On arriving at the chateau, the alcalde ordered the door of the
Countess's chamber to be burst in--for it was still bolted inside. On
entering the apartment a picture of confusion was presented. Drawers
empty, others drawn out, but only half sacked of their contents.
All this did not indicate precisely that there had been any violence. A
voluntary but hurried departure on the part of the Countess might have
left just such traces as were discovered. The bed was still
undisturbed, as if she had not lain down upon it. This fact appeared to
indicate a foreknowledge, on the part of the lady, of what was to
happen--as if she had had the intention of going off, but had made no
preparation until the moment of departure. The furniture was all in its
place--the window curtains and those of the alcove had not been
disarranged, and no traces of a struggle were to be discerned within the
chamber, which contained many light fragile objects of furniture that
could not fail to have been destroyed by the slightest violence.
The fetid odour of an oil lamp filled the apartment despite the cold air
that came in through the open window. It was evident, therefore, that
this lamp had been left alight, and had continued to burn until the oil
had become exhausted.
It could not be a robbery either. A thousand articles of value, likely
enough to have tempted the cupidity of robbers, were left behind both on
the tables and in the drawers.
The conclusion then was that neither assassination nor burglary had
taken place.
Notwithstanding all these deceptive appearances, the old steward shook
his head doubtfully. The signs were sufficient to baffle his reason,
which was none of the strongest, but the faithful servant could not
bring himself to believe that his noble mistress would take flight in a
manner so extraordinary--his good sense revolted at the thought. In his
belief some crime had been committed, but how was it to be explained--
since the assassin had left no traces of his guilt? The devoted Don
Juan looked with a sad eye upon that desolate chamber--upon the dresses
of his beloved mistress scattered over the floor; upon the cradle of the
young Count, where he had so lately slept, rosy and smiling, under the
vigil of his mother.
Suddenly struck with an idea, the steward advanced towards the iron
balcony that fronted upon the sea--that where the window had been found
open. With inquiring eye he looked to the ground below, which was
neither more nor less than the beach of the sea itself. It was at no
great depth below; and he could easily have seen from the balcony any
traces that might have been there. But there were none. The tide had
been in and out again. No trace was left on the sand or pebbles that
had the slightest signification in regard to the mysterious event. The
wind sighed, the waves murmured as always; but amid the voices of nature
none raised itself to proclaim the guilty.
On the fair horizon only were descried the white sails of a ship,
gradually passing outwards and fading away into the azure of the sea.
While the old steward watched the disappearance of the ship with a sort
of dreamy regard, he sent up a silent prayer that his mistress might
still be safe. The others, with the exception of the alcalde and his
clerk, stood listening to the mournful howling of the wind against the
cliffs, which seemed alternately to weep and sigh as if lamenting the
sad event that had just transpired.
As regards the alcalde and his assistant, they were under the same
conviction as Don Juan--both believing that a crime had been committed--
though they did not care to avow their belief, for reasons known to
themselves. The absence of any striking evidence that might lead to the
discovery of the delinquents, but more especially the difficulty of
finding some interested individual able to pay the expenses of justice
(the principal object of criminal prosecutions in Spain), damped the
zeal of Don Ramon and the scribe. Both were satisfied to leave things
as they stood--the one contented with having gained the recompense so
much coveted--the other with the twelve years of rents which he felt
sure of gaining.
"_Valga me Dios_! my children," said the alcalde, turning toward the
witnesses, "I cannot explain what fancy the Countess may have had in
going out by the window--for the door of the chamber, bolted inside,
leaves no room to doubt that she went that way. Some woman's caprice,
perhaps, which justice has no business to meddle with."
"Perhaps it was to escape from giving the alcalde his receipt,"
suggested one of the bystanders to another, in an undertone of voice.
"But how, Don Juan," continued the magistrate, addressing himself to the
old steward, "how did you know of the Countess's disappearance, since
you could not get into the room?"
"That is simple enough," replied the old man. "At the hour in which the
chamber-maid is accustomed to present herself before the senora, she
knocked as usual at the door. No answer was given. She knocked louder,
and still received no answer. Growing anxious, she came to me to tell
me. I went to the door myself, first knocked and then called; and
receiving no reply, I ran round to the garden and got the ladder. This
I placed against the balcony, and mounted up in order to see through the
window. On reaching the window I found it open, and the chamber in the
condition you now see it."
When the steward had finished this declaration, Cagatinta whispered some
words in the ear of the alcalde; but the latter only replied by a shake
of the shoulders, and an expression of disdainful incredulity.
"Who knows?" answered the scribe in reply to this dumb show.
"It might be," muttered Don Ramon, "we shall see presently."
"I persist, gentlemen," continued the alcalde, "in my belief that the
Countess has gone out by the window; and however singular it may appear,
I believe the lady is free to her fancy to go out as she pleases--even
though it be by a window."
Cagatinta, and some others, complimented, with a laugh, this little bit
of magisterial facetiousness.
"But, senor alcalde," spoke out Don Juan, disgusted with this ill-timed
pleasantry, "a proof that there has been a forced entry into the chamber
is this broken glass of the window, of which you see some pieces still
lying on the balcony."
"This old fool," muttered the alcalde to himself, "is not going to let
me have any breakfast. By this time everything will be cold, and
Nicolasa--What do these bits of glass prove?" he continued, raising his
voice; "don't you think that the breeze which was blowing roughly last
night might have caused this? The window was hanging open, and the wind
clashing it violently against the frame, would readily cause the
breaking of a pane?"
"But why is it," answered Don Juan, "that the broken pane is precisely
the one adjacent to the fastening? It must have been knocked out to get
the window open."
"_Carramba_! Senor Don Juan de Dios!" cried the alcalde, in a peevish
tone--at the same time biting his gold-headed cane, the emblem of his
office--"Is it you or I who have here the right to ask questions?
_Carrai_! it appears to me that you make me cut a strange figure!"