THE IMPOSSIBLE BODY
“It will be a great misfortune if you don’t tell the truth,” muttered
Rouletabille, in smothered tones. “But if you conceal nothing, the
trouble may not be so great. Come this way.”
And he drew him, clasping him by the fist, toward the New Château, I
following. I saw that a great change had come over Rouletabille. He
was completely his old self again. Now that he was so happily relieved
of the sorrow of separation from his mother which had pressed on his
mind ever since his early childhood, now that he had again found the
perfume of the Lady in Black, he seemed to have reconquered all the
forces of his spirit and was ready to enter eagerly into the strife
against the mysteries which surrounded us. And, until the day when
all was ended--until the last supreme moment--the most dramatic that
I have ever lived through in the whole course of my existence--_the
moment in which life and death spoke out and were explained by his
lips_--he never again made a sign of hesitation in the forward
march: he never spoke another word which could have been taken as an
attempt to warn us against the dreadful situation which arose from
the siege of the Square Tower by the attack of that night between the
twelfth and thirteenth of April.
Bernier resisted him no further. When others tried to do so, he held
them in his grasp until they cried for mercy.
Bernier walked in front of us, his head bent, looking like an accused
man who is being led on his way to trial. And when we reached
Rouletabille’s room, the young reporter bade Bernier sit down facing
us. I lighted the lamp. Rouletabille sat silent for a moment, looking
at Bernier, lighting his pipe the while, and evidently seeking to read
in the face of the concierge all the honesty which he could find. Soon
his knitted brows relaxed, his eye grew clearer and, after he had blown
a few rings of smoke toward the ceiling, he said:
“Well, Bernier, how did they kill him?”
Bernier shook his shaggy head.
“I have sworn to say nothing and I will say nothing, monsieur. And,
upon my word of honor, I know nothing.”
“All right,” went on Rouletabille, unconcernedly. “Tell me what you
don’t know. For if you do not tell me what you don’t know, Bernier, I
will be responsible for nothing, no matter what happens.”
“And for what could you be responsible in any case, monsieur?”
“For one thing, I won’t answer for your safety, Bernier.”
“For my safety? I have done nothing.”
“For the safety of all of us, then--for our lives, even!” replied
Rouletabille, arising from his chair and pacing restlessly across the
room, in order, doubtless, to give himself an opportunity to perform
some necessary mental algebraic operation. Then he paused and went on,
“Where was he? In the Square Tower?”
Bernier did not speak but he nodded assent.
“Where? In Old Bob’s bedroom?”
“No,” Bernier shook his head.
“Hidden in your rooms?”
Bernier shook his head vehemently.
“Well, where was he then? He could certainly not have been in the
apartments of M. and Mme. Darzac!”
Bernier bowed his head.
“Miserable hound!” cried Rouletabille and he leaped at Bernier’s
throat. I rushed to the rescue of the concierge and snatched him from
the young man’s clutches. As soon as he could breathe, the old servant
looked up, piteously.
“Why did you try to strangle me, M. Rouletabille?” he asked.
“How dare you ask, Bernier? How dare you? And you acknowledge that
_he_ was in the apartment of M. and Mme. Darzac! Who, then, gained
him entrance to that apartment? No one but yourself. You, the only
person who had the key when the Darzacs were not there!”
Bernier arose to his feet. He was as pale as a ghost, but his look and
attitude were full of dignity.
“M. Rouletabille, do you accuse me of being an accomplice of Larsan?”
“I forbid you to pronounce that name!” shouted the reporter. “You know
very well that Larsan is dead--and has been dead for months!”
“For months!” echoed Bernier, ironically. “Yes, that is true--I was
wrong to forget it. When one devotes oneself to his masters and permits
himself to be beaten and abused for them, it is necessary to ignore
everything, no matter what they may do to you. I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Listen to me, Bernier. I know that you are a brave man and I respect
you. It is not your good faith that I am questioning, but I am
censuring your negligence.”
“My negligence!” Bernier, as pale as his face had been, flushed
crimson. “My negligence! I have not budged from my lodge--not even
from the corridor. I have always worn the key in my breast pocket and
I swear to you that no one entered that room--no one at all--after you
were there at five o’clock, except M. and Mme. Darzac, themselves. I do
not count, of course, the few moments that you and M. Sainclair were
there at about six o’clock.”
“What!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “Do you want me to believe that this
individual--you have forgotten his name, I think, Bernier--let us call
him ‘the Man’--that the man was killed in M. Darzac’s rooms if he was
not there?”
“I do not. And, furthermore, I can swear to you that he _was_
there.”
“Yes, but how could he have been? That is what I ask you, Bernier. And
you are the only one who can answer because you alone had the key in
the absence of M. and Mme. Darzac. And M. Darzac never took the key
with him when he left the room and no one could have gotten into the
room to hide while he was there.”
“That is the mystery, monsieur. That is what puzzles M. Darzac more
than all the rest. But I have only been able to answer him as I have
answered you. There is the mystery.”
“When you left the room with M. Darzac, M. Sainclair and myself at
about a quarter after six, did you lock the door immediately?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“When did you open it after that?”
“Not at all.”
“And where were you in the meantime?”
“In front of the door of my lodge, watching the door of the apartment.
My wife and I took our dinner in that same spot at about half after
six, on a little table in the corridor, because, on account of the door
of the tower being open, it was quite light and was pleasanter. After
dinner, I sat in the doorway of the lodge, smoking a cigarette and
chatting with my wife. We were so seated that, even if we had wished
to do so, we would not have been able to withdraw our eyes from M.
Darzac’s rooms. It is a mystery!--a mystery more extraordinary than
the mystery of the Yellow Room. For, in the former case, we did not
know of what had passed _before_. But now, monsieur, one knows all
that happened beforehand since you yourself visited the apartment at
5 o’clock and saw that no person was there; one knows all that passed
during the interim, for either I had the key in my pocket, or M. Darzac
was in his room and must have seen the man who opened his door and
entered the room for the purpose of assassinating him. And while I was
sitting in the corridor before the door, I must have seen the man pass!
And we know what took place _after_. After, there was the death of
the man and that proved that the man was there. Ah, it is a mystery!”
“And from five o’clock until the moment of the tragedy, you declare
that you never quitted the corridor?”
“I swear it.”
“You are absolutely certain?” persisted Rouletabille.
“Ah, pardon, monsieur--there was one moment--the moment that you called
me.”
“That is good, Bernier. I wanted to see if you remembered that.”
“But I was not away from my post more than an instant or two, and M.
Darzac was in his room then. He did not leave it while I was gone. Ah!
what a mystery!”
“How do you know that M. Darzac didn’t go out during those moments?”
“Why, because if he had done so, my wife, who was in the lodge, must
have seen him! And then all would be explained and we would not be so
puzzled, nor Madame either. Ah! must I say it to you over again? No one
has entered that room except M. Darzac at five o’clock and you two at
six, and no person got in between the time that M. Darzac went out and
the time when he came in at night with Mme. Darzac. He was like you--he
didn’t want to believe me. I swore it to him upon the corpse that lay
before us!”
“Where was the corpse?”
“In M. Darzac’s bedroom.”
“It was really a dead body?”
“Oh, he was breathing still--I heard him.”
“Then it was not a corpse, Pere Bernier.”
“Oh, M. Rouletabille, where was the difference? He had a bullet in his
heart.”
At last, Pere Bernier was going to tell us of the body. Had he seen
it? Who was it? One would have said that this seemed of secondary
importance in the eyes of Rouletabille. The reporter seemed engrossed
only with the problem of finding how the body had come to be there. How
had that man happened to be killed?
But, indeed, Pere Bernier knew only very little. The whole thing had
been as sudden as a rifle shot--so it seemed to him--and he was
behind the door. He told us that he was going to his lodge and felt so
drowsy that he had intended to throw himself down on the bed for a few
moments, when he and Mere Bernier heard such a commotion issue from the
apartment of M. Darzac that they were seized with terror. It was as if
the furniture were being thrown about and blows were rained upon the
walls.
“What is the matter?” cried Mere Bernier, and the same instant they
heard the voice of Mme. Darzac, shouting, “Help! help!” This was the
cry that we, too, had heard in the New Château. Pere Bernier, leaving
his wife almost fainting from horror, rushed to the door of M. Darzac’s
room and beat against it, crying aloud to him to open, but obtaining
no reply. The struggle within was still going on. Bernier heard the
labored breathing of two men and he recognized the voice of Larsan when
he heard the words: “With this blow, I shall have your life!” Then
he heard M. Darzac, who called his wife to his aid in a voice almost
stifled, as though he were gagged, “Mathilde! Mathilde!” Evidently
he and Larsan must have been engaged in a life and death struggle
when, suddenly, the pistol shot had saved him. This pistol shot had
frightened Pere Bernier less than the cry which had followed it. One
would have thought that Mme. Darzac, who had uttered the cry, had
been mortally wounded. Bernier was unable to understand Mme. Darzac’s
attitude in the matter. Why did she not open the door and admit him
to help her husband? Why did she not draw the shades? Finally, almost
immediately after the pistol shot, the door, upon which Pere Bernier
had not stopped knocking all the time, was opened. The room was
wrapped in darkness, which did not surprise the concierge, for the
light of the chandelier which he had perceived under the door during
the fight had been suddenly extinguished and at the same moment he
had heard the chandelier itself fall heavily to the floor. It was
Mme. Darzac who had opened the door and Bernier could distinguish
through the gloom the form of M. Darzac leaning over something which
the concierge knew was a dying man. Bernier had called to his wife to
bring a light, but Mme. Darzac had cried: “No, no! No light! no light!
And, above all, be sure that _he_ knows nothing.” And immediately
she had rushed to the door of the tower, calling out, “He is coming!
he is coming! I hear him! Open the door, Pere Bernier! I must go and
meet him!” And Pere Bernier had opened the door, the while she kept on
moaning, “Hide yourselves! Go in! Don’t let him know anything!”
Pere Bernier went on:
“You came like a waterspout, M. Rouletabille. And she drew you into
Old Bob’s sitting room. You saw nothing. I stayed with M. Darzac. The
rattle in the throat of the man on the floor had ceased. M. Darzac
still bending over him said to me: ‘Get a sack, Bernier, a sack and a
stone, and we will throw him into the sea and no one will ever hear his
voice again!’
“Then,” Bernier went on, “I thought of my sack of potatoes; my wife
had gathered them up and put them back in the sack after you had
emptied them out; I emptied the bag again and brought it to him. We
made as little noise as possible. During this time, Madame was, I
suppose, telling you the story in Old Bob’s sitting room and we heard
M. Sainclair questioning my wife in the lodge. Moving very quietly,
we had slipped the body, which M. Darzac had tied up, into the sack.
But I said to M. Darzac: ‘Let me beg of you not to throw it into the
water. It is not deep enough to hide it. There are days when the sea
is so clear that one may look down to the bottom.’ ‘What shall we do,
then?’ whispered M. Darzac. I answered: ‘Heaven help us, I don’t know,
monsieur! All that I could do for you and for Madame and for humanity
against a villain like Frederic Larsan, I have done and willingly. But
don’t ask any more of me and may God protect you!’ And I went out of
the room and found you in the lodge, M. Sainclair. And then you went
for M. Rouletabille at the request of M. Darzac, who had come out of
his own apartment. As for my wife, she was almost swooning with terror
when she suddenly saw that both M. Darzac and myself were covered
with blood. See, messieurs, my hands are red! Pray Heaven, it doesn’t
bring us misfortune! But we have done our duty. Oh, he was a miserable
wretch!--But do you want me to tell you?--well, one could never keep
such a history secret--and, in my opinion, it would be better to go
immediately with it to the justice. I have promised to keep silence
and I did keep silence so long as I was able, but I’m glad enough
to relieve myself of such a burden before you gentlemen who are the
friends of Monsieur and Madame--and who may, perhaps, be able to make
them listen to reason. Why should they hide the facts? Isn’t it an
honor to have killed Larsan!--Pardon me for having spoken his name--I
know well, it was not right--but is it not an honor to have saved the
whole world from a scoundrel in saving oneself? Ah! hold! a fortune!
Mme. Darzac promised me a fortune, if I would keep silence. What do I
care for that? Could one have a better fortune than to be of service to
the poor lady who has had so many troubles? Never in the world! But,
how she looked! Why should she have feared? I asked her when we thought
that you had gone to bed and that we three were all alone in the Square
Tower with our corpse. I said to her, ‘Tell everyone that you have
killed him! All the world will praise you!’ She answered: ‘There has
been too much scandal already, Bernier: and as much as it depends on me
to do, and as much as is possible, I will hide this new horror forever!
It would kill my father!’ I had nothing to say to that, but I wanted to
speak. It was upon the tip of my tongue to say, ‘If the business comes
out later, one will believe that you did something wrong and monsieur,
your father, will die just as surely.’ But it was her idea. She wished
that all should be concealed! Well, I promised her. That’s all!”
Bernier turned toward the door, showing us his hands.
“I must rid myself of the blood of the accursed pig!” he said, dryly.
Rouletabille stopped him.
“And what was M. Darzac saying all this time? What was his opinion?”
“He repeated: ‘What Mme. Darzac says is right. She must be obeyed
implicitly.’ His shirt was torn and he had a slight wound in his
throat, but it did not seem to bother him at all, and, indeed, there
was only one thing in which he seemed interested, and that was as to
how the miserable wretch had gotten into his rooms. I told him what I
have told you--that he could not have entered without my seeing him,
and I told him just how I had passed every moment of my time. His first
words on the subject had been: ‘But when I came in a little while ago,
there was no one in my room and I shut and bolted the door.’”
“Where did this conversation take place?”
“In the lodge, in the presence of my wife, who was nearly frightened to
death, poor thing!”
“And the body? Where was that?”
“It lay in the sleeping room of M. Darzac.”
“And how was it decided that it should be disposed of?”
“I can’t say as to that for certain, but their resolution was taken,
for Mme. Darzac said to me: ‘Bernier, I am going to ask of you one last
service: go and bring the English cart from the stable and harness Toby
to it. Don’t waken Walter, if you can help it. If you wake him and he
asks for any explanations, say this to him and also to Mattoni, who has
the watch at the postern: “It is for M. Darzac, who must be at Castelar
at four o’clock in the morning to see the tournament in the Alps.”’
Mme. Darzac said also: ‘If you meet M. Sainclair, bring him to me, but
if you meet M. Rouletabille, say nothing to him and do nothing that
may attract his attention.’ Ah, Monsieur! Madame did not let me go out
until the window of your room was closed and your light extinguished!
And, then, we were not entirely certain in regard to the body which we
believed to be dead, before it sighed once more--and, my God! what a
sigh! The rest, Monsieur, you saw for yourself and now you know as much
as I. God help us!”
When Bernier had finished relating this incredible story, Rouletabille
put his hand on his arm, thanking him most earnestly for his great
devotion to his master and mistress, and begged him to use the utmost
discretion. The young reporter entreated the old servant to pardon his
roughness and ordered him to say nothing to Mme. Darzac of anything
that had passed between them. Bernier extended his hand in token of
fidelity, but Rouletabille drew back:
“No--I can’t, Bernier! You are covered with blood.”
Bernier left us to look for the Lady in Black.
“Well!” I said when we were alone. “Larsan is dead!”
“Yes,” answered Rouletabille. “I fear so!”
“You fear so! Why, in Heaven’s name?”
“Because,” he answered in a strange tone, which I could scarcely
recognize as his. “Because the death of Larsan, who is carried out dead
from a place which he never entered dead or alive, terrifies me more
than his life itself!”