WHICH TELLS OF SOME PRECAUTIONS TAKEN BY JOSEPH ROULETABILLE TO DEFEND
THE FORT OF HERCULES AGAINST THE ATTACK OF AN ENEMY
Rouletabille had not even the politeness to inquire into the
explanation of this amazing sobriquet. He appeared to be plunged in the
deepest meditation. A strange dinner! a strange castle! strange guests!
All the graces and coquetries of Mme. Edith had no effect in awakening
us to any semblance of life. There were two newly married pairs, four
lovers, who ought to have been radiant with the joy of life, and to
have made the hours pass gayly and happily. But the repast was one
of the most gloomy at which I have ever been present. The spectre of
Larsan hovered about our festivities, and it seemed almost as though
the man whom we knew to be so near was actually among us.
It is as well to say here that Professor Stangerson, since he had
learned the cruel, the miserable truth, had not for one moment been
able to free himself from the thought of it. I do not think that I
am saying too much in declaring that the first victim of the affair
at the Glandier, and the most unfortunate of all, was this good old
man. He had lost everything--his faith in science, his love of work,
and--more bitter than all the rest--his belief in his daughter. His
faith in her had been his religion. She had been such an object of
joy and pride. He had thought of her for so many years as a vestal
virgin, seeking, with him, the unknown in the world of higher things.
He had been so marvellously dazzled with the thought of her angelic
purity, and had believed that her reason for having remained unmarried
was that she was unwilling to resign herself to any life which would
withdraw her from science and her father, to both of which she had
dedicated her existence. And while he was thinking of her almost with
reverence, he discovered that the reason that his daughter refused to
marry was because she was already the wife of Ballmeyer. The day in
which Mathilde had decided to confess everything to her father, and
to tell him the story of the past, which must clear up the present
with a tragic light to the eyes of the professor, already warned by
the mysteries of the Glandier--the day when, falling at his feet and
embracing his knees, she had told him the story of her youth, Professor
Stangerson had raised the form of his beloved child from the ground
and had pressed her to his heart; he had placed a kiss of pardon on
her brow; he had mingled his tears with the sobs of her whose fault
had been so bitterly expiated, and he had sworn to her that she had
never been more precious than since he had known how she had suffered.
And by these words, she was a little comforted. But he, when she left
his presence, was another man--a man alone, all alone----. Professor
Stangerson had lost his daughter and his goddess.
He had experienced only indifference in regard to her marriage to
Robert Darzac, although the latter had been the best beloved of his
pupils. In vain Mathilde, with the warmest tenderness, had endeavored
to rekindle the old feeling in the heart of her father. She knew well
that he had changed toward her, that his glance never dwelt upon her
in the old fond way, and that his weary eyes were looking back into
the past at an image which he had only dreamed was her own. And she
knew, too, that when those eyes rested upon her--upon her, Mathilde
Darzac--it was to see at her side, not the honored figure of a good
man and tender husband, but the shadow, eternally living, eternally
infamous, of the other--the man who had stolen his daughter. The
Professor could work no longer. The great secret of the dissolution of
matter which he had promised to reveal to mankind, had returned to the
unknown from which, for a moment, the scientist had drawn it, and men
will go on, repeating for centuries to come the imbecile phrase, “From
nothing, nothing.”
* * * * *
The evening meal was rendered still more doleful by the setting in
which it was served--the sombre hall, lighted by a gothic lamp, with
old candelabra of wrought iron, and the walls of the fortress adorned
with oriental tapestries, against which were ranged the old suits of
armor dating back to the first Saracen invasion and the sieges of
Dagobert.
I looked at the members of the party, and it seemed to me that I was
able to see reason enough for the general sadness. M. and Mme. Darzac
were seated beside each other. The mistress of the house had evidently
not desired to separate a bridal pair, whose union only dated back to
yesterday. Of the two, I must say that the more unhappy looking was,
beyond a doubt, our friend, Robert. He never spoke one word. Mme.
Darzac joined to some extent in the conversation, exchanging now and
then a few commonplaces with Arthur Rance. Is it necessary for me
to add that at this time, after the scene between Rouletabille and
Mathilde, which I had witnessed from my window, I expected to see her
in a most wretched state--almost overcome by the vision of Larsan,
which had surged up in front of her eyes? But no: on the contrary, I
discovered a remarkable difference between the terrified aspect with
which she had approached us at the station, for instance, and the
easy, composed manner which was hers, at present. One would have said
that she had been relieved by the sight of the apparition, and when I
expressed my opinion to Rouletabille later in the evening, I discovered
that he shared it, and he explained the reason for Mathilde’s change
of manner in the simplest possible fashion. The unhappy woman had
dreaded nothing so much as the thought that she was going mad, and
the certainty that she had not been the victim of a mental delusion,
cruel as that certainty was, had served to make her a little more calm.
She preferred to fight even against the living Larsan than against a
phantom. In the first interview which she had had with Rouletabille in
the Square Tower, while I was dressing for dinner, she had, my young
friend told me, been completely possessed by the dread that insanity
was coming upon her. Rouletabille, in telling me of this interview,
acknowledged to me that he had taken altogether different means to
calm Mathilde from those which Robert Darzac had employed--that is,
he made no effort to conceal from her that her eyes had seen clearly
and had seen Frederic Larsan. When she was told that Robert Darzac had
only denied the truth to her because he feared for its effect upon
her, and that he had been the first to telegraph to Rouletabille to
come to their aid, she heaved a sigh so long and so deep that it was
almost a sob. She took Rouletabille’s hands in her own and covered
them with kisses, just as a mother kisses the hands of her little
child. Evidently she was instinctively drawn toward the youth by all
the mysterious forces of maternal affection, in spite of the fact that
she had every reason to believe that her child had died years before.
It was just at this point that the two had first noticed through the
window of the tower the form of Frederic Larsan, standing erect in
the boat. At first, both had remained, stupefied, motionless and mute
at the sight. Then a cry of rage escaped from the agonized heart of
Rouletabille, and he longed to pursue the man and reckon with him, face
to face. I have told how Mathilde held him back, clinging to him upon
the parapet. In her mind, apparently, horrible as was this resurrection
of Larsan, it was less horrible than the continual and supernatural
resurrection of a Larsan who had no existence save in her own diseased
brain. She no longer saw Larsan everywhere around her. She saw him in
the flesh, as he was.
At one moment trembling with nervousness, the next gentle and composed,
now patient and in another instant impatient, Mathilde, even while
conversing with Arthur Rance, showed for her husband the most charming
and sweetest solicitude imaginable. She was attentive to him at every
moment, serving him herself, and smiling gently at him as she did
so, watching him carefully, to be sure that he was not overtired and
that the light did not strike too near his eyes. Robert thanked her
for her cares, but seemed none the less frightfully unhappy. And his
demeanor compelled me to recollect the fact that the resuscitation of
Larsan would undoubtedly recall to Mme. Darzac that before she was Mme.
Darzac, she had been Mme. Jean Roussel Ballmeyer Larsan before God and
herself, and even, so far as the transatlantic laws are concerned,
before men as well.
If the design of Larsan in showing himself had been to deal a frightful
blow to a happiness which had yet scarcely begun, he had completely
succeeded. And, perhaps, as the historian of all parts of this strange
affair, I ought to mention the fact that Mathilde had given Robert
Darzac at once to understand that she did not regard herself as his
wife, since the man to whom she had pledged herself in her early
girlhood was still living. I have said that Mathilde Stangerson had
been brought up in a very religious manner, not by her father, who
cared little for such things, but by her female relatives, especially
her old aunt in Cincinnati. The scientific studies which she had
pursued with her father had in no wise impaired her faith, while
the latter had taken care never to speak against religion to his
daughter. She had preserved it, even in the deepest researches into
the professor’s theory of the creation. She said to him that no matter
how plausibly he might prove that everything came from nothingness,
that is to say, from the atmosphere, and returned to nothingness in the
end, it remained to prove that that nothing, originating from nothing,
had not been created by God. And, as she was a good Catholic, she
believed that the Vicar of Christ on earth was the Pope. I might have
perhaps passed over these religious beliefs of Mathilde in silence, if
they had not had so strong an influence on the resolution which she
had taken in regard to her second husband, when she discovered that
her first husband was still alive. It had seemed to her that Larsan’s
death had been proven beyond the slightest doubt, and she had gone to
her new husband as a widow with the approval of her confessor. And
now she learned that in the sight of Heaven, she was not a widow,
but a bigamist! But, at all events, the catastrophe might not be
irremediable, and she herself proposed to poor M. Darzac that the
case should be propounded to the ecclesiastical courts of Rome for a
settlement as quickly as possible. Thus it was that M. and Mme. Robert
Darzac, forty-eight hours after their marriage in the Church of St.
Nicolas du Chardonnet, were separated by a gulf over which one could
not and the other would not pass. The reader will comprehend from
this brief explanation the mournful demeanor of Robert and the gentle
sweetness displayed toward him by Mathilde.
Without being entirely conversant with all these details on the evening
of which I write, I nevertheless suspected most of them. Leaving the
Darzacs, my eyes wandered to the neighbor of Mme. Darzac, M. Arthur
William Rance, and my thoughts were taking a new turn, when they were
suddenly arrested by the butler’s coming to say that Bernier, the
concierge, requested to speak to M. Rouletabille. My friend arose,
excused himself, and left the room.
“What!” I cried. “The Berniers are no longer at the Glandier?”
Readers of “The Mystery of the Yellow Room” will recall that these
Berniers--the man and his wife--were the concierges of M. Stangerson
at Ste. Genevieve-des-Bois. I have told in that work how Rouletabille
had had them set at liberty when they were accused of complicity
in the attempt made at the pavilion de la Chenaie. Their gratitude
to the young reporter on this account had been of the greatest,
and Rouletabille had been ever since the object of their devotion.
M. Stangerson replied to my exclamation by informing me that all
the servants had left the Glandier at the time that he himself had
abandoned it. As the Rances had need of concierges for the Fort of
Hercules, the Professor had been glad to send them his faithful
domestics, of whom he had never had reason to complain except for
one slight infraction of the game laws, which had turned out most
unfortunately for them. Now they were lodged in one of the towers of
the postern, where they kept the gate, and from which they admitted
those who entered and dismissed those who wished to go out of the fort.
Rouletabille had not appeared in the least astonished when the butler
announced that Bernier wished to say a word to him, and from that fact,
I drew the conclusion that he must be already aware of his presence at
Rochers Rouges. So I discovered, without being very greatly surprised
at it, that Rouletabille had made excellent use of the few minutes
during which I believed him to be in his room, and which I had given up
to my toilet and to chatting with M. Darzac.
The unexpected exit of Rouletabille sent a chill to my heart and seemed
to spread a general sensation of alarm throughout the company. Every
one of us who was in the secret asked himself whether this summons
had not something to do with some important event connected with the
return of Larsan. Mme. Darzac was very restless. And because Mathilde
showed herself to be disturbed and nervous, I fancied that M. Arthur
Rance thought that it behooved him to display some little anxiety. And
it may be as well to say at this point that M. Arthur Rance and his
wife were not aware of the whole of the unfortunate story of Professor
Stangerson’s daughter. It had seemed useless to inform them of the
fact of Mathilde’s secret marriage to Jean Roussel, afterward known
as Larsan. That was something which concerned only the family. But
they were fully aware--Arthur Rance from having been mixed up in the
Glandier business, and his wife from what he had told her--of the way
in which the Secret Service agent had pursued the young woman who was
now Mme. Darzac. The crimes of Larsan were explained in the eyes of
Arthur Rance by a mad passion for Mathilde, and this was by no means
surprising to the young American who had been for so long in love
with her himself, and who perceived in all of Larsan’s acts merely
the indications of an insane and hopeless love. As to Mme. Edith, I
soon found out why the events which had transpired at the Glandier
had not seemed so simple to her when they were related to her as they
had to her husband. For her to share his opinions on the subject, it
would have been necessary for her to have seen Mathilde with eyes
as enthusiastic as those of Arthur Rance, and, on the contrary, her
thoughts (which I had good opportunities to read without her suspecting
it) ran about in this way: “But what on earth is there about this woman
which could inspire such an insane passion, lasting for years and years
in the heart of any man! Here is a woman for whose sake a detective
officer becomes a murderer; for whom a temperate man becomes a
drunkard, and for whom an innocent man permits himself to be pronounced
guilty of a felony. What is there about her more than there is about
myself who owe my husband to the fact that she refused him before he
ever saw me? What is the charm about her? She isn’t even young. And yet
even now my husband forgets all about me while he is looking at her.”
That is what I read in Edith’s eyes as she watched her husband gazing
at Mathilde. Ah, those black eyes of the gentle, languid Mme. Edith!
I am congratulating myself upon the explanations which I have made to
the reader. It is as well that he should know the sentiments which
dwelt in the heart of each one concerned at the moment when all were
about to have their own parts to play in the strange and awful drama
which was already drawing near in the shadow which enveloped the Fort
of Hercules. As yet, I have said nothing of Old Bob nor of Prince
Galitch, but, never fear, their turn will come! I have taken as a rule
in the narration of this affair to paint things and people as nearly as
possible as they appeared to me in the development of events. Thus the
reader will pass through all the phases of the tragedy as we ourselves
passed through them--anguish and peace, mysteries and their unraveling,
misunderstanding and comprehension. If the light breaks upon the mind
of the reader before the hour when it broke upon mine, so much the
better. As he will be conversant with the same circumstances, neither
more nor less, which came under our observation, he will prove to
himself if he solves the mystery before it is revealed to him, that he
possesses a brain worthy to rank with that of Rouletabille.
* * * * *
We finished our repast without our young friend having reappeared, and
we arose from the table without having mentioned to each other any of
the thoughts which troubled us. Mathilde immediately asked me where
I thought Rouletabille had gone. As she left the dining room, and I
walked with her as far as the entrance to the fort; M. Darzac and Mme.
Edith followed us. M. Stangerson had bidden us good-night. Arthur
Rance, who had disappeared for a moment, joined us while we were at the
passageway. The night was clear and the moon shone brightly. Someone
had lighted the lanterns in the archway, however, in spite of the fact
that their rays were not needed for seeing. As we passed beneath the
arch, we heard Rouletabille speaking, as though he were encouraging
those whom he addressed.
“Come on! One more effort!” he cried, and the voice which answered him
was husky and panting, like that of a sailor who was working with his
fellows to bring his bark into port. Finally, a great tumult filled
our ears. It was the two portals of the immense iron doors, which were
being closed for the first time in more than an hundred years.
Mme. Edith looked astonished at the act of her guest, and asked what
had happened to the gate, which had always served in place of the doors
since she had been mistress of the place. But Arthur Rance caught her
arm, and she seemed to understand that he was impressing upon her that
she must keep silence. But that did not keep her from exclaiming in a
not-too-well pleased tone:
“Really! Anyone would think that we expected to undergo a siege!”
But Rouletabille beckoned our group into the garden and announced to
us in a jesting tone that if any of us had any desire to make a trip
to the village, we must give it up for that evening, for the order
had gone forth and no one could leave the château or enter it. Pere
Jacques, he added, still pretending to jest, was charged with the
carrying out of the command, and everyone knew that it was impossible
to bribe the faithful old servitor. It was then that I learned for the
first time that Pere Jacques, whom I had known so well at the Glandier,
had accompanied Professor Stangerson on his visit and was acting as his
valet. That night he was sleeping in a tiny closet in “la Louve,” near
his master’s bed room, but Rouletabille had changed that, and it was
Pere Jacques who took the place of the concierges in the tower marked A.
“But where are the Berniers?” cried Mme. Edith.
“They are installed in the Square Tower, in the room on the left, near
the entrance; they are to act as caretakers of the Square Tower,”
replied Rouletabille.
“But the Square Tower doesn’t need any caretakers!” exclaimed Edith,
whose vexation was plainly visible.
“That, Madame,” returned the young reporter, “is what we cannot be sure
of.”
He made no further explanations, but he took M. Arthur Rance to
one side and informed him that he ought to tell his wife about the
reappearance of Larsan. If there was to be the slightest chance of
hiding the truth from M. Stangerson, it could scarcely be accomplished
without the aid and intelligence of Mme. Edith. And, then, too,
it would be as well, henceforward, for all of those in the Fort
of Hercules to be prepared for everything, _and surprised at
nothing_!
The next act of Rouletabille was to make us walk across the court and
place ourselves at the postern of the gardener. I have said that this
postern (H) commanded the entrance to the inner court; but at that
point the moat had been filled up a long time ago. Rouletabille, to our
amazement, declared that the next day he intended to have the moat dug
out and to replace the drawbridge. For the present, he busied himself
with ordering the postern to be closed more securely by the servants
of the château by means of a sort of fortification built from the
boards and bricks which had been used in the repairs of the château,
and which had not yet been taken away by the workmen. Thus the château
was barricaded and Rouletabille laughed softly to himself, for Mme.
Edith, having been apprised by her husband of the facts of the case,
made no further objection, but contented herself with smiling a little
contemptuously at the timidity of her guests, who were transforming the
old stronghold into an absolutely impenetrable spot, because they were
afraid of just one man--one man, all alone. But Mme. Edith did not know
what manner of man this was. She had not lived through the mysteries of
the yellow room.
As to the others--Arthur Rance among them--they found it perfectly
natural and reasonable that Rouletabille should fortify the place
against that which was unknown and mysterious and invisible, and which
plotted in the night they knew not what against the Fort of Hercules.
At the newly fortified postern, Rouletabille had stationed no one, for
he reserved that place that night for himself. From there he could
obtain a complete view of both the inner and outer courts. It was a
strategic point which commanded a view of the whole château. One could
reach the apartment of the Darzacs only after passing by Pere Jacques
in A; by Rouletabille at H, and by the Berniers, who guarded the Square
Tower at the door marked K. The young man had decided that it would be
better for those on guard not to retire that night. As we passed by the
“oubliette” in the Court of Charles the Bold, I saw by the light of
the moon that someone had displaced the circular board which covered
it. I saw also on the margin a flask attached to a cord. Rouletabille
explained to me that he had wished to know if this old oubliette (which
was really nothing but a well) corresponded with the sea, and that
he had found that the water was clear and sweet--a proof that it had
nothing to do with the Mediterranean.
The young man walked for a few steps with Mme. Darzac, who immediately
took leave of us and entered the Square Tower. M. Darzac and Arthur
Rance, at the request of Rouletabille, remained with us. Some words of
excuse addressed to Mme. Edith made her understand that she was being
politely asked to retire, and she bade us good-night with a nonchalant
grace, flinging the words, “Good-night, M. le Captain,” at Rouletabille
over her shoulder as she passed him.
When we were alone, we men, Rouletabille beckoned us toward the postern
into the little room of the gardener, a dark, low-ceiled apartment,
where we were surprised to find how easily we could see anything that
passed near by without being seen ourselves. There, Arthur Rance,
Robert Darzac, Rouletabille and myself, without even lighting a lamp,
held our first council of war. In truth, I know not what other name
to give to this reunion of frightened men, hidden behind the stones of
this old fortress.
“We may make our plans here in tranquillity,” began Rouletabille.
“No one can hear us, and we shall not be surprised by anyone. If any
person should attempt to pass the first gate which Jacques is guarding
without the old man’s seeing him, we shall be immediately warned by the
sentinel whom I have stationed in the very middle of the court, hidden
in the ruins of the chapel. I have placed your gardener, Mattoni, at
that point, M. Rance. I believe from what I have been told that you can
depend upon the man. Is not that your opinion?”
I listened to Rouletabille with admiration. Mme. Edith was right. He
had indeed constituted himself a captain, and he had not left one
impregnable spot without defense, and had neglected nothing in his
cogitations. I felt certain that he would never surrender, no matter
on what terms, and that he would prefer death to capitulation, either
for himself or for any of the rest of us. What a brave little commander
he was! And, indeed, it seemed to me that he displayed more bravery in
undertaking the defense of the Fort of Hercules against Larsan than the
Lords of Mortola had shown in holding the castle against a thousand
of the enemy. For they had fought merely against shot and shell and
spears. And what had we to fight against? The darkness. Where was our
enemy? Everywhere and nowhere. We were able neither to see him, nor
to know his whereabouts, nor to guess his designs, nor to take the
offensive ourselves, ignorant as we were of where our blows might fall.
There remained for us only to be on guard, to shut ourselves in, to
watch and to wait.
M. Arthur Rance assured Rouletabille that he could answer for his
gardener, Mattoni, and our young man proceeded to explain to us in a
general fashion the situation. He lit his pipe, took three or four
puffs, and said:
“Well, here we are. Can we hope that Larsan, after having so insolently
flaunted himself before us, at our very doors, in order to defy us,
will confine himself to such a platonic manifestation? Will he consider
that he has accomplished enough in bringing trouble, terror and
consternation among the members of the besieged party in the garrison?
And content with what he has done, will he go away? I hardly think so.
First, because such a thing would be foreign to his character--for he
loves a fight, and is never satisfied with a partial success; and,
secondly, because no one of us has the power to drive him off. Consider
that he can do anything that he will to injure us, but that we can make
no move against him save to defend ourselves if he strikes, provided we
are able when it may suit him to do so. We have, of course, no hope of
any help from outside. And he knows it well; that is what makes him so
bold and audacious. Whom can we call to our aid?”
“The authorities,” suggested Arthur Rance. He spoke with some
hesitation, for he felt that if this plan had not been entertained by
Rouletabille, there must be some reason for it.
The young reporter looked at his host with an air of pity, which was
not entirely free from reproach. And he said in a chilly tone, which
showed plainly to Arthur Rance how little value there was in his
proposition:
“You ought to understand, Monsieur, that I did not save Larsan from
French justice at Versailles to deliver him over to Italian justice at
Rochers Rouges.”
M. Arthur Rance, who was, as I have said, ignorant of the first
marriage of Professor Stangerson’s daughter, could not understand,
as did the rest of us, the impossibility of revealing the existence
of Larsan without stirring up (especially after the ceremony at St.
Nicolas du Chardonnet) the worst of scandals and the most dreadful
of catastrophes; but certain inexplicable incidents of the trial at
Versailles had impressed him sufficiently to make him realize that we
dreaded above all things to bring again to the public mind what someone
had called “The Mystery of Mlle. Stangerson.”
He comprehended this on the evening of which I speak better than he had
ever done before, and knew that Larsan must hold one of those terrible
secrets on which life and honor depend, and with which the magistrates
of the world can have no concern.
M. Rance bowed to M. Robert Darzac without uttering a word; but the
salute signified the declaration that M. Arthur Rance was ready to
combat for the cause of Mathilde, whatever it might be, as a noble
chevalier, who does not bother himself about the reason of the battle
in the moment when he dies for his lady. At least, I thus interpreted
his gesture, and I felt certain that, in spite of his recent marriage,
the American had by no means forgotten his old love.
M. Darzac said:
“This man must disappear, but in silence, whether we move him by our
entreaties, or bribe him or kill him. But the first condition of his
disappearance is to keep the fact that he has reappeared at all a
secret. Above all--and I am speaking of the heartfelt wish of Mme.
Darzac as well as my own--M. Stangerson must never know that we are
menaced by the blows of this monster.”
“Mme. Darzac’s wishes are commands,” replied Rouletabille. “M.
Stangerson shall know nothing.”
We went on to discuss the situation in regard to the servants and to
what one might expect from them. Happily, Pere Jacques and the Berniers
were already partly in the secret and would be astonished at nothing.
Mattoni was devoted enough to render unquestioning obedience to Mme.
Edith. The others did not count. Later there would be Walter, the
servant of Old Bob, but he had accompanied his master to Paris, and
would not return until he did.
Rouletabille arose, exchanged through the window a signal with Bernier,
who was standing erect upon the threshold of the Square Tower. Then he
came back to us and sat down again.
“Larsan probably is not far off,” he said. “During dinner I made a tour
of observation around the place. We possess at the North gate a natural
means of defense which is really marvellous, and which completely
replaces the old fortifications of the château. We have there fifty
paces away, at the western shore, the two frontier posts of the French
and Italian revenue officers, whose untiring vigilance may be of the
greatest assistance to us. Pere Bernier is on the most friendly terms
with these worthy people, and I am going with him to talk to them. The
Italian customs officer speaks only Italian, but the French officer
speaks both languages, as well as the patois of the country, and it is
this man, whom Bernier tells me is called Michael, to whom I look to be
of the greatest use to us. Through his means we have already learned
that the two revenue posts are much interested in the strange manœuvres
of the little boat, which belongs to Tullio, the fisherman, whom
they call ‘the hangman of the sea.’ Old Tullio is one of the former
acquaintances of the customs men. He is the most skillful smuggler
on the coast. He had with him this evening in his boat an individual
whom the revenue officers had never seen. The boat, Tullio and the
passenger, all disappeared at the Pointe de Garibaldi. I have been
there with Pere Bernier, and we found nothing, any more than M. Darzac,
who visited the spot before us. However, Larsan must have landed. * * *
I have a presentiment of the fact. In any case, I am sure that Tullio’s
little boat is anchored near the Pointe de Garibaldi.”
“You are sure of that?” cried M. Darzac.
“What reason have you for thinking so?” I demanded.
“Bah!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “It left the marks of the keel in the
sand on the bank, and when they anchored, they let fall a little
lantern, which I picked up and which the revenue officers recognized as
the one used by Tullio when he fishes in the waters on calm nights.”
“Larsan certainly landed!” repeated M. Darzac. “He is at Rochers
Rouges.”
“In any case, if the boat has been left at Rochers Rouges, he has
not come back here,” exclaimed Rouletabille. “The two revenue posts
are situated upon the narrow road which leads from Rochers Rouges to
France, and are placed in such a manner that no one can pass by whether
by day or by night without being seen. You know besides that the Red
Rocks from which the village takes its name form a cul de sac, and
that a sentinel is on guard in front of these rocks every hundred
meters around the frontier. The sentinel passes between the rocks and
the sea. The rocks are steep and form a terrace sixty meters high.”
“That is true,” said Arthur Rance, who had not recently spoken, and who
seemed greatly interested. “It is not easy to scale the rocks.”
“He will have hidden himself in the grottoes,” said Darzac. “There are
some deep pockets in the terrace.”
“I thought of that,” said Rouletabille. “And I went back alone to
Rochers Rouges, after I left Pere Bernier.”
“That was very imprudent!” I said.
“It was very prudent,” corrected Rouletabille. “I had some things to
say to Larsan which I did not wish a third party to hear. Well, I went
back to Rochers Rouges and called Larsan’s name through all the caves.”
“You called him?” cried Arthur Rance.
“Yes, I shouted into the gathering night; I waved my handkerchief as
the soldiers wave their flag of truce. But whether it was that he heard
me and saw my white flag or not, he did not answer.”
“Perhaps he was not there,” I suggested.
“Perhaps not: I don’t know. I heard a noise in the grotto.”
“And you did not enter?” demanded Arthur Rance.
“No,” replied Rouletabille, quietly. “But you do not think that it was
because I was afraid of him, do you?”
“Let us run!” we all cried in one breath, rising at the same moment.
“Let us go and finish up the business immediately.”
“I don’t think that we shall ever have a better chance of meeting
Larsan,” said Arthur Rance. “We can do what we like with him at the
bottom of Rochers Rouges.”
Darzac and Arthur Rance were already starting off; I waited to see
what Rouletabille would say. He calmed the two men with a gesture, and
begged them to be seated again.
“It is necessary to remember,” he said, “that Larsan would have acted
exactly as he has done if he had wished to lure us to-night to the
grotto of Rochers Rouges. He has shown himself to us; he has landed
almost under our eyes at the Point of Garibaldi; he might as well have
shouted under our windows, ‘You know I am at Rochers Rouges. I’ll
wait for you there.’ He would have been neither more explicit or more
eloquent.”
“You went to Rochers Rouges,” resumed Arthur Rance, who I saw was
deeply impressed with the arguments of Rouletabille--“and he did not
show himself. He hid himself, meditating on some horrible crime to be
committed to-night. We must have him out of that grotto.”
“Doubtless,” replied Rouletabille, “my promenade to Rochers Rouges
produced no result because I was all alone--but if we all go, I can
assure you that we shall find some results on our return.”
“On our return?” echoed Darzac who did not understand.
“Yes,” explained Rouletabille; “on our return to the château, where we
have left Mme. Darzac all alone--and where, perhaps, we may not find
her. Oh, of course,” he added, as a general silence fell upon his
companions, “it is only a hypothesis. But at this time we have no other
means of reasoning than by hypothesis.”
We looked at each other and this hypothesis overwhelmed us. Evidently,
without Rouletabille, we should have committed a terrible blunder and
perhaps have been responsible for a terrible disaster.
Rouletabille arose and continued, thoughtfully:
“You see, to-night there is nothing that we can do except to barricade
ourselves. It is only a temporary barricade, for I want the place
put in an absolutely unassailable state to-morrow. I have had the
iron doors closed and Pere Jacques is guarding them. I have stationed
Mattoni as sentinel at the chapel. I have established a barrier under
the postern, the only vulnerable point of the inner court, and I will
guard that myself. Pere Bernier will watch all night at the door of the
Square Tower, and Mere Bernier, who has a good pair of eyes, and to
whom I have given a spyglass, will remain until morning on the platform
of the tower. Sainclair will station himself in the little palm leaf
pavilion upon the terrace of the Round Tower. From the height of this
terrace he will watch as I do all the inner court and the boulevards
and parapets. M. Rance and M. Darzac will go into the garden and walk
until daylight, the one toward the boulevard on the west, the other
toward the boulevard on the east--the two boulevards which are at the
edge of the outer court near the sea. The vigil will be hard to-night,
because we are not yet organized. To-morrow we shall draw up a set of
rules for our little garrison, and a list of the trustworthy domestics
upon whom we may depend with security.
“If there is one on the place who could come under the slightest
suspicion, he must be dismissed at once. You will bring here to this
cell all the arms which you can gather--rifles and revolvers. We will
divide them among those who do guard duty. The sentinel is to draw upon
every person who does not reply to ‘Who goes there?’ and who is not
recognized. There is no need of a password, it would be useless. Let
the countersign be to utter one’s name and to show one’s face. Besides,
it is only ourselves who have the right to pass. Beginning to-morrow
morning I will have raised at the inner entrance of the North gate the
grating which until to-day formed its exterior entrance--the entrance
which is closed, henceforth, by the iron doors; and in the daytime the
commissaires can come as far as this grating with their provisions.
They will place their wares in the little lodge in the tower where I
have stationed Pere Jacques. At seven o’clock every night, the iron
doors will be closed. To-morrow morning M. Arthur Rance will send for
builders, masons and carpenters. Every person on the place will be
counted, and no one allowed, under any pretext, to pass the door of
the second court. Before seven o’clock in the evening everyone will be
counted again, and the workpeople will be allowed to go out. In this
one day the men must completely finish their work, which will consist
of making a door for my postern, repairing a small breach in the wall
which joins the New Castle to the Tower of Charles the Bold and another
little break near the Round Tower (B in the plan), which defends the
north-east corner of the outer court. After that, I shall be tranquil,
and Mme. Darzac, who is forbidden to leave the château under the new
order, having been placed in security, I may attempt a sortie and
enter seriously into the search for the camp of Larsan. Come, M. Rance,
to arms! Bring me some weapons to pass around this evening. I have
loaned my own revolver to Pere Bernier, who is keeping guard before the
door of Mme. Darzac’s apartments.”
Anyone not knowing of the events at the Glandier who had heard the
words spoken by Rouletabille would have considered both him who spoke
and us who listened to be beside ourselves. But, I repeat, if anyone
had lived, like myself, through that terrible and mysterious time, he
would have done what I did--loaded his revolver and waited for dawn
without uttering a word.