STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES
Monsieur de Pepicot spent so many minutes among the contents of his
travelling bag, that he was not in bed as soon as I. But he was by far
the sooner asleep, as his loud snoring testified. To that music ran my
thoughts of the beautiful young Countess and her unhappy situation, till
at last they passed into dreams. In the midst of the night I woke, and
listened for my neighbour's snoring. But it had ceased. Then I strained
my ears to catch the sound of his breathing, but none came. Wondering at
this, I rose and went over toward his bed. There was just light enough
by the window to see that it was empty.
I was still in the midst of my surprise, when the door opened with a
very slight creak, and in walked a slim figure so silently that I knew
it was without shoes.
"Is that you, Monsieur de Pepicot?" I asked.
"H'sh," he replied in a whisper, closing the door carefully. "Don't
disturb the slumbers of the household. You are very wakeful."
"No more so than you are, it seems," I said.
"That is true. I often suffer from sleeplessness, and I find a walk is
the thing to put me right."
"You were wise to take a light with you on your walk," I observed, for
he now produced a small lantern from under his loose-fitting doublet,
where it had been entirely concealed.
"Yes; one might hurt one's toes in these dark passages," he answered,
and placidly drew some papers from his breast pocket, folded them
carefully by the lantern's light, and then as carefully replaced them.
"I trust you made some progress in your affair here during the
afternoon."
"Yes. But you were kept busy with the Count."
"Oh, I don't complain. I was about to say that if you preferred to leave
the house to-night, no doubt I could manage it for you."
"Why should I prefer to leave to-night?"
"Oh, merely because this Count may be a dangerous man to have much to do
with. I know nothing of your affairs, and of course you have no interest
in mine. The Count will understand that, no doubt, and will not hold you
responsible for anything I may do, if you choose to stay here longer."
"Well, I must stay here longer, in any case."
"Then there is no more to be said," answered the long-nosed man,
extinguishing his lantern, which he wrapped up and put into his
portmanteau. He then lay down upon his bed, without undressing.
I returned to my own couch and was soon asleep.
When I woke again, it was daylight. Monsieur de Pepicot and his
portmanteau were gone. It occurred to me now, as I washed and dressed,
that when he spoke of my departing by night he intended to make just
such an unceremonious exit himself. In that case, I inferred, he had
thought it only fair, as I had helped him to get into the chateau, that
he should offer to help me to get out, for he had made no secret of his
fears that we might find opposition to our doing so. But, if he had
indeed fled, how had he contrived to get out in the middle of the night?
As for his purpose in getting in, he must have accomplished that while
on his midnight perambulations.
I went downstairs, but he was not in the hall, nor on the terrace nor in
the court-yard. It was a fine morning, and I was for walking about. At
one side of the court-yard the wall was pierced by a narrow gateway,
which took me into a second court-yard, of which one of the further
angles was filled by a quadrant of the great tower that rose toward
heaven from a corner of the main chateau. There was a small door from
this court-yard to the tower. This tower, for its bigness and height,
took my eyes the first moment, but the next they were attracted by the
living figures in the court-yard. These were Captain Ferragant and a
pack of great hounds which he was marshalling before him, throwing a
piece of meat now to one, now to another, calling out by name which
animal was to catch. He indeed managed to keep them in some sort of
order and from closing around him, and though they all barked and leaped
at each throw, yet only the one whose name was called would dare
actually to close jaws upon the titbit. This went on for some time,
until at last one huge brute, leaping higher, seized the meat intended
for another.
The red Captain swore a fierce oath, and, grasping a whip, called the
interloping dog to come to him. The animal slunk back. The Captain
advanced among the pack, still calling the hound in the most threatening
voice. But the hound slunk further, growling and showing his teeth. The
Captain sprang forward and brought down his whip. The dog, mutinous,
made a snap at the Captain. The latter, now deeply enraged, threw aside
the whip, caught the animal by the neck, lifted it high, and, with a
swift contraction of his fingers, caused its eyes and tongue to protrude
and its body to writhe and hang powerless. He then flung the dead
creature to a corner of the yard, and looked at me with a smile half
vaunting, half amused, as if to say, "That is how I can treat those who
thwart my will," and to ridicule my wonder at his fury and strength.
I turned with a look of pity toward the victim of his anger. At that
moment the Count de Lavardin entered the court-yard, and his glance
followed mine. Having seen what I saw, he looked protestingly at the
Captain.
"The brute was rebellious," said Ferragant.
"But one doesn't run across such dogs every day," complained the Count.
"The rarest dog shall not defy me," was the cool answer.
"That's all very well, if it had been your own dog," said the Count,
still peevish.
"Oh, as to that, we are quits now. Your dog to-day pays for my man you
killed last week."
"Pish, it's easy enough to find rascals like that by the score. Not so,
dogs like this. Well, talking won't make him live again--Good morning,
Monsieur. Where is your comrade, Monsieur de Pepicot?"
I could only answer that on waking I had been disappointed of seeing
either Monsieur de Pepicot or his baggage. "Nor have I beheld him since,
though I have been looking about."
"That is very strange,--that he should take his baggage from the room,"
said the Count, exchanging a look of surprise with the Captain. He then
called two servants and gave them orders quietly, which must have been
to search the house and grounds for Monsieur de Pepicot. As we returned
to the hall, the Count questioned me, watching me sharply the while. I
was perfectly safe in telling the literal truth, though not all of it:
how Monsieur de Pepicot was a stranger to me, how I had never spoken to
him before yesterday, how I knew nothing of his business, and so forth.
Of course I said nothing of his midnight walk or of having conversed
with him at all after going to bed. The Count's mystification and
annoyance were manifest, the more so when, after some time, the servants
returned to say that the missing man could not be found. When he had
heard their report, the Count was very angry.
"Name of the devil, then, how did he get out? There is treachery
somewhere, and somebody shall pay for it," he screeched, and then
despatched a man to the cabaret to see if Monsieur de Pepicot had taken
his horse away. The man came back saying the horse was gone, but nobody
had seen the owner take it.
"It is certainly odd that the gentleman should depart secretly like
that, when he might have waited for day and gone civilly," said I, to
evince my simplicity.
"You are right, very right," said the Count. "Well, at least you remain
to play a game of chess with me. What I am thinking is, the man must
have had some private reason for obtaining entrance to my house."
"Possibly, Monsieur," I replied, bearing the searching gaze of both the
Count and the Captain well enough.
"In that case, he made a tool of you," added the Count, still intent on
my expression.
"That would be the inference," said I.
"Well, we must satisfy ourselves as to how he took his departure, if we
cannot guess why. Make yourself master of the house, Monsieur. We shall
have our game nevertheless."
And he went off with the Captain, to examine the places of exit from the
chateau and the men who were responsible for their security. One could
see that Monsieur de Pepicot's disappearance was as disturbing to the
Count as it was puzzling to me.
I wandered out to the terrace and paced the walk along the house. My
eyes turned toward that window in the west wing which I knew to belong
to the apartments of the Countess. I turned along the wing, and strolled
under that window, thinking Madame or Mathilde might make an appearance
at it. I kept moving to and fro within easy earshot of it, sometimes
glancing up at the half-open casement. This was the clay on which the
poor lady's fate was to be determined by her husband and lord. I
wondered what sort of scene was arranged for the event, whether it would
have the form of trial and judgment, when and where it would occur, and
if I should be admitted to it. Probably I should not, and therefore I
would best speak to the Count regarding Monsieur de Merri before. The
thing was, to find a pretext for broaching the matter without betraying
that I had talked with the Countess. I had thought all this over during
the night, a hundred times, but now I thought it over again; and, in
vague search for some hint or guidance, I looked often up to the window,
as I have said.
Presently I heard a single sharp, low syllable of laughter, which drew
my glance to the door by which I had come out to the terrace. There
stood the red Captain, his eyes upon me. When he saw that I noticed him,
he came toward me, whereupon I, with pretended carelessness, went to
meet him half way.
"You seem to find it very interesting, that window," said he, in a low
voice. "To me it looks like any of the others." And he ran his glance
ironically along the whole range.
"I thought you had gone with the Count to learn how Monsieur de Pepicot
got away," said I, guessing that he had come back to watch me, doubtless
considering that, after the evident duplicity of one guest, the other
might require some looking after.
"And so you thought yourself free to post yourself over there and make
eyes at that window?" said the Captain with a smile that half jeered at
me, half threatened me with annihilation.
"I do not quite understand your little jest," said I, boldly enough.
"You may find it one of those jests in which the laugh is only on one
side, and that side not yours, young gentleman. Your friend with the
long nose, it appears, had his secret motives for paying a visit to this
chateau. We smelt some such thing when the letter came asking for a set
of chessmen, and so the Count admitted you, thinking you just as safe
inside the chateau as outside. It was not the intention to let you out
again in too great haste."
"In that case," I put in, feigning to treat the matter gaily, "Monsieur
de Pepicot was wise in leaving as he did."
"I was about to say that if Monsieur de Pepicot had his secret purposes,
it is but fair to suppose you may have yours. If it turns out to be so,
and if your object has anything to do with what you may imagine is
behind that window,--why, then, I warn you in time it would be much
better for you to have been that dog which opposed me a while ago,--very
much better, my pert young gentleman, I assure you."
He turned and walked into the house, leaving me without any fit answer
on my tongue, or indeed in my mind either.
It appeared to me that the sooner I had my explanation with the Count,
the better for both the Countess and myself. So I returned into the
hall, which the Captain was leaving by the court-yard door, and waited
for the Count's reappearance. When he did come, it was clear from his
face that the manner of Monsieur de Pepicot's escape--for escape it must
now be called--was still a mystery. It was plain, too, when his eyes
alighted on me, that he had heard from the Captain, who followed him, of
my conduct beneath the window. As he came toward me, he scowled and
looked very wicked and crafty. Before he could speak, I said:
"Monsieur, there is something I wish to tell you, if you will allow me
to speak to you alone."
"Regarding Monsieur de Pepicot?"
"No; regarding myself and the reason of my coming to Lavardin."
"That is interesting. Let us hear."
"It is for you alone."
"Oh, to be sure. Captain Ferragant, if you will excuse me,--"
The Captain, with a shrug, swaggered off to the furthest corner of the
hall.
"You have been acquainted," I began, "with a certain Monsieur de Merri."
The Count's face seemed to jump. I had certainly caught his attention.
But his speech was perfectly controlled as he said:
"Yes. And what of him?"
"He had the misfortune to be killed in a sudden duel four days ago at La
Flèche."
He was plainly startled; but, after a moment's silence, he only said,
"You astonish me," and waited for me to continue.
"I feared I should," said I, "for it turned out, after the duel, that
Monsieur de Merri was on his way to see you, upon some matter of great
urgency."
"On his way to see me! How do you know that?"
I thought it best to tell as much truth as possible.
"I learned from his servant that he was bound in great haste for
Montoire. Coming to Montoire, I inquired, and was informed that his only
tie in this neighbourhood was his acquaintance with you. Therefore it
must have been you he was coming to see, and his haste implied the
urgency of his reasons, whatever they may have been. Thinking you might
be depending upon his arrival, I resolved to tell you of his death."
"It is a little odd that you should put yourself out to do that."
"It might be, if I were not responsible for his failure to come to you."
"Oh, then it was you who killed him?"
"Yes; and thought it only the proper act of a gentleman to carry the
news to the person who may have expected him."
"H'm. No doubt. But why did you not come directly and tell me?"
"I heard you made yourself entirely inaccessible to strangers. So when
Monsieur de Pepicot spoke of asking you to lend us chessmen, I thought
it might lead to some breaking down of your reserve,--as it did."
"But why did you wait a day before telling me?"
"I hoped that chance might enable me to see you alone. But you were so
deeply engrossed in your chess. And I hesitated lest you might think
yourself bound, as Monsieur de Merri's friend, to deliver me up for
having violated the edict."
These were certainly sufficient reasons, though, as you know, I had not
thought of telling him of Monsieur de Merri till after I had heard the
Countess's story, and therefore they were not the true answer to his
question. But I no longer found safe standing on the ground of truth,
and so fell back upon the soil of invention, uncertain as it was. The
Count looked as far into me as he could, and then called the Captain,
who came without haste to the great fireplace where we were. Without any
explanation to me, or other preface, the Count repeated my disclosure to
his friend, all the time in the manner of one submitting a story to the
hearer's judgment as to its truth.
The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked at me scornfully. "It is
a fine, credible tale indeed," said he.
"If you will take the trouble to send to La Flèche, you will find that
Monsieur de Merri is really slain," said I warmly.
"Oh, no doubt," said the Captain. "But before he was slain, he had time
to take you into his confidence regarding certain things."
"Not at all. I had never seen him before that evening. It was from his
servant, after he was dead, that I learned he was coming to Montoire. If
you can find that servant, at La Flèche or Sablé, he will tell you so."
"How could he have known he was wanted here?" asked the Captain of the
Count. "Your offer of a messenger was disdained."
"I knew she would contrive to send after him on her own account, if I
gave her enough liberty," returned the Count.
"It argues skill in such contrivances," said the Captain, with a
significant look.
The Count frowned in a sickly way, but not at the speaker. "Well, in any
case, the liberty will now be cut off," he said harshly. But after a
moment, he added: "And yet, if this gentleman does not lie, Monsieur de
Merri was coming here fast enough."
"To brazen it out, perhaps. There is no limit to the self-confidence of
youth. As for this gentleman, how does his story account for the
interest he takes in a certain window that looks upon the terrace?"
The Count's face darkened again, as he turned menacingly toward me.
"Yes, by heaven, I had forgotten that."
"To be frank," said I awkwardly, after a moment's hesitation, "I had
seen a pretty face there--I mean that of Mathilde." I added the last
words in haste, for the Count's look had shown for an instant that he
took me to mean that of the Countess.
"Ah! that of Mathilde," he repeated, subsiding.
"And how did you know her name was Mathilde?" asked the Captain, in a
cold, derisive tone. The Count's eyes waited for my answer.
"I--exchanged a few words with her yesterday afternoon," I replied.
"In regard to what subject?" asked the Count quickly, making a veritable
grimace in the acuteness of his suspicion.
"I paid her a compliment or two, such as one bestows upon a pretty
girl."
"He is evading," said the Captain. "It is a question whether he did not
presume to offer his compliments higher. One does not say to a pretty
girl, 'What is your name?' nor does the girl reply 'Mathilde,' as if she
were a child. It is more likely he heard the girl's name from other
lips. And was he not found spying about the west gallery by Ambroise? My
dear Count, I fear you kept your nose too close to the chessboard
yesterday afternoon. As for me, if I had known as much as I know now, I
should have been more watchful."
The Count's face had turned sicklier and uglier as his friend had
continued to speak. He looked now as if he would like to pounce upon me
with his claw-like fingers. He was evidently between the desire to
question me outright as to whether anything had passed between me and
the Countess, and the dislike of showing openly to a stranger any
suspicion of his wife. The latter feeling prevailed, and he regained
control of himself. I breathed a little easier. But just then it
occurred to me that the Count would surely tax the Countess with having
seen me; that she would acknowledge our meeting; and that her own
account of it would be disbelieved, and the worst imaginings added, for
the very reason of my maintaining secrecy about it. I therefore took a
sudden course.
"Monsieur," I said. "I will be perfectly open with you. From some casual
words of Monsieur de Merri at the inn at La Flèche, before we
quarrelled, I was led to believe that the cause of his journey had
something to do with the welfare of a lady. Afterwards when I heard
whither he was bound so hastily, I remembered that. On learning at
Montoire that this chateau was the only house in which he was known
hereabouts, I assumed that the lady must be in this chateau. It turned
out that the only lady here was the Countess herself. Do you wonder,
then, at my endeavouring to speak to the Countess first upon the matter
of Monsieur de Merri's death?"
"Pray go on," said the Count, who was taking short and rapid breaths.
"It is true I saw the maid at that window, but I saw also the
impossibility of communicating properly with Madame by that channel. So,
in spite of your sentinel's vigilance, I crossed the balustrade to the
garden, and there had the honour of presenting myself to the Countess. I
acquainted her with the fate of Monsieur de Merri. Her demeanour causing
me to believe that this put her into peril on her own account, I so
pushed my inquiries and offers of service that she told me what that
peril was. She said she was the victim of a slander which only Monsieur
de Merri's presence here could clear her of. We were soon interrupted
and she left me. I did not see her again, but it appeared to me that, as
Monsieur de Merri's presence here would have stood in her favour, the
news of his intention to be here must also stand that way. And now,
Monsieur, you have the whole story."
It seemed to have weight with him: but, alas, he looked to the Captain
for an opinion. That gentleman, regarding me with a smile of ironical
admiration, uttered a monosyllabic laugh in his throat, and said:
"There is one thing we can believe, at least. We know Monsieur de
Merri's habit of disclosing his affairs with ladies to strangers at
inns."
The Count's face grew dark again.
"But we can never be sure how much may have passed between Monsieur de
Merri and this gentleman on the subject before they quarrelled, or what
was the real motive that brought him here."
"My God!" I cried; "what gentleman could require a stronger motive than
I have shown? Having prevented Monsieur de Merri from coming here upon
so urgent a matter, what else could I do in honour but come in his
place?"
"'In his place'--yes, perhaps, that is well said," retorted the Captain,
with his evil smile.
The Count, whose judgment seemed entirely under the dominion of his
friend, looked at me again as if he would destroy me. After a moment, he
took a turn across the hall and back, and then said to me:
"Well, in the midst of all this deceit and uncertainty one thing is
clear. You know too much of our private affairs here to be permitted to
go where you will, for the present. I must ask you, therefore, to keep
to your chamber awhile. Your wants will be provided for there. I will
show you the way myself, on this occasion." He motioned toward the
stairway, and the Captain stood ready to accompany him.
"That amounts to making me a prisoner, Monsieur," said I.
"We shall not dispute over words," replied the Count. "By your own
confession, you are liable to the law for killing Monsieur de Merri."
"I have reason to expect the King's pardon for that. Measures have
already been taken."
"Pray don't keep me waiting, Monsieur. I should not like to be compelled
to have my men lay hands on you." At the same time his smile looked as
if he would like that very much.
There was nothing to do, for the moment, but yield. The Captain was
watching to see where my hand moved, and I know not how many armed men
were in the court-yard, besides the servants waiting at the other end of
the hall. So I obeyed the Count's gesture, merely saying:
"You will find I am not a person who will go unavenged in case of
indignity."
The Count laughed, in his dry, sharp manner, and walked by my side. The
Captain followed. As soon as I was in my room, the Count called a
servant, who went away and presently returned with a key. The Count and
his friend then left me, and locked the door on the outside. As I sat
down on my bed, I was glad I had offered no useless resistance, for, as
it was, I had not been deprived of my weapons.
To make a short matter here of what seemed a very long one at the time,
I was kept locked in my room all that day, with two armed men outside my
door, as I guessed first from hearing them, and certified afterwards by
seeing them when a servant brought my food. What made the confinement
and inaction the more trying was my knowledge that this was the day on
which the Countess was to plead her innocence. I kept wondering through
the tedious hours how matters were going with her, and I often strained
my ears in the poor hope of discovering by them what might be going on
in the chateau. But I never heard anything but the rough speech and
movements of the men outside my door, and now and then the voice of some
attendant on the terrace below my window. I could look diagonally across
the terrace to the window where I had seen Mathilde, but not once during
all that day did I behold a sign of life there. The night came without
bringing me any hint as to how the Countess had fared. I could not sleep
till late.
When I woke, early in the morning, I noticed that my door was slightly
ajar. Looking out, I found the corridor empty. I took this to mean that
I was not to remain a prisoner, and so it proved. Hastily dressing and
going downstairs, though many servants were about, I encountered no
hindrance. I passed out to the terrace. To my surprise, nobody was on
guard at the steps; so I went boldly down to the garden. My heart beat
with a vague hope of meeting the Countess, though it was scarce late
enough in the day to expect her to be out. I must confess it was not
alone her being an oppressed lady whom I had engaged myself to aid, that
made me look so eagerly down all the walks and peer so keenly into all
the arbours; I must confess it was largely the impression her beauty and
tenderness had left upon me. But I was disappointed: I explored the
whole garden in vain.
Anything to be near her, I thought. So I went and hung about the door
between the garden and her apartments. But it remained closed and
enigmatic. I had another idea, and, returning into the house, took my
way unchecked to the gallery of pictures, wondering at the freedom of
passage now allowed me, and at the same time resolved to make the most
of it. I could scarce believe my eyes when I saw the door ajar which led
to Madame's suite. I went and tapped lightly on it, but got no answer.
It opened to a large drawing-room, well furnished but without any
inhabitant. I crossed this room to the other side, which had two doors,
both open. One gave entrance to a sleeping-chamber, in a corner of which
was a prie-dieu, and which showed in a hundred details to be the bedroom
of a lady. But the bed was made up, and a smaller bed, in a recess,
which might be that of the maid, also had the appearance of not having
been used the previous night. I looked through the other doorway from
the drawing-room, and saw a stairway leading down to the garden door.
Had the Countess and Mathilde, then, gone into the garden at the time I
was in the act of coming to the gallery? No; for the garden door was
bolted on the inside. I went to one of the drawing-room windows looking
on the terrace, and made sure it was the window from which Mathilde had
first answered my call. And then it dawned upon me what the desertion of
these rooms meant, and why I was allowed to go where I would in the
house and garden. The Countess and her maid were no longer there. What
had become of them?