must be confined to these brief formulas:

"'I have come to fetch what belongs to me. I don't know you, I don't knowyour name; but I am obliged to come to you like this. I must have my claspreturned to me. I must. '

"I honestly believe that, if you have the firmness not to swerve fromthat attitude, whatever farce the man may play, you will be completelysuccessful. But the contest must be a short one and the issue will dependsolely on your confidence in yourself and your certainty of success. Itwill be a sort of match in which you must defeat your opponent in the firstround. If you remain impassive, you will win. If you show hesitation oruneasiness, you can do nothing against him. He will escape you and regainthe upper hand after a first moment of distress; and the game will be lostin a few minutes. There is no midway house between victory or . .. Defeat. 

"In the latter event, you would be obliged--I beg you to pardon me forsaying so--again to accept my collaboration. I offer it you in advance, mydear, and without any conditions, while stating quite plainly that all thatI have been able to do for you and all that I may yet do gives me no otherright than that of thanking you and devoting myself more than ever to thewoman who represents my joy, my whole life. "

 * * * * *

Hortense, after reading the letter, folded it up and put it away at theback of a drawer, saying, in a resolute voice:

"I sha'n't go. "

To begin with, although she had formerly attached some slight importanceto this trinket, which she had regarded as a mascot, she felt very littleinterest in it now that the period of her trials was apparently at an end. She could not forget that figure eight, which was the serial number of thenext adventure. To launch herself upon it meant taking up the interruptedchain, going back to Rénine and giving him a pledge which, with his powersof suggestion, he would know how to turn to account. 

Two days before the 5th of December, she was still in the same frame ofmind. So she was on the morning of the 4th; but suddenly, without evenhaving to contend against preliminary subterfuges, she ran out into thegarden, cut three lengths of rush, plaited them as she used to do in herchildhood and at twelve o'clock had herself driven to the station. She wasuplifted by an eager curiosity. She was unable to resist all the amusingand novel sensations which the adventure, proposed by Rénine, promised her. It was really too tempting. The jet necklace, the toque with the autumnleaves, the old woman with the silver rosary: how could she resist theirmysterious appeal and how could she refuse this opportunity of showingRénine what she was capable of doing?

"And then, after all, " she said to herself, laughing, "he's summoning me toParis. Now eight o'clock is dangerous to me at a spot three hundred milesfrom Paris, in that old deserted Château de Halingre, but nowhere else. Theonly clock that can strike the threatening hour is down there, under lockand key, a prisoner!"

She reached Paris that evening. On the morning of the 5th she went out andbought a jet necklace, which she reduced to seventy-five beads, put ona blue gown and a toque with red leaves and, at four o'clock precisely, entered the church of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont. 

Her heart was throbbing violently. This time she was alone; and how acutelyshe now felt the strength of that support which, from unreflecting fearrather than any reasonable motive, she had thrust aside! She looked aroundher, almost hoping to see him. But there was no one there . .. No one exceptan old lady in black, standing beside the holy water basin. 

Hortense went up to her. The old lady, who held a silver rosary in herhands, offered her holy water and then began to count the beads of thenecklace which Hortense gave her. 

She whispered:

"Seventy-five. That's right. Come. "

Without another word, she toddled along under the light of thestreet-lamps, crossed the Pont des Tournelles to the Ile Saint-Louis andwent down an empty street leading to a cross-roads, where she stopped infront of an old house with wrought-iron balconies:

"Go in, " she said. 

And the old lady went away. 

 * * * * *

Hortense now saw a prosperous-looking shop which occupied almost thewhole of the ground-floor and whose windows, blazing with electric light, displayed a huddled array of old furniture and antiquities. She stood therefor a few seconds, gazing at it absently. A sign-board bore the words "TheMercury, " together with the name of the owner of the shop, "Pancaldi. "Higher up, on a projecting cornice which ran on a level with the firstfloor, a small niche sheltered a terra-cotta Mercury poised on one foot, with wings to his sandals and the caduceus in his hand, who, as Hortensenoted, was leaning a little too far forward in the ardour of his flightand ought logically to have lost his balance and taken a header into thestreet. 

"Now!" she said, under her breath. 

She turned the handle of the door and walked in. 

Despite the ringing of the bells actuated by the opening door, no one cameto meet her. The shop seemed to be empty. However, at the extreme end therewas a room at the back of the shop and after that another, both crammedwith furniture and knick-knacks, many of which looked very valuable. Hortense followed a narrow gangway which twisted and turned between twowalls built up of cupboards, cabinets and console-tables, went up two stepsand found herself in the last room of all. 

A man was sitting at a writing-desk and looking through some account-books. Without turning his head, he said:

"I am at your service, madam. .. . Please look round you. .. . "

This room contained nothing but articles of a special character whichgave it the appearance of some alchemist's laboratory in the middle ages:stuffed owls, skeletons, skulls, copper alembics, astrolabes and allaround, hanging on the walls, amulets of every description, mainly handsof ivory or coral with two fingers pointing to ward off ill-luck. 

"Are you wanting anything in particular, madam?" asked M. Pancaldi, closinghis desk and rising from his chair. 

"It's the man, " thought Hortense. 

He had in fact an uncommonly pasty complexion. A little forked beard, flecked with grey, lengthened his face, which was surmounted by a bald, pallid forehead, beneath which gleamed a pair of small, prominent, restless, shifty eyes. 

Hortense, who had not removed her veil or cloak, replied:

"I want a clasp. "

"They're in this show-case, " he said, leading the way to the connectingroom. 

Hortense glanced over the glass case and said:

"No, no, . .. I don't see what I'm looking for. I don't want just any clasp, but a clasp which I lost out of a jewel-case some years ago and which Ihave to look for here. "

She was astounded to see the commotion displayed on his features. His eyesbecame haggard. 

"Here?. .. I don't think you are in the least likely. .. . What sort of claspis it?. .. "

"A cornelian, mounted in gold filigree . .. Of the 1830 period. "

"I don't understand, " he stammered. "Why do you come to me?"

She now removed her veil and laid aside her cloak. 

He stepped back, as though terrified by the sight of her, and whispered:

"The blue gown!. .. The toque!. .. And--can I believe my eyes?--the jetnecklace!. .. "

It was perhaps the whip-lash formed of three rushes that excited him mostviolently. He pointed his finger at it, began to stagger where he stood andended by beating the air with his arms, like a drowning man, and faintingaway in a chair. 

Hortense did not move. 

"Whatever farce he may play, " Rénine had written, "have the courage toremain impassive. "

Perhaps he was not playing a farce. Nevertheless she forced herself to becalm and indifferent. 

This lasted for a minute or two, after which M. Pancaldi recovered fromhis swoon, wiped away the perspiration streaming down his forehead and, striving to control himself, resumed, in a trembling voice:

"Why do you apply to me?"

"Because the clasp is in your possession. "

"Who told you that?" he said, without denying the accusation. "How do youknow?"

"I know because it is so. Nobody has told me anything. I came here positivethat I should find my clasp and with the immovable determination to take itaway with me. "

"But do you know me? Do you know my name?"

"I don't know you. I did not know your name before I read it over yourshop. To me you are simply the man who is going to give me back whatbelongs to me. "

He was greatly agitated. He kept on walking to and fro in a small emptyspace surrounded by a circle of piled-up furniture, at which he hit outidiotically, at the risk of bringing it down. 

Hortense felt that she had the whip hand of him; and, profiting by hisconfusion, she said, suddenly, in a commanding and threatening tone:

"Where is the thing? You must give it back to me. I insist upon it. "

Pancaldi gave way to a moment of despair. He folded his hands and mumbled afew words of entreaty. Then, defeated and suddenly resigned, he said, moredistinctly:

"You insist?. .. "

"I do. You must give it to me. "

"Yes, yes, I must . .. I agree. "

"Speak!" she ordered, more harshly still. 

"Speak, no, but write: I will write my secret. .. . And that will be the endof me. "

He turned to his desk and feverishly wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper, which he put into an envelope and sealed it:

"See, " he said, "here's my secret. .. . It was my whole life. .. . "

And, so saying, he suddenly pressed against his temple a revolver which hehad produced from under a pile of papers and fired. 

With a quick movement, Hortense struck up his arm. The bullet struck themirror of a cheval-glass. But Pancaldi collapsed and began to groan, asthough he were wounded. 

Hortense made a great effort not to lose her composure:

"Rénine warned me, " she reflected. "The man's a play-actor. He has kept theenvelope. He has kept his revolver, I won't be taken in by him. "

Nevertheless, she realized that, despite his apparent calmness, the attemptat suicide and the revolver-shot had completely unnerved her. All herenergies were dispersed, like the sticks of a bundle whose string has beencut; and she had a painful impression that the man, who was grovelling ather feet, was in reality slowly getting the better of her. 

She sat down, exhausted. As Rénine had foretold, the duel had not lastedlonger than a few minutes but it was she who had succumbed, thanks to herfeminine nerves and at the very moment when she felt entitled to believethat she had won. 

The man Pancaldi was fully aware of this; and, without troubling to inventa transition, he ceased his jeremiads, leapt to his feet, cut a sort ofagile caper before Hortense' eyes and cried, in a jeering tone:

"Now we are going to have a little chat; but it would be a nuisance to beat the mercy of the first passing customer, wouldn't it?"

He ran to the street-door, opened it and pulled down the iron shutter whichclosed the shop. Then, still hopping and skipping, he came back toHortense:

"Oof! I really thought I was done for! One more effort, madam, and youwould have pulled it off. But then I'm such a simple chap! It seemed to methat you had come from the back of beyond, as an emissary of Providence, to call me to account; and, like a fool, I was about to give the thingback. .. . Ah, Mlle. Hortense--let me call you so: I used to know you by thatname--Mlle. Hortense, what you lack, to use a vulgar expression, is gut. "

He sat down beside her and, with a malicious look, said, savagely:

"The time has come to speak out. Who contrived this business? Not you; eh?It's not in your style. Then who?. .. I have always been honest in my life, scrupulously honest . .. Except once . .. In the matter of that clasp. And, whereas I thought the story was buried and forgotten, here it is suddenlyraked up again. Why? That's what I want to know. "

Hortense was no longer even attempting to fight. He was bringing to bearupon her all his virile strength, all his spite, all his fears, all thethreats expressed in his furious gestures and on his features, which wereboth ridiculous and evil:

"Speak, I want to know. If I have a secret foe, let me defend myselfagainst him! Who is he? Who sent you here? Who urged you to take action? Isit a rival incensed by my good luck, who wants in his turn to benefit bythe clasp? Speak, can't you, damn it all . .. Or, I swear by Heaven, I'llmake you!. .. "

She had an idea that he was reaching out for his revolver and stepped back, holding her arms before her, in the hope of escaping. 

They thus struggled against each other; and Hortense, who was becomingmore and more frightened, not so much of the attack as of her assailant'sdistorted face, was beginning to scream, when Pancaldi suddenly stoodmotionless, with his arms before him, his fingers outstretched and his eyesstaring above Hortense's head:

"Who's there? How did you get in?" he asked, in a stifled voice. 

Hortense did not even need to turn round to feel assured that Rénine wascoming to her assistance and that it was his inexplicable appearance thatwas causing the dealer such dismay. As a matter of fact, a slender figurestole through a heap of easy chairs and sofas: and Rénine came forward witha tranquil step. 

"Who are you?" repeated Pancaldi. "Where do you come from?"

"From up there, " he said, very amiably, pointing to the ceiling. 

"From up there?"

"Yes, from the first floor. I have been the tenant of the floor above thisfor the past three months. I heard a noise just now. Some one was callingout for help. So I came down. "

"But how did you get in here?"

"By the staircase. "

"What staircase?"

"The iron staircase, at the end of the shop. The man who owned it beforeyou had a flat on my floor and used to go up and down by that hiddenstaircase. You had the door shut off. I opened it. "

"But by what right, sir? It amounts to breaking in. "

"Breaking in is allowed, when there's a fellow-creature to be rescued. "

"Once more, who are you?"

"Prince Rénine . .. And a friend of this lady's, " said Rénine, bending overHortense and kissing her hand. 

Pancaldi seemed to be choking, and mumbled:

"Oh, I understand!. .. You instigated the plot . .. It was you who sent thelady. .. . "

"It was, M. Pancaldi, it was!"

"And what are your intentions?"

"My intentions are irreproachable. No violence. Simply a little interview. When that is over, you will hand over what I in my turn have come tofetch. "

"What?"

"The clasp. "

"That, never!" shouted the dealer. 

"Don't say no. It's a foregone conclusion. "

"No power on earth, sir, can compel me to do such a thing!"

"Shall we send for your wife? Madame Pancaldi will perhaps realize theposition better than you do. "

The idea of no longer being alone with this unexpected adversary seemed toappeal to Pancaldi. There was a bell on the table beside him. He struck itthree times. 

"Capital!" exclaimed Rénine "You see, my dear, M. Pancaldi is becomingquite amiable. Not a trace left of the devil broken loose who was going foryou just now. No, M. Pancaldi only has to find himself dealing with a manto recover his qualities of courtesy and kindness. A perfect sheep! Whichdoes not mean that things will go quite of themselves. Far from it! There'sno more obstinate animal than a sheep. .. . "

Right at the end of the shop, between the dealer's writing-desk and thewinding staircase, a curtain was raised, admitting a woman who was holdinga door open. She might have been thirty years of age. Very simply dressed, she looked, with the apron on her, more like a cook than like the mistressof a household. But she had an attractive face and a pleasing figure. 

Hortense, who had followed Rénine, was surprised to recognize her as a maidwhom she had had in her service when a girl:

"What! Is that you, Lucienne? Are you Madame Pancaldi?"

The newcomer looked at her, recognized her also and seemed embarrassed. Rénine said to her:

"Your husband and I need your assistance, Madame Pancaldi, to settle arather complicated matter a matter in which you played an importantpart. .. . "

She came forward without a word, obviously ill at ease, asking her husband, who did not take his eyes off her:

"What is it?. .. What do they want with me?. .. What is he referring to?"

"It's about the clasp!" Pancaldi whispered, under his breath. 

These few words were enough to make Madame Pancaldi realize to the full theseriousness of her position. And she did not try to keep her countenance orto retort with futile protests. She sank into a chair, sighing:

"Oh, that's it!. .. I understand. .. . Mlle. Hortense has found the track. .. . Oh, it's all up with us!"

There was a moment's respite. The struggle between the adversaries hadhardly begun, before the husband and wife adopted the attitude of defeatedpersons whose only hope lay in the victor's clemency. Staring motionlessbefore her, Madame Pancaldi began to cry. Rénine bent over her and said:

"Do you mind if we go over the case from the beginning? We shall thensee things more clearly; and I am sure that our interview will lead to aperfectly natural solution. .. . This is how things happened: nine years ago, when you were lady's maid to Mlle. Hortense in the country, you made theacquaintance of M. Pancaldi, who soon became your lover. You were both ofyou Corsicans, in other words, you came from a country where superstitionsare very strong and where questions of good and bad luck, the evil eye, andspells and charms exert a profound influence over the lives of one and all. Now it was said that your young mistress' clasp had always brought luck toits owners. That was why, in a weak moment prompted by M. Pancaldi, youstole the clasp. Six months afterwards, you became Madame Pancaldi. .. . Thatis your whole story, is it not, told in a few sentences? The whole storyof two people who would have remained honest members of society, if theyhad been able to resist that casual temptation?. .. I need not tell you howyou both succeeded in life and how, possessing the talisman, believingits powers and trusting in yourselves, you rose to the first rank ofantiquarians. To-day, well-off, owning this shop, "The Mercury, " youattribute the success of your undertakings to that clasp. To lose it wouldto your eyes spell bankruptcy and poverty. Your whole life has been centredupon it. It is your fetish. It is the little household god who watches overyou and guides your steps. It is there, somewhere, hidden in this jungle;and no one of course would ever have suspected anything--for I repeat, youare decent people, but for this one lapse--if an accident had not led me tolook into your affairs. "

Rénine paused and continued:

"That was two months ago, two months of minute investigations, whichpresented no difficulty to me, because, having discovered your trail, Ihired the flat overhead and was able to use that staircase . .. But, allthe same, two months wasted to a certain extent because I have not yetsucceeded. And Heaven knows how I have ransacked this shop of yours! Thereis not a piece of furniture that I have left unsearched, not a plank inthe floor that I have not inspected. All to no purpose. Yes, there was onething, an incidental discovery. In a secret recess in your writing-table, Pancaldi, I turned up a little account-book in which you have set down yourremorse, your uneasiness, your fear of punishment and your dread of God'swrath. .. . It was highly imprudent of you, Pancaldi! People don't writesuch confessions! And, above all, they don't leave them lying about! Bethis as it may, I read them and I noted one passage, which struck meas particularly important and was of use to me in preparing my plan ofcampaign: 'Should she come to me, the woman whom I robbed, should she cometo me as I saw her in her garden, while Lucienne was taking the clasp;should she appear to me wearing the blue gown and the toque of red leaves, with the jet necklace and the whip of three plaited rushes which she wascarrying that day; should she appear to me thus and say: "I have come toclaim my property, " then I shall understand that her conduct is inspiredfrom on high and that I must obey the decree of Providence. ' That is whatis written in your book, Pancaldi, and it explains the conduct of the ladywhom you call Mlle. Hortense. Acting on my instructions and in accordancewith the setting thought out by yourself, she came to you, from the back ofbeyond, to use your own expression. A little more self-possession on herpart; and you know that she would have won the day. Unfortunately, you area wonderful actor; your sham suicide put her out; and you understood thatthis was not a decree of Providence, but simply an offensive on the part ofyour former victim. I had no choice, therefore, but to intervene. Here Iam. .. . And now let's finish the business. Pancaldi, that clasp!"

"No, " said the dealer, who seemed to recover all his energy at the verythought of restoring the clasp. 

"And you, Madame Pancaldi. "

"I don't know where it is, " the wife declared. 

"Very well. Then let us come to deeds. Madame Pancaldi, you have a son ofseven whom you love with all your heart. This is Thursday and, as on everyThursday, your little boy is to come home alone from his aunt's. Two of myfriends are posted on the road by which he returns and, in the absence ofinstructions to the contrary, will kidnap him as he passes. "

Madame Pancaldi lost her head at once:

"My son! Oh, please, please . .. Not that!. .. I swear that I know nothing. My husband would never consent to confide in me. "

Rénine continued:

"Next point. This evening, I shall lodge an information with the publicprosecutor. Evidence: the confessions in the account-book. Consequences:action by the police, search of the premises and the rest. "

Pancaldi was silent. The others had a feeling that all these threats didnot affect him and that, protected by his fetish, he believed himselfto be invulnerable. But his wife fell on her knees at Rénine's feet andstammered:

"No, no . .. I entreat you!. .. It would mean going to prison and I don'twant to go!. .. And then my son!. .. Oh, I entreat you!. .. "

Hortense, seized with compassion, took Rénine to one side:

"Poor woman! Let me intercede for her. "

"Set your mind at rest, " he said. "Nothing is going to happen to her son. "

"But your two friends?"

"Sheer bluff. "

"Your application to the public prosecutor?"

"A mere threat. "

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"To frighten them out of their wits, in the hope of making them drop aremark, a word, which will tell us what we want to know. We've tried everyother means. This is the last; and it is a method which, I find, nearlyalways succeeds. Remember our adventures. "

"But if the word which you expect to hear is not spoken?"

"It must be spoken, " said Rénine, in a low voice. "We must finish thematter. The hour is at hand. "

His eyes met hers; and she blushed crimson at the thought that the hour towhich he was alluding was the eighth and that he had no other object thanto finish the matter before that eighth hour struck. 

"So you see, on the one hand, what you are risking, " he said to thePancaldi pair. "The disappearance of your child . .. And prison: prison forcertain, since there is the book with its confessions. And now, on theother hand, here's my offer: twenty thousand francs if you hand over theclasp immediately, this minute. Remember, it isn't worth three louis. "

No reply. Madame Pancaldi was crying. 

Rénine resumed, pausing between each proposal:

"I'll double my offer. .. . I'll treble it. .. . Hang it all, Pancaldi, you'reunreasonable!. .. I suppose you want me to make it a round sum? All right: ahundred thousand francs. "

He held out his hand as if there was no doubt that they would give him theclasp. 

Madame Pancaldi was the first to yield and did so with a sudden outburst ofrage against her husband:

"Well, confess, can't you?. .. Speak up!. .. Where have you hidden it?. .. Look here, you aren't going to be obstinate, what? If you are, it meansruin . .. And poverty. .. . And then there's our boy!. .. Speak out, do!"

Hortense whispered:

"Rénine, this is madness; the clasp has no value. .. . "

"Never fear, " said Rénine, "he's not going to accept. .. . But look athim. .. . How excited he is! Exactly what I wanted. .. . Ah, this, you know, is really exciting!. .. To make people lose their heads! To rob them of allcontrol over what they are thinking and saying!. .. And, in the midst ofthis confusion, in the storm that tosses them to and fro, to catch sight ofthe tiny spark which will flash forth somewhere or other!. .. Look at him!Look at the fellow! A hundred thousand francs for a valueless pebble . .. Ifnot, prison: it's enough to turn any man's head!"

Pancaldi, in fact, was grey in the face; his lips were trembling and adrop of saliva was trickling from their corners. It was easy to guess theseething turmoil of his whole being, shaken by conflicting emotions, by theclash between greed and fear. Suddenly he burst out; and it was obviousthat his words were pouring forth at random, without his knowing in theleast what he was saying:

"A hundred thousand francs! Two hundred thousand! Five hundred thousand! Amillion! A two fig for your millions! What's the use of millions? One losesthem. They disappear. .. . They go. .. . There's only one thing that counts:luck. It's on your side or else against you. And luck has been on my sidethese last nine years. It has never betrayed me; and you expect me tobetray it? Why? Out of fear? Prison? My son? Bosh!. .. No harm will come tome so long as I compel luck to work on my behalf. It's my servant, it's myfriend. It clings to the clasp. How? How can I tell? It's the cornelian, no doubt. .. . There are magic stones, which hold happiness, as others holdfire, or sulphur, or gold. .. . "

Rénine kept his eyes fixed upon him, watching for the least word, the leastmodulation of the voice. The curiosity-dealer was now laughing, with anervous laugh, while resuming the self-control of a man who feels sure ofhimself: and he walked up to Rénine with jerky movements that revealed anincreasing resolution:

"Millions? My dear sir, I wouldn't have them as a gift. The little bit ofstone which I possess is worth much more than that. And the proof of itlies in all the pains which you are at to take it from me. Aha! Monthsdevoted to looking for it, as you yourself confess! Months in which youturned everything topsy-turvy, while I, who suspected nothing, did not evendefend myself! Why should I? The little thing defended itself all alone. .. . It does not want to be discovered and it sha'n't be. .. . It likes beinghere. .. . It presides over a good, honest business that satisfies it. .. . Pancaldi's luck! Why, it's known to all the neighbourhood, among all thedealers! I proclaim it from the house-tops: 'I'm a lucky man!' I even madeso bold as to take the god of luck, Mercury, as my patron! He too protectsme. See, I've got Mercuries all over my shop! Look up there, on that shelf, a whole row of statuettes, like the one over the front-door, proofs signedby a great sculptor who went smash and sold them to me. .. . Would you likeone, my dear sir? It will bring you luck too. Take your pick! A presentfrom Pancaldi, to make up to you for your defeat! Does that suit you?"

He put a stool against the wall, under the shelf, took down a statuette andplumped it into Rénine's arms. And, laughing heartily, growing more andmore excited as his enemy seemed to yield ground and to fall back beforehis spirited attack, he explained:

"Well done! He accepts! And the fact that he accepts shows that we are allagreed! Madame Pancaldi, don't distress yourself. Your son's coming back andnobody's going to prison! Good-bye, Mlle. Hortense! Good-day, sir! Hopeto see you again! If you want to speak to me at any time, just give threethumps on the ceiling. Good-bye . .. Don't forget your present . .. Andmay Mercury be kind to you! Good-bye, my dear Prince! Good-bye, Mlle. Hortense!. .. "

He hustled them to the iron staircase, gripped each of them by the arm inturn and pushed them up to the little door hidden at the top of the stairs. 

And the strange thing was that Rénine made no protest. He did not attemptto resist. He allowed himself to be led along like a naughty child that istaken up to bed. 

Less than five minutes had elapsed between the moment when he made hisoffer to Pancaldi and the moment when Pancaldi turned him out of the shopwith a statuette in his arms. 

 * * * * *

The dining-room and drawing-room of the flat which Rénine had taken on thefirst floor looked out upon the street. The table in the dining-room waslaid for two. 

"Forgive me, won't you?" said Rénine, as he opened the door of thedrawing-room for Hortense. "I thought that, whatever happened, I shouldmost likely see you this evening and that we might as well dine together. Don't refuse me this kindness, which will be the last favour granted in ourlast adventure. "

Hortense did not refuse him. The manner in which the battle had ended wasso different from everything that she had seen hitherto that she feltdisconcerted. At any rate, why should she refuse, seeing that the terms ofthe contract had not been fulfilled?

Rénine left the room to give an order to his manservant. Two minutes later, he came back for Hortense. It was then a little past seven. 

There were flowers on the table; and the statue of Mercury, Pancaldi'spresent, stood overtopping them. 

"May the god of luck preside over our repast, " said Rénine. 

He was full of animation and expressed his great delight at having hersitting opposite him:

"Yes, " he exclaimed, "I had to resort to powerful means and attract you bythe bait of the most fabulous enterprises. You must confess that my letterwas jolly smart! The three rushes, the blue gown; simply irresistible!And, when I had thrown in a few puzzles of my own invention, such as theseventy-five beads of the necklace and the old woman with the silverrosary, I knew that you were bound to succumb to the temptation. Don't beangry with me. I wanted to see you and I wanted it to be today. You havecome and I thank you. "

He next told her how he had got on the track of the stolen trinket:

"You hoped, didn't you, in laying down that condition, that I shouldn't beable to fulfil it? You made a mistake, my dear. The test, at least at thebeginning, was easy enough, because it was based upon an undoubted fact:the talismanic character attributed to the clasp. I had only to hunt aboutand see whether among the people around you, among your servants, there wasever any one upon whom that character may have exercised some attraction. Now, on the list of persons which I succeeded in drawing up. I at oncenoticed the name of Mlle. Lucienne, as coming from Corsica. This was mystarting-point. The rest was a mere concatenation of events. "

Hortense stared at him in amazement. How was it that he was accepting hisdefeat with such a careless air and even talking in a tone of triumph, whereas really he had been soundly beaten by Pancaldi and even made to lookjust a trifle ridiculous?

She could not help letting him feel this; and the fashion in which she didso betrayed a certain disappointment, a certain humiliation:

"Everything is a concatenation of events: very well. But the chain isbroken, because, when all is said, though you know the thief, you did notsucceed in laying hands upon the stolen clasp. "

The reproach was obvious. Rénine had not accustomed her to failure. Andfurthermore she was irritated to see how heedlessly he was accepting ablow which, after all, entailed the ruin of any hopes that he might haveentertained. 

He did not reply. He had filled their two glasses with champagne and wasslowly emptying his own, with his eyes fixed on the statuette of Mercury. He turned it about on its pedestal and examined it with the eye of adelighted connoisseur:

"What a beautiful thing is a harmonious line! Colour does not uplift meso much as outline, proportion, symmetry and all the wonderful propertiesof form. Look at this little statue. Pancaldi's right: it's the work ofa great artist. The legs are both slender and muscular; the whole figuregives an impression of buoyancy and speed. It is very well done. There'sonly one fault, a very slight one: perhaps you've not noticed it?"

"Yes, I have, " said Hortense. "It struck me the moment I saw the sign, outside. You mean, don't you, a certain lack of balance? The god is leaningover too far on the leg that carries him. He looks as though he were goingto pitch forward. "

"That's very clever of you, " said Rénine. "The fault is almostimperceptible and it needs a trained eye to see it. Really, however, asa matter of logic, the weight of the body ought to have its way and, inaccordance with natural laws, the little god ought to take a header. "

After a pause he continued:

"I noticed that flaw on the first day. How was it that I did not draw aninference at once? I was shocked because the artist had sinned againstan aesthetic law, whereas I ought to have been shocked because he hadoverlooked a physical law. As though art and nature were not blendedtogether! And as though the laws of gravity could be disturbed withoutsome fundamental reason!"

"What do you mean?" asked Hortense, puzzled by these reflections, whichseemed so far removed from their secret thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing!" he said. "I am only surprised that I didn't understandsooner why Mercury did not plump forward, as he should have done. "

"And what is the reason?"

"The reason? I imagine that Pancaldi, when pulling the statuette about tomake it serve his purpose, must have disturbed its balance, but that thisbalance was restored by something which holds the little god back and whichmakes up for his really too dangerous posture. "

"Something, you say?"

"Yes, a counterweight. "

Hortense gave a start. She too was beginning to see a little light. Shemurmured:

"A counterweight?. .. Are you thinking that it might be . .. In thepedestal?"

"Why not?"

"Is that possible? But, if so, how did Pancaldi come to give you thisstatuette?"

"He never gave me _this_ one, " Rénine declared. "I took this onemyself. "

"But where? And when?"

"Just now, while you were in the drawing-room. I got out of that window, which is just over the signboard and beside the niche containing the littlegod. And I exchanged the two, that is to say, I took the statue which wasoutside and put the one which Pancaldi gave me in its place. "

"But doesn't that one lean forward?"

"No, no more than the others do, on the shelf in his shop. But Pancaldiis not an artist. A lack of equilibrium does not impress him; he will seenothing wrong; and he will continue to think himself favoured by luck, which is another way of saying that luck will continue to favour him. Meanwhile, here's the statuette, the one used for the sign. Am I to breakthe pedestal and take your clasp out of the leaden sheath, soldered to theback of the pedestal, which keeps Mercury steady?"

"No, no, there's no need for that, " Hortense hurriedly murmured. 

Rénine's intuition, his subtlety, the skill with which he had managed thewhole business: to her, for the moment, all these things remained in thebackground. But she suddenly remembered that the eighth adventure wascompleted, that Rénine had surmounted every obstacle, that the test hadturned to his advantage and that the extreme limit of time fixed for thelast of the adventures was not yet reached. 

He had the cruelty to call attention to the fact:

"A quarter to eight, " he said. 

An oppressive silence fell between them. Both felt its discomfort to sucha degree that they hesitated to make the least movement. In order to breakit, Rénine jested:

"That worthy M. Pancaldi, how good it was of him to tell me what I wishedto know! I knew, however, that by exasperating him, I should end by pickingup the missing clue in what he said. It was just as though one were to handsome one a flint and steel and suggest to him that he was to use it. In theend, the spark is obtained. In my case, what produced the spark was theunconscious but inevitable comparison which he drew between the cornelianclasp, the element of luck, and Mercury, the god of luck. That was enough. I understood that this association of ideas arose from his having actuallyassociated the two factors of luck by embodying one in the other, or, tospeak more plainly, by hiding the trinket in the statuette. And I at onceremembered the Mercury outside the door and its defective poise. .. . "

Rénine suddenly interrupted himself. It seemed to him that all his remarkswere falling on deaf ears. Hortense had put her hand to her forehead and, thus veiling her eyes, sat motionless and remote. 

She was indeed not listening. The end of this particular adventure and themanner in which Rénine had acted on this occasion no longer interested her. What she was thinking of was the complex series of adventures amid whichshe had been living for the past three months and the wonderful behaviourof the man who had offered her his devotion. She saw, as in a magicpicture, the fabulous deeds performed by him, all the good that he haddone, the lives saved, the sorrows assuaged, the order restored whereverhis masterly will had been brought to bear. Nothing was impossible tohim. What he undertook to do he did. Every aim that he set before himwas attained in advance. And all this without excessive effort, with thecalmness of one who knows his own strength and knows that nothing canresist it. 

Then what could she do against him? Why should she defend herself and how?If he demanded that she should yield, would he not know how to make her doso and would this last adventure be any more difficult for him than theothers? Supposing that she ran away: did the wide world contain a retreatin which she would be safe from his pursuit? From the first moment of theirfirst meeting, the end was certain, since Rénine had decreed that it shouldbe so. 

However, she still cast about for weapons, for protection of some sort; andshe said to herself that, though he had fulfilled the eight conditions andrestored the cornelian clasp to her before the eighth hour had struck, shewas nevertheless protected by the fact that this eighth hour was to strikeon the clock of the Château de Halingre and not elsewhere. It was a formalcompact. Rénine had said that day, gazing on the lips which he longed tokiss:

"The old brass pendulum will start swinging again; and, when, on the fixeddate, the clock once more strikes eight, then. .. . "

She looked up. He was not moving either, but sat solemnly, patientlywaiting. 

She was on the point of saying, she was even preparing her words:

"You know, our agreement says it must be the Halingre clock. All the otherconditions have been fulfilled . .. But not this one. So I am free, am Inot? I am entitled not to keep my promise, which, moreover, I never made, but which in any case falls to the ground?. .. And I am perfectly free . .. Released from any scruple of conscience?. .. "

She had not time to speak. At that precise moment, there was a click behindher, like that of a clock about to strike. 

A first stroke sounded, then a second, then a third. 

Hortense moaned. She had recognized the very sound of the old clock, theHalingre clock, which three months ago, by breaking in a supernaturalmanner the silence of the deserted château, had set both of them on theroad of the eight adventures. 

She counted the strokes. The clock struck eight. 

"Ah!" she murmured, half swooning and hiding her face in her hands. "Theclock . .. The clock is here . .. The one from over there . .. I recognize itsvoice. .. . "

She said no more. She felt that Rénine had his eyes fixed upon her and thissapped all her energies. Besides, had she been able to recover them, shewould have been no better off nor sought to offer him the least resistance, for the reason that she did not wish to resist. All the adventures wereover, but one remained to be undertaken, the anticipation of which wipedout the memory of all the rest. It was the adventure of love, the mostdelightful, the most bewildering, the most adorable of all adventures. Sheaccepted fate's decree, rejoicing in all that might come, because she wasin love. She smiled in spite of herself, as she reflected that happinesswas again to enter her life at the very moment when her well-beloved wasbringing her the cornelian clasp. 

The clock struck the hour for the second time. 

Hortense raised her eyes to Rénine. She struggled a few seconds longer. Butshe was like a charmed bird, incapable of any movement of revolt; and atthe eighth stroke she fell upon his breast and offered him her lips. .. . 

THE END