going to market at Pompignat, as I do every Monday. I've a couple of calves
under the tilt; and they're just fit for the butcher. Good-day to you!"
The others walked on. Renine went up to the sergeant and gave him his name:
"I'm a friend of Mlle. Ermelin, of La Ronciere; and, as it's too early to
call on her yet, I shall be glad if you'll allow me to go round by the
manor with you. Mlle. Ermelin knows Madame de Gorne; and it will be a
satisfaction to me to relieve her mind, for there's nothing wrong at the
manor-house, I hope?"
"If there is," replied the sergeant, "we shall read all about it as plainly
as on a map, because of the snow."
He was a likable young man and seemed smart and intelligent. From the very
first he had shown great acuteness in observing the tracks which Mathias
had left behind him, the evening before, on returning home, tracks which
soon became confused with the footprints made in going and coming by the
farm-labourer and the woman. Meanwhile they came to the walls of a property
of which the locksmith readily opened the gate.
From here onward, a single trail appeared upon the spotless snow, that of
Mathias; and it was easy to perceive that the son must have shared largely
in the father's libations, as the line of footprints described sudden
curves which made it swerve right up to the trees of the avenue.
Two hundred yards farther stood the dilapidated two-storeyed building of
the Manoir-au-Puits. The principal door was open.
"Let's go in," said the sergeant.
And, the moment he had crossed the threshold, he muttered:
"Oho! Old de Gorne made a mistake in not coming. They've been fighting in
here."
The big room was in disorder. Two shattered chairs, the overturned table
and much broken glass and china bore witness to the violence of the
struggle. The tall clock, lying on the ground, had stopped at twenty past
eleven.
With the farm-girl showing them the way, they ran up to the first floor.
Neither Mathias nor his wife was there. But the door of their bedroom had
been broken down with a hammer which they discovered under the bed.
Renine and the sergeant went downstairs again. The living-room had a
passage communicating with the kitchen, which lay at the back of the house
and opened on a small yard fenced off from the orchard. At the end of this
enclosure was a well near which one was bound to pass.
Now, from the door of the kitchen to the well, the snow, which was not
very thick, had been pressed down to this side and that, as though a body
had been dragged over it. And all around the well were tangled traces of
trampling feet, showing that the struggle must have been resumed at this
spot. The sergeant again discovered Mathias' footprints, together with
others which were shapelier and lighter.
These latter went straight into the orchard, by themselves. And, thirty
yards on, near the footprints, a revolver was picked up and recognized by
one of the peasants as resembling that which Jerome Vignal had produced in
the inn two days before.
The sergeant examined the cylinder. Three of the seven bullets had been
fired.
And so the tragedy was little by little reconstructed in its main outlines;
and the sergeant, who had ordered everybody to stand aside and not to step
on the site of the footprints, came back to the well, leant over, put a few
questions to the farm-girl and, going up to Renine, whispered:
"It all seems fairly clear to me."
Renine took his arm:
"Let's speak out plainly, sergeant. I understand the business pretty
well, for, as I told you, I know Mlle. Ermelin, who is a friend of Jerome
Vignal's and also knows Madame de Gorne. Do you suppose ...?"
"I don't want to suppose anything. I simply declare that some one came
there last night...."
"By which way? The only tracks of a person coming towards the manor are
those of M. de Gorne."
"That's because the other person arrived before the snowfall, that is to
say, before nine o'clock."
"Then he must have hidden in a corner of the living-room and waited for the
return of M. de Gorne, who came after the snow?"
"Just so. As soon as Mathias came in, the man went for him. There was a
fight. Mathias made his escape through the kitchen. The man ran after him
to the well and fired three revolver-shots."
"And where's the body?"
"Down the well."
Renine protested:
"Oh, I say! Aren't you taking a lot for granted?"
"Why, sir, the snow's there, to tell the story; and the snow plainly says
that, after the struggle, after the three shots, one man alone walked
away and left the farm, one man only, and his footprints are not those
of Mathias de Gorne. Then where can Mathias de Gorne be?"
"But the well ... can be dragged?"
"No. The well is practically bottomless. It is known all over the district
and gives its name to the manor."
"So you really believe ...?"
"I repeat what I said. Before the snowfall, a single arrival, Mathias, and
a single departure, the stranger."
"And Madame de Gorne? Was she too killed and thrown down the well like her
husband?"
"No, carried off."
"Carried off?"
"Remember that her bedroom was broken down with a hammer."
"Come, come, sergeant! You yourself declare that there was only one
departure, the stranger's."
"Stoop down. Look at the man's footprints. See how they sink into the snow,
until they actually touch the ground. Those are the footprints of a man,
laden with a heavy burden. The stranger was carrying Madame de Gorne on his
shoulder."
"Then there's an outlet this way?"
"Yes, a little door of which Mathias de Gorne always had the key on him.
The man must have taken it from him."
"A way out into the open fields?"
"Yes, a road which joins the departmental highway three quarters of a mile
from here.... And do you know where?"
"Where?"
"At the corner of the chateau."
"Jerome Vignal's chateau?"
"By Jove, this is beginning to look serious! If the trail leads to the
chateau and stops there, we shall know where we stand."
The trail did continue to the chateau, as they were able to perceive after
following it across the undulating fields, on which the snow lay heaped in
places. The approach to the main gates had been swept, but they saw that
another trail, formed by the two wheels of a vehicle, was running in the
opposite direction to the village.
The sergeant rang the bell. The porter, who had also been sweeping the
drive, came to the gates, with a broom in his hand. In answer to a
question, the man said that M. Vignal had gone away that morning before
anyone else was up and that he himself had harnessed the horse to the trap.
"In that case," said Renine, when they had moved away, "all we have to do
is to follow the tracks of the wheels."
"That will be no use," said the sergeant. "They have taken the railway."
"At Pompignat station, where I came from? But they would have passed
through the village."
"They have gone just the other way, because it leads to the town, where the
express trains stop. The procurator-general has an office in the town. I'll
telephone; and, as there's no train before eleven o'clock, all that they
need do is to keep a watch at the station."
"I think you're doing the right thing, sergeant," said Renine, "and I
congratulate you on the way in which you have carried out your
investigation."
They parted. Renine went back to the inn in the village and sent a note to
Hortense Daniel by hand:
"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,
"I seemed to gather from your letter that, touched as always by
anything that concerns the heart, you were anxious to protect the
love-affair of Jerome and Natalie. Now there is every reason to
suppose that these two, without consulting their fair protectress,
have run away, after throwing Mathias de Gorne down a well.
"Forgive me for not coming to see you. The whole thing is extremely
obscure; and, if I were with you, I should not have the detachment
of mind which is needed to think the case over."
It was then half-past ten. Renine went for a walk into the country, with
his hands clasped behind his back and without vouchsafing a glance at the
exquisite spectacle of the white meadows. He came back for lunch, still
absorbed in his thoughts and indifferent to the talk of the customers of
the inn, who on all sides were discussing recent events.
He went up to his room and had been asleep some time when he was awakened
by a tapping at the door. He got up and opened it:
"Is it you?... Is it you?" he whispered.
Hortense and he stood gazing at each other for some seconds in silence,
holding each other's hands, as though nothing, no irrelevant thought and no
utterance, must be allowed to interfere with the joy of their meeting. Then
he asked:
"Was I right in coming?"
"Yes," she said, gently, "I expected you."
"Perhaps it would have been better if you had sent for me sooner, instead
of waiting.... Events did not wait, you see, and I don't quite know what's
to become of Jerome Vignal and Natalie de Gorne."
"What, haven't you heard?" she said, quickly. "They've been arrested. They
were going to travel by the express."
"Arrested? No." Renine objected. "People are not arrested like that. They
have to be questioned first."
"That's what's being done now. The authorities are making a search."
"Where?"
"At the chateau. And, as they are innocent.... For they are innocent,
aren't they? You don't admit that they are guilty, any more than I do?"
He replied:
"I admit nothing, I can admit nothing, my dear. Nevertheless, I am bound
to say that everything is against them ... except one fact, which is that
everything is too much against them. It is not normal for so many proofs to
be heaped up one on top of the other and for the man who commits a murder
to tell his story so frankly. Apart from this, there's nothing but mystery
and discrepancy."
"Well?"
"Well, I am greatly puzzled."
"But you have a plan?"
"None at all, so far. Ah, if I could see him, Jerome Vignal, and her,
Natalie de Gorne, and hear them and know what they are saying in their own
defence! But you can understand that I sha'n't be permitted either to ask
them any questions or to be present at their examination. Besides, it must
be finished by this time."
"It's finished at the chateau," she said, "but it's going to be continued
at the manor-house."
"Are they taking them to the manor-house?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes ... at least, judging by what was said to the chauffeur of one of the
procurator's two cars."
"Oh, in that case," exclaimed Renine, "the thing's done! The manor-house!
Why, we shall be in the front row of the stalls! We shall see and hear
everything; and, as a word, a tone of the voice, a quiver of the eyelids
will be enough to give me the tiny clue I need, we may entertain some hope.
Come along."
He took her by the direct route which he had followed that morning, leading
to the gate which the locksmith had opened. The gendarmes on duty at
the manor-house had made a passage through the snow, beside the line of
footprints and around the house. Chance enabled Renine and Hortense to
approach unseen and through a side-window to enter a corridor near a
back-staircase. A few steps up was a little chamber which received its
only light through a sort of bull's-eye, from the large room on the
ground-floor. Renine, during the morning visit, had noticed the bull's-eye,
which was covered on the inside with a piece of cloth. He removed the cloth
and cut out one of the panes.
A few minutes later, a sound of voices rose from the other side of the
house, no doubt near the well. The sound grew more distinct. A number of
people flocked into the house. Some of them went up stairs to the first
floor, while the sergeant arrived with a young man of whom Renine and
Hortense were able to distinguish only the tall figure:
"Jerome Vignal," said she.
"Yes," said Renine. "They are examining Madame de Gorne first, upstairs,
in her bedroom."
A quarter of an hour passed. Then the persons on the first floor came
downstairs and went in. They were the procurator's deputy, his clerk, a
commissary of police and two detectives.
Madame de Gorne was shown in and the deputy asked Jerome Vignal to step
forward.
Jerome Vignal's face was certainly that of the strong man whom Hortense had
depicted in her letter. He displayed no uneasiness, but rather decision and
a resolute will. Natalie, who was short and very slight, with a feverish
light in her eyes, nevertheless produced the same impression of quiet
confidence.
The deputy, who was examining the disordered furniture and the traces of
the struggle, invited her to sit down and said to Jerome:
"Monsieur, I have not asked you many questions so far. This is a summary
enquiry which I am conducting in your presence and which will be continued
later by the examining-magistrate; and I wished above all to explain to you
the very serious reasons for which I asked you to interrupt your journey
and to come back here with Madame de Gorne. You are now in a position to
refute the truly distressing charges that are hanging over you. I therefore
ask you to tell me the exact truth."
"Mr. Deputy," replied Jerome, "the charges in question trouble me very
little. The truth for which you are asking will defeat all the lies which
chance has accumulated against me. It is this."
He reflected for an instant and then, in clear, frank tones, said:
"I love Madame de Gorne. The first time I met her, I conceived the greatest
sympathy and admiration for her. But my affection has always been directed
by the sole thought of her happiness. I love her, but I respect her even
more. Madame de Gorne must have told you and I tell you again that she and
I exchanged our first few words last night."
He continued, in a lower voice:
"I respect her the more inasmuch as she is exceedingly unhappy. All the
world knows that every minute of her life was a martyrdom. Her husband
persecuted her with ferocious hatred and frantic jealousy. Ask the
servants. They will tell you of the long suffering of Natalie de Gorne, of
the blows which she received and the insults which she had to endure. I
tried to stop this torture by restoring to the rights of appeal which the
merest stranger may claim when unhappiness and injustice pass a certain
limit. I went three times to old de Gorne and begged him to interfere; but
I found in him an almost equal hatred towards his daughter-in-law, the
hatred which many people feel for anything beautiful and noble. At last
I resolved on direct action and last night I took a step with regard to
Mathias de Gorne which was ... a little unusual, I admit, but which seemed
likely to succeed, considering the man's character. I swear, Mr. Deputy,
that I had no other intention than to talk to Mathias de Gorne. Knowing
certain particulars of his life which enabled me to bring effective
pressure to bear upon him, I wished to make use of this advantage in order
to achieve my purpose. If things turned out differently, I am not wholly
to blame.... So I went there a little before nine o'clock. The servants, I
knew, were out. He opened the door himself. He was alone."
"Monsieur," said the deputy, interrupting him, "you are saying
something--as Madame de Gorne, for that matter, did just now--which is
manifestly opposed to the truth. Mathias de Gorne did not come home last
night until eleven o'clock. We have two definite proofs of this: his
father's evidence and the prints of his feet in the snow, which fell from
a quarter past nine o'clock to eleven."
"Mr. Deputy," Jerome Vignal declared, without heeding the bad effect which
his obstinacy was producing, "I am relating things as they were and not as
they may be interpreted. But to continue. That clock marked ten minutes to
nine when I entered this room. M. de Gorne, believing that he was about to
be attacked, had taken down his gun. I placed my revolver on the table, out
of reach of my hand, and sat down: 'I want to speak to you, monsieur,' I
said. 'Please listen to me.' He did not stir and did not utter a single
syllable. So I spoke. And straightway, crudely, without any previous
explanations which might have softened the bluntness of my proposal, I
spoke the few words which I had prepared beforehand: 'I have spent some
months, monsieur,' I said, 'in making careful enquiries into your financial
position. You have mortgaged every foot of your land. You have signed
bills which will shortly be falling due and which it will be absolutely
impossible for you to honour. You have nothing to hope for from your
father, whose own affairs are in a very bad condition. So you are ruined. I
have come to save you.'... He watched me, still without speaking, and sat
down, which I took to mean that my suggestion was not entirely displeasing.
Then I took a sheaf of bank-notes from my pocket, placed it before him
and continued: 'Here is sixty thousand francs, monsieur. I will buy the
Manoir-au-Puits, its lands and dependencies and take over the mortgages.
The sum named is exactly twice what they are worth.'... I saw his eyes
glittering. He asked my conditions. 'Only one,' I said, 'that you go to
America.'... Mr. Deputy, we sat discussing for two hours. It was not that
my offer roused his indignation--I should not have risked it if I had not
known with whom I was dealing--but he wanted more and haggled greedily,
though he refrained from mentioning the name of Madame de Gorne, to whom I
myself had not once alluded. We might have been two men engaged in a
dispute and seeking an agreement on common ground, whereas it was the
happiness and the whole destiny of a woman that were at stake. At last,
weary of the discussion, I accepted a compromise and we came to terms,
which I resolved to make definite then and there. Two letters were
exchanged between us: one in which he made the Manoir-au-Puits over to me
for the sum which I had paid him; and one, which he pocketed immediately,
by which I was to send him as much more in America on the day on which the
decree of divorce was pronounced.... So the affair was settled. I am sure
that at that moment he was accepting in good faith. He looked upon me less
as an enemy and a rival than as a man who was doing him a service. He even
went so far as to give me the key of the little door which opens on the
fields, so that I might go home by the short cut. Unfortunately, while I
was picking up my cap and greatcoat, I made the mistake of leaving on the
table the letter of sale which he had signed. In a moment, Mathias de Gorne
had seen the advantage which he could take of my slip: he could keep his
property, keep his wife ... and keep the money. Quick as lightning, he
tucked away the paper, hit me over the head with the butt-end of his gun,
threw the gun on the floor and seized me by the throat with both hands. He
had reckoned without his host. I was the stronger of the two; and after a
sharp but short struggle, I mastered him and tied him up with a cord which
I found lying in a corner ... Mr. Deputy, if my enemy's resolve was sudden,
mine was no less so. Since, when all was said, he had accepted the bargain,
I would force him to keep it, at least in so far as I was interested. A
very few steps brought me to the first floor ... I had not a doubt that
Madame de Gorne was there and had heard the sound of our discussion.
Switching on the light of my pocket-torch, I looked into three bedrooms.
The fourth was locked. I knocked at the door. There was no reply. But this
was one of the moments in which a man allows no obstacle to stand in his
way. I had seen a hammer in one of the rooms. I picked it up and smashed in
the door.... Yes, Natalie was lying there, on the floor, in a dead faint. I
took her in my arms, carried her downstairs and went through the kitchen.
On seeing the snow outside, I at once realized that my footprints would be
easily traced. But what did it matter? Was there any reason why I should
put Mathias de Gorne off the scent? Not at all. With the sixty thousand
francs in his possession, as well as the paper in which I undertook to pay
him a like sum on the day of his divorce, to say nothing of his house and
land, he would go away, leaving Natalie de Gorne to me. Nothing was changed
between us, except one thing: instead of awaiting his good pleasure, I
had at once seized the precious pledge which I coveted. What I feared,
therefore, was not so much any subsequent attack on the part of Mathias
de Gorne, but rather the indignant reproaches of his wife. What would she
say when she realized that she was a prisoner in my hands?... The reasons
why I escaped reproach Madame de Gorne has, I believe, had the frankness
to tell you. Love calls forth love. That night, in my house, broken by
emotion, she confessed her feeling for me. She loved me as I loved her.
Our destinies were henceforth mingled. She and I set out at five o'clock
this morning ... not foreseeing for an instant that we were amenable to
the law."
Jerome Vignal's story was finished. He had told it straight off the reel,
like a story learnt by heart and incapable of revision in any detail.
There was a brief pause, during which Hortense whispered:
"It all sounds quite possible and, in any case, very logical."
"There are the objections to come," said Renine. "Wait till you hear them.
They are very serious. There's one in particular...."
The deputy-procurator stated it at once:
"And what became of M. de Gorne in all this?"
"Mathias de Gorne?" asked Jerome.
"Yes. You have related, with an accent of great sincerity, a series of
facts which I am quite willing to admit. Unfortunately, you have forgotten
a point of the first importance: what became of Mathias de Gorne? You tied
him up here, in this room. Well, this morning he was gone."
"Of course, Mr. Deputy, Mathias de Gorne accepted the bargain in the end
and went away."
"By what road?"
"No doubt by the road that leads to his father's house."
"Where are his footprints? The expanse of snow is an impartial witness.
After your fight with him, we see you, on the snow, moving away. Why don't
we see him? He came and did not go away again. Where is he? There is not a
trace of him ... or rather...."
The deputy lowered his voice:
"Or rather, yes, there are some traces on the way to the well and around
the well ... traces which prove that the last struggle of all took place
there.... And after that there is nothing ... not a thing...."
Jerome shrugged his shoulders:
"You have already mentioned this, Mr. Deputy, and it implies a charge of
homicide against me. I have nothing to say to it."
"Have you anything to say to the fact that your revolver was picked up
within fifteen yards of the well?"
"No."
"Or to the strange coincidence between the three shots heard in the night
and the three cartridges missing from your revolver?"
"No, Mr. Deputy, there was not, as you believe, a last struggle by the
well, because I left M. de Gorne tied up, in this room, and because I also
left my revolver here. On the other hand, if shots were heard, they were
not fired by me."
"A casual coincidence, therefore?"
"That's a matter for the police to explain. My only duty is to tell the
truth and you are not entitled to ask more of me."
"And if that truth conflicts with the facts observed?"
"It means that the facts are wrong, Mr. Deputy."
"As you please. But, until the day when the police are able to make them
agree with your statements, you will understand that I am obliged to keep
you under arrest."
"And Madame de Gorne?" asked Jerome, greatly distressed.
The deputy did not reply. He exchanged a few words with the commissary of
police and then, beckoning to a detective, ordered him to bring up one of
the two motor-cars. Then he turned to Natalie:
"Madame, you have heard M. Vignal's evidence. It agrees word for word with
your own. M. Vignal declares in particular that you had fainted when he
carried you away. But did you remain unconscious all the way?"
It seemed as though Jerome's composure had increased Madame de Gorne's
assurance. She replied:
"I did not come to, monsieur, until I was at the chateau."
"It's most extraordinary. Didn't you hear the three shots which were heard
by almost every one in the village?"
"I did not."
"And did you see nothing of what happened beside the well?"
"Nothing did happen. M. Vignal has told you so."
"Then what has become of your husband?"
"I don't know."
"Come, madame, you really must assist the officers of the law and at least
tell us what you think. Do you believe that there may have been an accident
and that possibly M. de Gorne, who had been to see his father and had more
to drink than usual, lost his balance and fell into the well?"
"When my husband came back from seeing his father, he was not in the least
intoxicated."