THE WINE CELLAR
"There smiles no Paradise on Earth so fair
But guilt will raise avenging phantoms there."
F. Hemans.
If there was one thing in the world that the General prided himself on
it was his wine cellar. It was a long, cool cave blasted out of the
solid rock, and extended the whole length of the garden. On each side
were rows upon rows of shelves, on which whole regiments of bottles
lay on their sides like batteries of guns ready to be discharged.
Champagnes from Rheims, Tokay from Hungary, choice vintages from the
Rhine and Moselle lay in dozens, ornamented with their red, blue and
yellow labels. Rich wines from Portugal, Greece, Madeira, and the Cape
might be seen with their noses half hidden in sawdust, while whole
companies of Mumm, Perrier-Jouet, Spumante d'Asti, and sparkling Hock
could be distinguished by their wire and gold and silver foil pressed
round their bulging corks. On each side was a row of casks filled with
the red wines of France and Italy.
The cellar was quite dark save for a gleam of reflected daylight which
issued through a ventilating grating near the ceiling. On the afternoon
following their previous interview, father and son again met in the
General's study to discuss further their plan of campaign in their
endeavour to get the hated Delapine out of their path.
"By the way," said the General, "I don't suppose you'll have any
objection to joining me in a glass of wine? Thoughts and words often
flow more freely, and ideas spring more quickly under the gentle
influence.
"Thank you, sir, nothing would please me better."
"Charles," said the General, as the butler appeared in answer to the
bell, "go down to the cellar and bring a bottle of '89 Berncastler
Doktor, and please be quick."
Charles bowed and left the room. After waiting a while the General
pulled out his watch and growled impatiently.
"Confound that fellow, I wonder what he is up to," he shouted, after
waiting in vain for a quarter of an hour, and going to the bell he
tugged the cord violently. "Does he suppose that I, a General of the
French army, am to be kept waiting by a mere servant?"
At this moment his valet, a tall, military-looking man named Robert,
entered the room and saluted.
"Robert," he thundered, "what the devil does this mean? Mille Tonneres!
what is that fellow Charles doing? I sent him down for a bottle of wine
nearly half-an-hour ago. Go and find him at once. Sac--r--re Bleu! This
is mutiny," he yelled.
Robert saluted and backed out.
Presently he returned with the cook supporting Charles, who was
trembling from head to foot.
"Nom de Dieu! What on earth does this mean?" said the General
astonished.
"If you please, mon Général," said the valet, saluting with his
disengaged hand, "we found him lying on his face in the cellar, moaning
piteously, and covering his face with his hands."
"Did he fall down the steps then?"
"No, sir, oh no, sir," said the butler in a piteous tone of voice, and
trembling more than ever. "I got inside the cellar all right, and was
in the act of lighting a candle to choose your bottle, when I saw a
tall man staring at me with the most piercing eyes I ever saw."
"A man, did you say? I suppose it was a common thief coming to steal my
wines, eh? You idiot, why didn't you attack him, or at least run back
and lock the door after you, and then come and call me? I would soon
have settled him."
"Oh, mon Général, I was too frightened. I shouted out, but he did not
move and stood staring at me with his terrible eyes all the time, and
then I swooned away."
"How did he get in?" said the General, unmoved by his excited cries.
"Did he pick the lock, or had you forgotten to shut the door when you
went the time before?"
"Oh, no, mon Général, that would be impossible, as the door shuts by
itself with a spring lock. I found the door locked as usual when I
arrived there, and I opened the door myself with the key which I always
carry about with me."
"Have you ever lent the key to anybody?"
"Never, mon Général, never in my life."
"Then he must have picked the lock."
"That would be no easy task, sir. The lock, as you are aware, is a very
complicated one, and of the most approved pattern. If you remember, the
maker guaranteed it burglar-proof."
"How was the fellow dressed?"
"He had on a black coat with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour, a
white shirt front, and a black cravat. I also noticed he had a short,
black, pointed beard, an 'Empereur moustache,' and dark curly hair."
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the General. "The red ribbon of a Chevalier of
the Legion of Honour, eh? A common thief is not usually decorated in
that way. That looks like Delapine from your description. But what the
deuce did that fellow want in my cellar? By the way, did you shut the
door when you left?"
"Pardon me for speaking, mon Général, but I did it for him," interposed
Robert, "as Charles was incapable of doing anything."
"I suppose it is no use my going to look for him," mused the General,
"if he got in, he should have no difficulty in getting out again.
Still, perhaps I had better go and see what has happened. Let the
butler go to the library and wait there for me, and you, Robert, go and
bring my revolver."
"I think, father," interrupted Pierre, "we had better go to the cellar
at once, and see whether anything has been stolen. If anything is
missing we have a chance of having the thief arrested and taken to the
Gendarmerie, and if it should prove to be Delapine, then hurrah for
Renée, eh, mon père?"
"I shall have him arrested in any case," said the General. "But," he
added as Robert returned with the revolver, "let us go down to the
cellar."
He then poured out a full measure of cognac, and was in the act of
swallowing it when he noticed Pierre taking the revolver from the valet.
"No, I will take charge of that," said the General.
"Oh, father, let me have it. I want so much to have a shot at him."
"What are you thinking of, my son? If you shoot the intruder it's
murder, but if I, a General in the army, shoot him, why, it's nothing.
Allons, allons, en avant," he shouted, looking very fierce as he led
the way to the cellar with revolver cocked, followed closely by Pierre
and Robert, the latter carrying a candle.
Arrived at the cellar, the General opened the door cautiously and
looked about, but saw nothing.
Suddenly Pierre slipped and bumped against Robert in the semi-darkness,
knocking the candle out of the valet's hand, and leaving them without a
light.
Presently as their eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, the
General thought he saw someone standing a few paces off, and sure
enough, the form slowly assumed the features of Delapine.
"Halt!" shouted the General, "If you move I fire--" and he covered the
dim figure with his revolver. "What are you doing here?" he thundered.
The spectre stretched out its hand and pointed at Pierre. A cold
shudder went through Pierre's frame and his knees shook, but the
General, doubly fortified by the glass of cognac and the revolver, felt
courageous enough for anything.
"Down on your knees, and hold your hands up, or I fire," yelled Duval
in a terrific outburst of passion. "Do you hear me? I am going to pull
the trigger," he continued as Delapine showed no signs of obeying.
In their excitement both the General and his son imagined they heard
Delapine speaking.
"It is for you to fall on your knees, not for me," the spectre of the
professor seemed to say very calmly, and then appeared to add by signs
"Fire if you like, but I warn you of the consequences."
The spectre stepped forward to within a few feet of the General. The
General's blood was up, he pulled the trigger, and bang went the pistol
as he fired point-blank at the professor's heart.
On hearing the shot the chef came running into the cellar, and found
his master lying on the ground unconscious, with Pierre and the valet
bending over him. Duval looked ghastly pale, while his arm lay helpless
at his side, and a small stream of blood began to soak through his
clothes.
"Lift my father, you two," ordered Pierre, as he turned to look for the
professor.
Delapine's spectre was nowhere to be seen.
The two servants carried the General to his room and laid him on his
bed, while Pierre drove over at full speed to Passy for Dr. Villebois.
Rushing into the vestibule he enquired breathlessly:
"Is the doctor at home? Tell him I must see him at once. It's urgent."
"Hullo, Pierre," said Villebois, coming forward as he heard the
agitated voice. "What is the matter?"
"Oh, doctor, please come at once. My father shot Delapine a little less
than half an hour ago, and the professor rounded on him and nearly
killed him. Don't lose a minute if you want to save my father's life."
"What on earth are you talking about?" enquired Villebois in surprise.
"Have you lost your senses? Why, man, Delapine has been here during the
whole evening."
"Do you mean to tell me that Delapine has been here during the whole of
the last hour?" asked Pierre, pinching himself to make sure that he was
not dreaming.
"Certainly. He went to lie down a little more than an hour ago, saying
he felt tired, and I was in the room myself when he woke up. I remember
the time perfectly. You must have been dreaming, my boy. Come in and
have a liqueur, it will do you good."
"Thanks. I really feel the need of something to pick me up after all I
have gone through. But meanwhile tell the coachman to be ready as we
must lose no time. I am very far from being mad, you have only to see
father to be convinced of the truth of what I have told you."
As Pierre was passing through the hall a minute later, he caught sight
of Delapine, and ran up to him.
"Well," said Delapine, "what brings you here in such a state of
excitement?"
"Excuse me," said Pierre, "but where were you half an hour ago?"
"Why, here of course. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing; but I thought I saw you in my father's wine-cellar."
"In your father's wine-cellar? What on earth gave you that idea?" and
the professor's eyes twinkled with mischief. "And pray, what was I
doing there?"
"You know well enough," said Pierre, but a glance at the calm face of
the professor made him doubtful. He looked scared and began to suspect
that he had been under an optical illusion, or else a hallucination of
some kind.
"I trust," said Delapine, "that you will take my words of warning to
heart which I gave you in the cellar, and please tell your father with
my compliments not to go shooting people who have done him no harm,
as the bullet sometimes has the curious habit of turning round and
striking the firer instead. But you must please excuse me now as I have
to prepare my lecture for to-morrow at the Sorbonne. Won't you like
to come and hear it? It commences at eleven sharp. No? Well then, au
revoir," he said, as he entered his room and shut the door.
"He must be the very devil himself," cried Pierre. "Did you hear what
he said, doctor?"
"I did. I was standing behind you all the time, as I came here to tell
you that the carriage is ready."
"Well, how in the name of heaven could he know all this? He must have
been in the cellar all the time, and yet you say he was here."
"I have already told you so," said Villebois, "Do you doubt my word?"
"Well, I don't know what to think."
"No more do I--of you, sir!" replied Villebois, becoming nettled at his
reply.
The doctor and Pierre drove rapidly to the General's house, and on
going to his room they found him lying on his bed groaning, and in
a state of semi-consciousness. Blood had been slowly trickling down
his right arm, and had formed a little pool on the ground. Ripping up
his shirt with a pair of scissors, Villebois noticed that a bullet
had passed through the fleshy part of his arm. It had struck the bone
at an angle, and ricochetted off, missing the brachial artery by a
hairsbreadth, and had passed out again near the shoulder.
After first disinfecting the wound, Dr. Villebois dressed it, and
fixing the arm in a splint, ordered a hospital nurse to be sent for
immediately, and gave strict orders that the patient was not to be
disturbed.
"Is it very serious?" said Pierre.
"Not very, fortunately, but the median nerve is completely divided."
"How do you know that?"
"For two very simple reasons. First, the probe showed me that the nerve
lay right in the track of the bullet, and in the second place his arm
is paralysed."
"Will he ever get the use of it again?"
"There is no reason why he should not, if we can manage to sew the ends
of the nerve together. I have good hopes that I shall succeed in doing
so, but sometimes the operation proves unsuccessful."
"Well, anyhow, I shall go at once to the police and have him arrested
for attempting to murder my father."
"You silly boy, how can you? Delapine can bring half a dozen witnesses
to prove that he was in my house when the shot was fired. Besides, he
had no revolver."
Pierre put on a puzzled look, and scratched his head as if to awaken
his thoughts, "I don't know what to make of it."
"No more do I. It is very mysterious," said Villebois.