THE MYSTERY OF MARIE VAILLANT
I
After the capture of the Spaniard at Chéron's farm on that dark
night, M. Lefèvre realised that when M. le Duc d'Otrante sent down
that insignificant-looking little man in the grey coat to help in the
hunt after the astute but infamous Chouans, he had acted--as he
always did--with foresight and unerring knowledge of human nature and
human capacity.
Henceforward M. Lefèvre became the faithful panegyrist and henchman
of the Minister's anonymous agent. He haunted the latter's
apartments in the Rue de France, he was significantly silent when the
Man in Grey was sneered and jeered at in the higher official circles,
and, what is more, when M. Leblanc, sous-préfet of Bourg-le-Roi, had
such grave misgivings about his children's governess, it was the
commissary who advised him to go for counsel and assistance to the
mysterious personage who enjoyed the special confidence and favour of
M. le Duc d'Otrante himself.
M. Leblanc, who had an inordinate belief in his own perspicacity,
fought for some time against the suggestion; but, after a while, the
mystery which surrounded Mademoiselle Vaillant reached such a
bewildering stage, whilst remaining outside the scope of police
interference, that he finally decided to take his friend's advice,
and, one morning, about the end of November, he presented himself at
the lodgings in Alençon occupied by the accredited agent of His
Majesty's Minister of Police.
Of a truth M. Leblanc was singularly agitated. His usually correct,
official attitude had given place to a kind of febrile excitement
which he was at great pains to conceal. He had just left Madame
Leblanc in a state of grave anxiety, and he himself, though he would
not have owned to it for the world, did not know what to make of the
whole affair. But he did not intend that his own agitation should
betray him into a loss of dignity in the presence of the little
upstart from Paris; so, after the formal greetings, he sat down and
plunged into a maze of conversational subjects--books, the theatres,
the war, the victories of the Emperor and the rumoured alliance with
the Austrian Archduchess--until the Man in Grey's quiet monotone
broke in on the flow of his eloquence with a perfectly polite query:
"Has Monsieur le Sous-Préfet, then, honoured me with a visit at this
early hour for the purpose of discussing the politics of the day?"
"Partly, my good Monsieur Fernand, partly," replied the sous-préfet
airily. "I desired that we should become more closely
acquainted--and," he added, as if with an after-thought, "I desired
to put before you a small domestic matter which has greatly perturbed
Madame Leblanc, and which, I confess, does appear even to me as
something of a mystery."
"I am entirely at Monsieur le Sous-Préfet's service," rejoined the
Man in Grey without the ghost of a smile.
"Oh! I dare say," continued M. Leblanc in that offhand manner which
had become the rule among the officials of the district when dealing
with the secret agent, "I dare say that when I think the matter over
I shall be quite able to deal with it myself. At the same time, the
facts are certainly mysterious, and I doubt not but that they will
interest you, even if they do not come absolutely within the sphere
of your province."
This time the Man in Grey offered no remark. He waited for M. le
Sous-Préfet to proceed.
"As no doubt you know, Monsieur Fernand," resumed M. Leblanc after a
slight pause, "I own a small house and property near Bourg-le-Roi,
some eight kilomètres from this city, where my wife and children live
all the year round and where I spend as much of my leisure as I can
spare from my onerous duties here. The house is called Les
Colombiers. It is an old Manor, which belonged to the Comtes de
Mamers, a Royalist family who emigrated at the outset of the
Revolution and whose properties were sold for the benefit of the
State. The Mamers have remained--as perhaps you know--among the
irreconcilables. His Majesty the Emperor's clemency did not succeed
in luring them away from England, where they have settled; and I, on
the other hand, have continued in undisputed possession of a charming
domain. The old moated house is of great archæological and
historical interest. It stands in the midst of a well-timbered park,
is well secluded from the road by several acres of dense coppice, and
it is said that, during the religious persecutions instituted by
Charles IX at the instigation of his abominable mother, Les
Colombiers was often the refuge of Huguenots, and the rallying-point
for the followers of the proscribed faith. As I myself," continued
M. Leblanc with conscious pride, "belong to an old Huguenot family,
you will readily understand, my good Monsieur Fernand, that I feel an
additional interest in Les Colombiers."
Pausing for a moment, the sous-préfet readjusted the set of his
neckcloth, crossed one shapely leg over the other and added with an
affable air of condescension:
"I trust that I am not trespassing upon your valuable time, my dear
friend, by recounting these seemingly irrelevant, but quite necessary
details."
"On the contrary, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," rejoined the Man in Grey
quietly, "I am vastly and, I may say, respectfully interested."
Thus encouraged, M. Leblanc boldly continued his narrative.
"My household," he said, "consists, I must tell you, of my wife and
myself and my two children--a boy and a girl--Adèle, aged fourteen,
and Ernest, just over twelve. I keep a couple of men and two maids
indoors, and three or four men in the garden. Finally, there is my
children's governess, Marie Vaillant. She came to us last summer
warmly recommended by Monseigneur the Constitutional Bishop of
Alençon, and it is her conduct which of late has so gravely
disquieted Madame Leblanc and myself.
"But you shall judge.
"At first my wife and I had every reason to congratulate ourselves on
having secured such a competent, refined and charming woman to
preside over the education of our children. Marie Vaillant was gay,
pretty and full of spirits. The children loved her, especially
Ernest, who set his entire childish affections upon his young and
attractive governess. During the summer lessons were done out of
doors, and long expeditions were undertaken in the woods, whence
Ernest and Adèle would return, hot, tired and happy. They had played
at being explorers in virgin forests, so they told their mother.
"It was only when the evenings waxed longer," continued the
sous-préfet, in a tone of growing embarrassment, now that he was
nearing the climax of his story, "that Mademoiselle Vaillant suddenly
changed. She developed a curious proclivity for promiscuous
coquetry."
"Coquetry?" broke in the secret agent with a smile.
"Yes! Marie began to flirt--shamelessly, openly, with every man she
came across, visitors, shop-keepers, friends and gardeners. She
exercised an almost weird fascination over them; one and all would
anticipate her slightest wish; in fact, the men about the house and
grounds of Les Colombiers appeared to be more her servants than ours.
Moreover, she made an absolute fool of our butler, Lavernay--a
middle-aged man who ought to have known better. He has not only
pursued Mademoiselle Vaillant with his attentions but also with his
jealousy, until Madame Leblanc felt that her whole household was
becoming the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood."
"And have you or Madame Leblanc done anything in the matter?" asked
the Man in Grey, while M. le Sous-Préfet paused to draw breath.
"Oh, yes! Madame spoke to the girl and I trounced Lavernay. Marie
was humble and apologetic and Lavernay very contrite. Both promised
to be discreet and sensible in future. At the same time I confess
that I was not at all reassured. Within a fortnight we heard through
the gossip of a busybody that Marie Vaillant was in the habit of
stealing out of the house in the evenings, at an hour when
respectable people should be in bed, and after five minutes' start
she was usually followed on these peregrinations by the butler.
There was no doubt about the whole thing: even our sergeant of police
had witnessed these clandestine meetings and had reported the matter
to the local commissary.
"There was nothing for it now but to dismiss the flirtatious
governess as quickly as possible. I may say that Madame Leblanc, who
had been genuinely fond of the girl, acquitted herself of the task
with remarkable tact and gentleness. Marie Vaillant, indeed, belied
her name when she received the news of her dismissal. She begged and
implored my wife's forgiveness, swore by all she could think of that
she had only erred from ignorance; she had no thought of doing wrong;
she was innocent of anything but the merest flirtation. Fond of
breathing the midnight air which was so balmy and sweet in the woods,
she had lately got into the habit of strolling out when she could not
sleep and sitting for an hour or so dreaming among the trees. She
admitted that once or twice she had been followed by Lavernay, had
been very angry with him, and had seriously rebuked him; but it
should never, never happen again--she vowed and swore it should
not--if only Madame would forgive her and not send her away from Les
Colombiers which was like a home to her, and from Ernest and Adèle
whom she loved as if they were her brother and sister.
"But Madame Leblanc was inexorable. Perhaps she felt that quite so
much ignorance of the ways of the world and the decorum prescribed to
every well educated woman was not altogether credible; perhaps she
thought that the lady did protest too much. Certain it is that
though she went back on her original pronouncement that the girl must
leave the house within twenty-four hours, she refused to consider the
question of allowing her to remain permanently.
"It was finally agreed that Marie Vaillant should leave Les
Colombiers at the end of the month: but that at the slightest
transgression or repetition of the old offence she would be dismissed
with contumely and turned out of the house at an hour's notice.
"This happened exactly a fortnight ago," went on M. Leblanc, who was
at last drawing to the end of what had proved a lengthy soliloquy;
"and I may tell you that since then Mademoiselle Vaillant has grown
the model of all the proprieties. Sober, demure, well-conducted, she
has fulfilled her duties with a conscientiousness which is beyond
praise. When those heavy rains set in a week ago, outdoor life at
once became impossible. Adèle and Ernest took seriously to their
books and Mademoiselle devoted herself to them in a manner which has
been absolutely exemplary. She has literally given up her whole time
to their welfare, not only--so Madame Leblanc tells me--by helping
with their clothes, but she has even taken certain menial tasks upon
herself which are altogether outside her province as a governess.
She has relieved the servants by attending to the children's bedroom;
she had been making their beds and even washing their stockings and
pocket handkerchiefs. She asked to be allowed to do these things in
order to distract her mind from the sorrow caused by Madame's
displeasure.
"Of course, I gave Lavernay a stern scolding; but he swore to me that
though he had followed Mademoiselle during her evening walks, he had
done it mostly without her knowledge and always without her consent;
a fit of his former jealousy had seized him, but she had reprimanded
him very severely and forbidden him ever to dog her footsteps again.
After that he, too, appeared to turn over a new leaf. It. seemed as
if his passion for Marie was beginning to burn itself out, and that
we could look forward once again to the happy and peaceful days of
the summer."
II
M. le Sous-Préfet had talked uninterruptedly for a quarter of an
hour; his pompous, somewhat laboured diction and his loud voice had
put a severe strain upon him. The Man in Grey had been an ideal
listener. With his eyes fixed on M. Leblanc, he had sat almost
motionless, not losing a single word of the prolix recital, and even
now when the sous-préfet paused--obviously somewhat exhausted--he did
not show the slightest sign of flagging interest.
"Now, my good Monsieur Fernand," resumed M. Leblanc, with something
of his habitual, condescending manner, "will you tell me if there is
anything in what I have just told you--I fear me at great
length--that is not perfectly simple and even stereotyped? A young
and pretty girl coming into a somewhat old-fashioned and dull
household and finding a not altogether commendable pleasure in
turning the heads of every susceptible man she meets! Indiscretions
follow and the gossips of the neighbourhood are set talking.
Admonished by her mistress, the girl is almost broken-hearted; she
begs for forgiveness and at once sets to work to re-establish herself
in the good graces of her employers. I dare say you are surprised
that I should have been at such pains to recount to you a series of
commonplace occurrences. But what to an ordinary person would appear
in the natural order of things, strikes me as not altogether normal.
I mistrust the girl. I do not believe in her contrition, still less
in her reformation. Moreover, what worries me, and worries Madame
Leblanc still more, is the amazing ascendency which Marie Vaillant
exorcises over our boy Ernest. She seems to be putting forth her
fullest powers of fascination--I own that they are great--to
cementing the child's affection for her. For the last few weeks the
boy has become strangely nervy, irritable and jealous. He follows
Marie wherever she goes, and hangs upon her lips when she speaks. So
much so that my wife and I look forward now with dread to the day of
parting. When Marie goes I do verily believe that Ernest, who is a
very highly-strung child, will fall seriously ill with grief."
Again M. Leblanc paused. A look of genuine alarm had overspread his
otherwise vapid face. Clearly he was a man deeply attached to his
children and, despite his fatuous officiousness, was not prepared to
take any risks where their welfare was concerned. He mopped his face
with his handkerchief, and for the first time since the beginning of
the interview he threw a look of almost pathetic appeal on the agent
of the Minister of Police.
"Otherwise, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," said the latter, meeting that
look of appeal with a quiet smile, "has nothing occurred to justify
your mistrust of Mademoiselle Vaillant's good intentions?"
"Nothing at all," replied M. Leblanc with a nervous hesitation which
belied his emphatic words, "except a vague sense of uneasiness--the
unnatural quiet which came so quickly in the wake of the storm of a
fortnight ago; and, as I say, the extraordinary pains which the girl
has taken to captivate the boy: so much so in fact that, thinking
perhaps Marie still entertained hopes of our complete forgiveness and
thought of using the child as an intermediary with us to allow her to
remain, Madame Leblanc at my suggestion spoke yesterday very firmly
to the girl, and told her that whatever happened our determination
was irrevocable. We felt that we could trust her no longer and go
she must."
"And how did Mademoiselle Vaillant take this final decision?" asked
the police agent.
"With extraordinary self-possession. Beyond a humble 'Very well,
Madame,' she never spoke a word during the brief interview. But in
the evening, long after the children should have been in bed,
Anne--my wife's confidential maid--happened to be in the passage
outside Mademoiselle's room, the door of which was ajar. She
distinctly heard Marie's voice raised in almost passionate
supplication: 'Ernest, my darling little Ernest!' she was saying,
'will you always love me as you do now?' And the child answered
fervently: 'I will always love you, my darling Marie. I would do
anything for you--I would gladly die for you----' and so on--just the
sort of _exalté_ nonsense which a highly-strung, irresponsible child
would talk. Anne did not hear any more then, but remained on the
watch in a dark corner of the passage. Quite half an hour later, if
not more, she saw Ernest slipping out of the governess's room clad
only in his little night-gown and slippers and going back to his own
room. This incident, which Anne reported faithfully to her mistress
and to me, has caused my wife such anxiety that I determined to
consult someone whom I could trust, and see whether the whole affair
struck an impartial mind with the same ominous significance which it
bears for me. My choice fell upon you, my dear Monsieur Fernand,"
concluded the sous-préfet with a return to his former lofty
condescension. "I don't like to introduce gossiping neighbours into
my private affairs and I know enough about you to be convinced of
your absolute discretion, as well as of your undoubted merits."
The Man in Grey accepted M. Leblanc's careless affability with the
same unconcern that he had displayed under the latter's somewhat
contemptuous patronage. He said nothing for a moment or two,
remaining apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Then he turned to
his visitor and in a quiet, professional manner, which nevertheless
carried with it an unmistakable air of authority, intimated to him,
by rising from his chair, that the interview was now at an end.
"I thank you, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," he said, "both for the
confidence which you have reposed in me, and for your clear exposé of
the present situation in your household. For the moment I should
advise you to leave all your work in the city, which is not of
national importance, and go straight back to Les Colombiers. Madame
Leblanc should not be left to face alone any difficulties which may
arise. At the same time, should any fresh development occur, I beg
that you will either send for me or come to me at once. I place
myself entirely at your disposal."
He did not hold out his hand, only stood quietly beside his desk; but
there was no mistaking the attitude, or the almost imperceptible
inclination of the head. M. Leblanc was dismissed, and he was not
accustomed to seeing himself and his affairs set aside so summarily.
A sharp retort almost escaped him; but a glance from those enigmatic
eyes checked the haughty words upon his lips. He became suddenly and
unaccountably embarrassed, seeking for a phrase which would disguise
the confusion he felt.
"My good Monsieur Fernand----" he began haltingly.
"My time is valuable, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," interposed the Man in
Grey; "and at Les Colombiers your son's welfare is perhaps even now
at stake."
M. Leblanc--awed and subdued despite himself--had no choice but to
make as dignified an exit as was possible in the circumstances.
III
It was barely eight o'clock the next morning when M. Leblanc made an
excited and noisy irruption into the apartments of the secret agent
of the Minister of Police. The Man in Grey had risen betimes; had
brewed himself a cup of coffee and partaken of breakfast. The tray
stood on a table beside him, and he was at the moment engaged in the
perusal of the newest copy of the _Moniteur_.
At sight of his visitor he quietly folded and put down his paper. M.
Leblanc had literally staggered into the room. He wore riding
breeches and boots and his clothes were covered with mud; he had
ridden hard and fast, and though his face was deathly pale it was
covered with perspiration. His lips were quivering and his eyes had
a look of horror and fear which almost resembled madness.
The Man in Grey led him, firmly and gently, to a seat. Without a
word he went to a cupboard, took out a flask and a mug and forced a
few drops of brandy down the sous-préfet's throat. The latter's
teeth were chattering and, through his trembling lips, there came a
few hoarsely whispered words:
"My son--my child--he has gone--Oh, my God!"
After he had drunk the brandy, he became a little more composed. He
lay back in his chair, with eyes closed, and for a moment it seemed
as if he had lost consciousness, for his lips were bloodless and his
face was the colour of dead ashes. Presently he opened his eyes and
rested them on the small grey figure which stood, quietly expectant,
before him.
"My son," he murmured more distinctly. "Ernest--he has gone!"
"Try to tell me coherently what has happened," said the Man in Grey
in a quiet tone, which had the effect of further soothing M.
Leblanc's overstrung nerves.
After a great effort of will the unfortunate man was able to pull
himself together. He was half demented with grief, and it was blind,
unreasoning instinct that had led him to seek out the one man who
might help him in his trouble. With exemplary patience, the police
agent dragged from the unfortunate man, bit by bit, a more or less
intelligible account of the extraordinary sequence of events which
had culminated a few hours ago in such a mysterious and appalling
tragedy.
Matters, it seemed, had been brought to a climax through the agency
of feminine gossip, and it was Ma'ame Margot, the wife of one of the
labourers, who did the washing for the household at Les Colombiers,
who precipitated the catastrophe.
Ma'ame Margot had brought the washing home on the previous afternoon
and stopped to have a cup of coffee and a chat in the kitchen of the
house. In the course of conversation she drew the attention of Anne,
Madame Leblanc's maid, to the condition of Monsieur Ernest's
underclothes.
"I have done my best with it," she said, "but I told Mademoiselle
Vaillant that I was afraid the stains would never come out. She had
tried to wash the things herself before she thought of sending them
to me. Whoever heard," added the worthy soul indignantly, "of
letting a child of Monsieur Ernest's age go running about like that
in the wet and the mud? Why, he must have been soaked through to his
waist to get his things in that state."
Later Anne spoke to Mme. Leblanc of what the laundrywoman had said.
Madame frowned, greatly puzzled. She had positively forbidden the
children to go out while the heavy rains lasted. She sent for Ma'ame
Margot, who was bold enough to laugh outright when Madame told her
that she did not understand about Monsieur Ernest's things being so
stained with wet and mud, as the children had not been out since the
heavy rains had started.
"Not been out?" ejaculated Ma'ame Margot, quite as puzzled as her
lady. "Why! my man, when he was looking after the sick cow the other
night, saw Monsieur Ernest out with the governess. It was past
midnight then and the rain coming down in torrents, and my man, he
says to me----"
"Thank you, Ma'ame Margot," broke in Madame Leblanc, "that will do."
She waited quietly until the laundrywoman was out of the house, then
she sent for Mademoiselle Vaillant. This time no prayers, no
protestations would avail. The girl must leave the house not later
than the following morning. What her object could have been in
dragging her young pupil with her on her nocturnal expeditions Madame
Leblanc could not of course conjecture; did she take the child with
her as a chaperon on her meetings with Lavernay, or what? Well,
whatever her motive, the girl was not a fit person to be in charge of
young children and go she must, decided Madame definitely.
This occurred late yesterday afternoon. Strangely enough, Marie
Vaillant took her dismissal perfectly calmly. She offered neither
explanation nor protest. Beyond a humble "Very well, Madame!" she
never said a word during this final interview with her employer, who,
outraged and offended at the girl's obstinacy and ingratitude,
ordered her to pack up her things and leave the house early next
morning, when a carriage would be ready to take her and her effects
to Alençon.
Early this morning, not two hours ago in fact, Anne had come running
into Madame Leblanc's room with a scared white face, saying that
Monsieur Ernest was not in his room and was nowhere to be found. He
appeared to have slipped on the clothes which he had worn the
previous night, as these were missing from their usual place.
Terribly alarmed, M. Leblanc had sent Anne to bring Mademoiselle
Vaillant to him immediately; but Anne returned within a couple of
minutes with the news that Mademoiselle had also disappeared. The
house was scoured from attic to cellar, the gardens were searched,
and the outdoor labourers started to drag the moat. Madame Leblanc,
beside herself with dread, had collapsed, half fainting, in the hall,
where Anne was administering restoratives to her. Monsieur Leblanc
had ordered his horse, determined at once to inform the police. He
was standing at his dressing-room window, putting on his riding
clothes when he saw Marie Vaillant running as fast as ever she could
across the garden towards the house. Her dress clung wet and muddy
round her legs, her hair was streaming down her back, and she held
out her arms in front of her as she ran. Indeed, she looked more mad
than sane, and there was such a look of fear and horror in her face
and about her whole appearance, that the servants--stupid and
scared--stood by gaping like gabies, not attempting to run after her.
In a moment M. Leblanc--his mind full of horrible foreboding--had
flung out of his dressing-room, determined to intercept the woman and
to wring from her an admission of what she had done with the boy.
He ran down the main staircase, as he had seen Marie make straight
for the chief entrance hall, but, presumably checked in her wild
career, the girl had suddenly turned off after she had crossed the
bridge over the moat, and must have dashed into the house by one of
the side doors, for at the moment that M. Leblanc reached the hall he
could hear her tearing helter-skelter up the uncarpeted service
stairs. No one so far had attempted to stop her. M. Leblanc now
called loudly to the servants to arrest this mad woman in her flight;
there was a general scrimmage, but before anyone could reach the top
landing, Marie had darted straight into her employers' bedroom and
had locked and bolted the heavy door.
"You may imagine," concluded the unfortunate sous-préfet, who had
been at great pains to give his narrative some semblance of
coherence, "that I was the first to bang against the bedroom door and
to demand admittance of the wretched creature. At first there was no
reply, but through the solid panelling we could hear a distinct and
steady hammering which seemed to come from the farther end of the
room. All the doors in the old house are extraordinarily heavy, but
the one that gives on my wife's and my bedroom is of unusually
massive oak with enormous locks and bars of iron and huge iron
hinges. I felt that it would be futile to try to break it open, and,
frankly, I was not a little doubtful as to what the wretched woman
might do if brought to bay. The windows of the bedroom as well as
those of the dressing-room adjoining give directly on the moat, which
at this point is over three mètres deep. Placing two of the
men-servants on guard outside the door, with strict orders not to
allow the woman to escape, I made my way into the garden and took my
stand opposite the bedroom windows. I had the width of the moat
between me and the house. The waters lapped the solid grey walls and
for the first time since I have lived at Les Colombiers the thought
of the old Manor, with its lurking holes for unfortunate Huguenots,
struck my heart with a sense of coldness and gloom. Up above Marie
Vaillant had already taken the precaution of fastening the shutters;
it was impossible to imagine what she could be doing, locked up in
that room, or why she should refuse to come out, unless----"
The stricken father closed his eyes as he hinted at this awful
possibility; a shiver went through him.
"A ladder----" suggested the Man in Grey.
"Impossible!" replied M. Leblanc. "The moat on that side is over
eight mètres wide. I had thought of that. I thought of everything;
I racked my brains. Think of it, sir! My boy Ernest gone, and his
whereabouts probably only known to that mad woman up there!"
"Your butler Lavernay?" queried the Man in Grey.
"It was when I realised my helplessness that I suddenly thought of
him," replied the sous-préfet; "but no one had seen him. He too had
disappeared."
Then suddenly the full force of his misery rushed upon him. He
jumped to his feet and seized the police agent by the coat sleeve.
"I entreat you, Monsieur Fernand," he exclaimed in tones of pitiable
entreaty, "do not let us waste any more time. We'll call at the
commissariat of police first and get Lefèvre to follow hard on our
heels with a posse of police. I beg of you to come at once!"
Gently the Man in Grey disengaged his arm from the convulsive grasp
of the other. "By your leave," he said, "we will not call in a posse
of police just yet. Remember your own fears! Brought to bay, Marie
Vaillant, if indeed she has some desperate deed to conceal, might
jump into the moat and take the secret of your boy's whereabouts with
her to her grave."
"My God, you are right!" moaned the unfortunate man. "What can I do?
In Heaven's name tell me what to do."
"For the moment we'll just go quietly to Les Colombiers together. I
always keep a horse ready saddled for emergencies at the 'Trois Rois'
inn close by. Do you get to horse and accompany me thither."
"But----"
"I pray you, sir, do not argue," broke in the police agent curtly.
"Every minute has become precious."
And silently M. Leblanc obeyed. He had all at once grown as
tractable as a child. The dominating personality of that little Man
in Grey had entire possession of him now, of his will and
understanding.
IV
The first part of the cross-country ride was accomplished in silence.
M. Leblanc was in a desperate hurry to get on; he pushed his horse
along with the eagerness of intense anxiety. For awhile the police
agent kept up with him in silence, then suddenly he called a
peremptory "Halt!"
"Your horse will give out, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," he said. "Allow
him to walk for awhile. There are two or three questions I must put
to you, before we arrive at Les Colombiers."
M. Leblanc obeyed and set his horse to a walk. Of a truth he was
more worn-out than his steed.
"Firstly, tell me what kind of fireplace you have in your bedroom,"
said the other abruptly, and with such strange irrelevance that the
sous-préfet stared at him.
"Why," he replied submissively, "there is a fine old chimney, as
there is in every room in the house."
"You have had a fire in it lately?"
"Oh, every day. The weather has been very cold."
"And what sort of bed do you sleep in?"
"An old-fashioned fourpost bedstead," replied M. Leblanc, more and
more puzzled at these extraordinary questions, "which I believe has
been in the house for two or three hundred years. It is the only
piece of the original furniture left; everything else was sold by
Monsieur de Mamers' agent before the State confiscated the house. I
don't know why the bedstead was allowed to remain; probably because
it is so uncommonly heavy and is also screwed to the floor."
"Thank you. That is interesting," rejoined the police agent drily.
"And now, tell me, what is the nearest house to yours that is of
similar historical interest?"
"An old sixteenth-century house, you mean?"
"Yes."
"There is none at Bourg-le-Roi. If you remember, the town itself is
comparatively modern, and every traveller will tell you that Les
Colombiers is the only interesting piece of mediæval architecture in
the neighbourhood. Of course, there are the ruins at Saut-de-Biche."
"The ruins at Saut-de-Biche?"
"Yes. In the woods, about half a kilomètre from Les Colombiers.
They are supposed to be the remains of the old farmhouse belonging to
the Manor; but only two or three walls are left standing. A
devastating fire razed the place to the ground some ten years ago;
since then the roof has fallen in, and the town council of
Bourg-le-Roi has been using some of the stone for building the new
town hall. The whole thing is just a mass of debris and charred
wood."
While the two men were talking the time had gone by swiftly enough.
Alençon was soon left far behind; ahead, close by, lay the coppice
which sheltered Les Colombiers. Some twenty minutes later the two
men drew rein in the fine old courtyard of the ancient Manor. At a
call from M. Leblanc one of his men rushed out of the house to hold
the horses and to aid his master to dismount. The Man in Grey was
already on his feet.
"What news?" he asked of the man.
The latter shrugged his shoulders. There was no change at Les
Colombiers. The two labourers were still on sentry guard outside the
bedroom door, whilst the indoor servant, with the head gardener, had
remained down below by the side of the moat, staring up at the
shuttered windows, and revelling in all the horrors which the aspect
of the dark waters and of the windows above, behind which no doubt
the mad woman was crouching, helped to conjure up before their
sluggish minds.
Madame Leblanc was still lying on a couch in the hall, prostrate with
grief. No one had caught sight of Marie Vaillant within her
stronghold, and there was no sign either of M. Ernest or of the
butler Lavernay.
Without protest or opposition on the part of the master of the house,
the Man in Grey had taken command of the small army of scared
domestics.
"Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," he said, "before I can help you in this
matter, I must make a hurried inspection of your domain. I shall
require three of your men to come with me. They must come armed with
a stout joist, with pickaxes and a few heavy tools. You yourself and
your women servants must remain on guard outside the bedroom door.
Should Marie Vaillant attempt a sortie, seize her and, above all, see
she does not do herself an injury. Your head gardener and indoor man
must remain by the moat. I presume they can swim."
"Swim?" queried M. Leblanc vaguely.
"Why, yes! There is still the possibility of the girl trying to
drown herself and her secret in the moat."
M. Leblanc promised most earnestly that he would obey the police
agent's commands to the letter, and the Man in Grey, followed by the
three labourers who carried their picks, a bag of tools and a stout
joist, started on his way. Swiftly crossing the bridge over the
moat, he strode rapidly across the park and plunged into the coppice.
Then only did he ask the men to precede him.
"Take me straight to the ruins at Saut-de-Biche," he said.
The men obeyed, not pausing to reflect what could be the object of
this little man in the grey coat in going to look at a pile of broken
stone walls, while M. le Sous-Préfet was half demented with anxiety
and a mad woman might either set fire to the whole house or do
herself some terrible injury. They walked on in silence closely
followed by the accredited representative of His Impérial Majesty's
Minister of Police.
Within ten minutes the ruined farmhouse came in sight. It stood in
the midst of a wide clearing; the woods which stretched all round it
were so dense that even in mid-winter they screened it from the road.
There was but little of the original structure left; a piece of wall
like a tall arm stretching upwards to the skies, another forming an
angle, some loose pieces of stone lying about in the midst of a
medley of broken and charred wood, cracked tiles and twisted pieces
of metal. The whole place had an aspect of unspeakable desolation.
All round the ruined walls a forest of brambles, dead gorse and broom
had sprung up, rendering access to the house very difficult. For a
moment or two the Man in Grey paused, surveying the surroundings with
a keen, experienced eye. At a slight distance from him on the right,
the gorse and bramble had apparently been hacked away in order to
make a passage practicable to human feet. Without hesitation
Fernand, ordering the three men to follow him, struck into this
narrow track which, as he surmised, led straight to the ruins. He
skirted the upstanding wall, until an opening in the midst of the big
masses of stone enabled him to reach what was once the interior of
the house. Here progress became very difficult; the debris from the
fallen roof littered the ground and there was grave danger of a
hidden chasm below, where the cellars may have been.
The Man in Grey peered round him anxiously. Presently an exclamation
of satisfaction rose to his lips. He called to the men. A few feet
away from where he was standing the whole debris seemed to have been
lately considerably augmented. Right in the midst of a pile of
burned wood, tiles and metal, a large stone was embedded. It had
evidently been very recently detached from the high upstanding wall,
and had fallen down amidst a shower of the decayed mortar, wet earth,
and torn lichen and moss, which littered the place.
In obedience to the commands of the Man in Grey, the labourers took
up their picks, and set to work to clear the debris around the fallen
stone, the police agent standing close by, watching them. They had
not done more than bury their tools once in the litter of earth and
mortar, when their picks encountered something soft.
"Drop your tools," commanded the Man in Grey. "Your hands will
suffice to unearth what lies below."
It was the body of a man crushed almost past recognition by the
weight of the fallen masonry. The labourers extricated it from the
fragments of wood and metal and dragged it into the open.
"By his clothes," said one of the men, in answer to a peremptory
query from the Man in Grey, "I guess he must be the butler, Francois
Lavernay."
The secret agent made no comment. Not a line of his pale, colourless
face betrayed the emotion he felt--the emotion of the sleuth-hound
which knows that it is on the track of its quarry. He ordered the
body to be decorously put on one side and took off his own loose
mantle to throw over it. Then he bade the men resume their work.
They picked up their tools again and tried to clear the rubbish all
round the fallen stone.
"We must move that stone from its place," the man in the grey coat
had said, and the labourers, impelled by that air of assurance and
authority which emanated from the insignificant little figure, set to
with a will. Having cleared the debris, they put their shoulders to
the stone, helped by the secret agent whose strength appeared out of
all proportion to his slender frame. By and by the stone became
dislodged and, with another effort, rolled over on its flat side.
After that it was easy to move it some three or four feet farther on.
"That will do!" commanded the Man in Grey.
Underneath the stone there now appeared a square flat slab of granite
embedded into the soil with cement and concrete. One piece of this
slab had seemingly been cut or chiselled away and then removed,
displaying a cavity about a foot and a half square. In the centre of
the slab was an iron ring to which a rope was attached, the other end
being lost within the cavity.
The labourers were staring at their find open-mouthed; but the secret
agent was already busy hauling up the rope. The end of it was formed
into a loop not large enough to pass over a man's shoulders.
"Just as I thought," he muttered between his teeth.
Then he lay down on his stomach and with his head just over the small
cavity he shouted a loud "Hallo!" From down below there came no
answer save a dull, resounding echo. Again and again the Man in Grey
shouted his loud "Hallo!" into the depths, but, eliciting no reply,
at last he struggled to his feet.
"Now then, my men," he said, "I am going to leave you here to work
away at this slab. It has got to be removed within an hour."
The men examined the cement which held the heavy stone in its place.
"It will take time," one of them said. "This cement is terribly
hard; we shall have to chip every bit of it away."
"You must do your best," said the Man in Grey earnestly. "A human
life may depend on your toil. You will have no cause to grumble at
the reward when your work is done. For reasons which I cannot
explain, I may not bring any strangers to help you. So work away as
hard as you can. I will return in about an hour with Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet."
He waited to see the men swing their picks, then turned on his heel
and started to walk back the way he came.
It was nearly two hours before the slab of granite was finally
removed from its place. M. le Sous-Préfet was standing by with the
Man in Grey when the stone was hoisted up and turned over. It
disclosed a large cavity with, at one end of it, a flight of stone
steps leading downwards.
"Now then, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," said the police agent quietly,
"will you follow me?"
M. Leblanc's face was ghastly in its pallor. The sudden hope held
out to him by the Man in Grey had completely unnerved him. "Are you
sure----" he murmured.
"That we shall find Monsieur Ernest down there?" broke in the other,
as he pointed to the hollow. "Well, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet, I wish
I were equally sure of a fortune!"
He had a lighted lantern in his hand and began to descend the stone
stairs, closely followed by the sous-préfet. The labourers above
were resting after their heavy toil. They could not understand all
they had seen, and their slow wits would probably never grasp the
full significance of their strange adventure. While in the depths
below the Man in Grey, holding M. le Sous-Préfet by the arm and
swinging the lantern in front, was exploring the mediæval
lurking-holes of the Huguenots, the three labourers were calmly
munching their bread and cheese.
V
The searchers found the boy lying unconscious not very far from the
stairs. A dark lantern had fallen from his hand and been
extinguished. A large heavy box with metal handles stood close
behind him; a long trail behind the box showed that the plucky child
had dragged it along by its handle for a considerable distance. How
he had managed to do so remained a marvel. Love and enthusiasm had
lent the puny youngster remarkable strength. The broken-hearted
father lifted his unconscious child in his arms. Obviously he had
only fainted--probably from fright--and together the little
procession now worked its way back into the open.
"Can you carry your boy home, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," asked the Man
in Grey, "while we attend to your unfortunate butler?"
But he had no need to ask. Already M. Leblanc, closely hugging his
precious burden, was striding bravely and manfully through the
coppice beyond.
The Man in Grey arrived at Les Colombiers a quarter of an hour after
the sous-préfet had seen his boy snugly laid in his mother's arms.
The child was far too weak and too highly strung to give a clear
account of the events which had landed him alone and unconscious
inside the disused hiding-place, with his only means of exit cut off.
But the first words he spoke after he had returned to consciousness
were: "Tell my darling Marie that I did my best."
Afterwards the Man in Grey graphically recounted to the sous-préfet
how he came to seek for Ernest beneath the ruins of Saut-de-Biche.
"I followed Marie Vaillant's machinations in my mind," he said, "from
the moment that she entered your service. Not a word of your
narrative escaped me, remember! Recommended by the Bishop of
Alençon, I guessed her to be a Royalist who had been placed in your
house for some purpose connected with the Cause. What that purpose
was it became my business to learn. It was a case of putting the
proverbial two and two together. There was, on the one hand, an old
moated Manor, once the refuge of persecuted Huguenots and therefore
full of secret corners and hiding-places, and, on the other, an
émigré Royalist family who had fled the country, no doubt leaving
hidden treasures which they could not take away in their flight. Add
to these facts a young girl recommended by the Bishop of Alençon, one
of the most inveterate Royalist intriguers in the land, and you have
as fine a solution of all that has puzzled you, Monsieur, as you
could wish. Marie Vaillant had been sent to your house by the
Royalist faction to secure the treasure hidden by the Comte de Mamers
in one of the lurking-holes of Les Colombiers.
"With this certainty firmly fixed in my mind, I was soon able to
explain her every action. The open-air life in the summer meant that
she could not gain access to the hiding-place inside the house and
she must seek an entrance outside. This manoeuvre suggested to me
that the secret place was perhaps a subterranean passage which led
from some distant portion of the domain to the house itself. There
are a number of such passages in France, of mediæval structure.
Often they run under a moat.
"Then came the second phase: Marie Vaillant's coquetry. She either
could not find or could not open the hiding-place; she needed a man's
help. Lavernay, your butler, appeared susceptible--her choice fell
on him. Night after night they stole out together in order to work
away at the obstacle which blocked the entrance to the secret
passage. Then they were discovered. Marie was threatened with
dismissal, even before she had found the hidden treasure. She
changed her tactics and inveigled your boy into her service. Why?
Because she and Lavernay were too weak and clumsy. They had only
succeeded in disclosing one small portion of the entrance to the
secret lair; a portion not large enough to allow of the passage of an
adult. So your boy was cajoled, endeared, fascinated. Highly strung
and nervous, he was ready to dare all for the sake of the girl whom
he loved with the ardour of unawakened manhood. He is dragged
through the woods and shown the place; he is gradually familiarised
with the task which lies before him. Then once more discovery falls
on Marie Vaillant like a thunderbolt.
"There is only one more night wherein she can effect her purpose.
Can you see them--she and Lavernay and your boy--stealing out at dead
of night to the ruins; the boy primed in what he has to do, lowered
by a cord into the secret passage, dark lantern in hand? Truly the
heroism of so young a child passes belief! Lavernay and Marie
Vaillant wait above, straining their ears to hear what is going on
below. The underground passage, remember, is over half a kilomètre
in length. I explored it as far as I could. It goes under the moat
and I imagine has its other entrance in your bedroom at Les
Colombiers. Ernest had to go some way along it ere he discovered the
box which contained the treasure. With truly superhuman strength he
seizes the metal handle and drags his burden wearily along. At last
he has reached the spot where the cord still dangles from above. He
gives the preconcerted signal but receives no reply. Distracted and
terror-stricken, he calls again and again until the horror of his
position causes him to lose consciousness.
"Above the tragedy is being consummated. Loosened by recent heavy
rains, a large piece of masonry comes crashing down, burying in its
fall the unfortunate Lavernay and hopelessly blocking the entrance to
the secret passage. Picture to yourself Marie Vaillant pitting her
feeble strength against the relentless stone, half-crazed with the
thought of the child buried alive beneath her feet. An oath to her
party binds her to secrecy! She dares not call for help. Almost
demented, blind instinct drives her to the one spot whence she might
yet be able to render assistance to the child--your bedroom, where
I'll wager that either inside the chimney or behind the head of the
old-fashioned bedstead you will find the panel which masks the other
entrance to the secret passage."
The Man in Grey suspended his story and, guided by his host, made his
way upstairs to the landing outside the bedroom door.
"Call to the poor woman, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," he commanded.
"Tell her that the child is safe and well. Perhaps she will come out
of her own accord. It were a pity to break this magnificent door."
Presently Marie Vaillant, summoned by her employer, who assured her
repeatedly that Ernest was safe and well, was heard to unlock the
door and to draw the bolts. Next moment she stood under the heavy
oak lintel, her face as white as a shroud, her eyes staring wildly
before her, her gown stained, her hands bleeding. She had bruised
herself sorely in a vain endeavour to move the massive bedstead which
concealed the secret entrance to the underground passage.
One glance at M. Leblanc's face assured her that all was well with
her valiant little helpmeet and that the two men before her were
moved more by pity than by wrath. She broke down completely, but the
violent fit of weeping eased her overburdened heart. Soon she became
comforted with the kindly assurance that she would be allowed to
depart in peace. Even the sous-préfet felt that the wretched girl
had suffered enough through the tortuous intrigues of her fanatic
loyalty to the cause of her party, whilst the Man in Grey saw to it
that in the matter of the death of Lavernay His Majesty's Police were
fully satisfied.