BAFFLED
When they reached the ground floor Monsieur Fouchard was discovered
fully occupied. He was sitting at a table with his note-book before
him rapping out questions to Severin, whose nervousness was clearly
manifested.
“You endorse this ridiculous story of a strange being who haunts the
château, Monsieur Severin?”
“How can one help it?” stammered the old man. “If monsieur were in my
place he would know it is true.”
“You have heard noises?”
“Awful noises.”
“Frequently?”
“Yes.”
“You have discovered things missing?”
“Many things.”
“What?”
“Food, wine and----”
“Food and wine are always missing in big establishments. But I will
get to the point. Have you ever seen a strange person anywhere in the
château?”
Severin trembled visibly and then nodded his head.
“Ah, we are getting warmer! Where did you see this person, and in what
circumstances?”
“It was in the long west gallery--a year ago. He--it came towards me
and stopped within a few yards of me. Monsieur, I was terrified. I
tried to turn and run but could not. For a full minute he stood there
laughing at me and then--then I think I lost my senses. When I came to
there was nothing to be seen.”
“You saw it plainly--as you see me now. It was no shadow--no trick of
the lighting?”
“_Mon Dieu_, it was in broad daylight. He was immense and covered by a
robe--like a monk. A cowl was over his head and only his eyes and nose
were visible. Cruel eyes and a hooked nose. When he laughed at me it
was like no sound I had ever heard before.” Then in a burst of
hysteria, “It was he who killed the master--I know it.”
“That will do, Monsieur Severin,” said Fouchard. “There is no other
servant who has seen this creature?”
“No one, but all have heard him. No one in the village will come to
the château. They all know.”
“Hm! That will do for the present.”
Severin shuffled out and Fouchard put his book into his pocket. He
turned and glared at Wallace and Conrad.
“The hallucination of an old man,” he grumbled.
“It was no hallucination,” said Yolande quietly. “Severin is getting
old, but he has all his senses. I know it was no hallucination because
I too have seen this--this thing, and the description agrees
perfectly.”
Fouchard raised his bushy eyebrows at this.
“I had no idea.”
“It was nearly two years ago. I am afraid you will have to accept
facts. There is something in this château--man, beast, or
spirit--that comes and goes and hides itself away successfully. I fear
it has murdered my poor father.”
“Mademoiselle, I beg you not to draw premature conclusions,” urged
Fouchard. “I mean to have every inch of the château and the precincts
searched to-day. I trust you will permit me to use the servants as I
think fit?”
“Do anything you wish. My one desire is to know the truth about my
father.”
“Then we will get to work.”
He bowed and left the room. Yolande came across to Wallace and Conrad.
“What do you think of him?” she asked.
“I am not sure whether he is not bluffing us,” said Conrad. “I think
he objects to our presence here, and Wallace has already stroked him
the wrong way.”
“I don’t see why we should not all work together amicably,” said
Wallace. “After all, we have a common object in view. I happened to
discover something and immediately he pooh-poohed it; out of
professional jealousy, I suppose. He has made up his mind not to
accept Severin’s story.”
“What have you discovered?” asked Yolande.
Wallace hesitated, but she divined immediately that he had something
unpleasant to narrate and encouraged him.
“Please don’t keep anything from me. I have suffered a terrible blow,
but I am trying to fight this thing. I have made up my mind to stay
here whatever happens. If this creature is human he must be brought to
justice. I want to know everything.”
“Well, I discovered that your father’s room was apparently entered by
the window. Certainly his body was taken out that way. The north tower
could be reached by climbing the ivy--I have done it myself.”
“But with a big burden as my father would have been?”
“I think that even that is not impossible. At any rate, I found traces
of--of blood in several places, also on the window-sill in the tower.”
“It--it is incredible!”
“I know. But you must remember that, immediately after the shot was
fired, there were several persons in the corridor. Neither your father
nor his assassin could have left the room on that side without being
seen.”
“That is true, but to take a human body up-- You have been to the
tower?”
“Yes. The trail ends there. I have an idea that your father is
somewhere in this house.”
“Fouchard is now organising a search. Oh, if one could only entertain
the faintest hope!”
They said nothing, for there was nothing of comfort to be said. It
seemed so certain that Fallières had breathed his last in this world.
At the suggestion of Wallace they took the Bentley and made a tour of
the district, leaving the search for the missing man in the hands of
Fouchard. The trip was beneficial to Yolande. She fell in love with
the car and for a time at least pushed the spectre into the
background. The forest embraced many thousand acres and was dotted
with woodmen’s huts, for it supplied fuel for the whole district. Here
and there were war-time scars, but it had not suffered greatly, and
the income from timber rights was considerable.
“The Germans made good use of it,” said Yolande. “After the occupation
of the château they were able to withdraw with very few casualties.”
“Are the woodmen in your employ?” asked Wallace.
“Oh, no. They hold their cottages on small rentals, and have certain
timber rights. My father employs a ranger who sees that the younger
trees are preserved. He lives in the forest.”
In order to keep her from thoughts of her father, Wallace suggested
she should drive the car. She accepted with obvious joy and quickly
made herself acquainted with the controls. He watched her eyes
brighten as she made a burst of speed along the straight road.
“I am in love with it,” she said. “I feel I would like to head for
some distant place--Nice or Biarritz. It is a more lovable--more
intimate machine than the Hispano. That reminds me that Watkins is due
back this evening.”
“Who is Watkins?”
“The chauffeur. Yes, he is English, and most capable. We engaged him
because he understands electrical matters, and is able to look after
the power plant for the house. He speaks French--terrible French.”
On the homeward journey the old spectre began to rear its ugly head
again. An atmosphere of gloom was entered immediately the towers of
the château came to view. Wallace gazed at Conrad and saw that his
friend’s mouth was firmly set. Yolande looked pale, and her small
hands were clenched in her lap.
For the rest of the day the two guests prowled around the château,
exploring outbuildings. When evening came, they had discovered
nothing. Of Fouchard there had been no sign since the morning. Severin
informed them that he had seen the detective going towards the forest.
“Has he sent the servants to make a search?” asked Wallace.
“Not to my knowledge, monsieur. The gardeners have been working in the
greenhouse, and the indoor staff is in the servants’ hall.”
“Looks as if his search party comprises himself,” growled Conrad.
“Mysterious devil!”
Shortly before dinner the two men were sitting in front of the
château enjoying the wonderful sunset. But with the declining sun
came an eerie sensation. Wallace laughed suddenly.
“What’s the matter?” ejaculated Conrad.
“We’re getting nervy, old man. It’s this sense of impotence. If only
we were at grips with the problem it would be better. Where the devil
is one to start?”
“We ought to have carried out a more thorough search on our own,” said
Conrad. “I thought Fouchard was going to do it on a grand scale.
Whatever may be his attitude, I am going to waste no more time. Let us
collar Severin in the morning and ransack the place. If only we find
Fallières’s body, that will be something achieved. The tension must
be terrible for Yolande. She is magnificently courageous, but I am
sure it would be better for her to know the worst than to be kept in
this awful suspense.”
“I’m with you. But what on earth is Fouchard doing?”
“Here comes Yolande. Perhaps she has news.”
Yolande was half way across the courtyard, and the two men were making
towards her when she suddenly stopped and uttered a cry. Her eyes were
turned towards the north tower which was silhouetted against the
crimsoning sky. Wallace looked up and gasped at what he saw. Standing
in the narrow gallery that surrounded the tower was an immense figure,
clad like a Capuchin monk. The arms were folded and it stood perfectly
still--looking down into the wide courtyard.
“Look!”
“My God!” ejaculated Conrad.
“That is--he,” said Yolande in a weak voice.
Wallace caught her by the arm and pointed to the garage.
“The chauffeur has just returned. Please go and talk to him--it is
safer. There is just a chance we may collar that thing.”
“Yes--yes. But take care. Oh, take care!”
“Have no doubt on that score,” he replied grimly.
She turned away and he swung round on Conrad, who was watching the
still figure on the tower.
“Now’s the time, Connie. Have you got that pistol?”
“No, worse luck. Fouchard took it.”
“Never mind. We can pick up something on our way. There’s no time to
waste. I reckon I can get into the top gallery before he can leave it.
Follow me!”
With this he bolted for the main entrance. Conrad lost no time in
following. Older man as he was, he was fit in wind and limb, and was
good in an emergency. By the time he reached the hall, Wallace was out
of sight. His eye caught a gleam of shining steel and he wrested a
short sword from its hangings. With a low growl of excitement he
followed hot on the heels of his young friend.
Panting, he reached the first landing, but Wallace had outstripped him
easily. He made up the next flight of stairs at breakneck pace and
eventually emerged into the top gallery. Dark as it was, he could see
Wallace ahead of him with an awful-looking bludgeon in his hand.
Wallace turned and beckoned him. He joined him in a few seconds.
“Any sign?” he whispered.
“No. But I don’t think he could have got away in the few seconds it
has taken me to get here. I believe we have him cornered.”
“I’d like to think so.”
“The trouble lies in the tower itself. It is so infernally dark. I
wish we had brought an electric torch. There is no lighting up there.
Anyway, you hang on to me. He ought not to floor the pair of us.”
“No, but we ought to have taken the precaution of laying in firearms.
If he happens to have an automatic----”
“Better not think about it. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
They crept along the remainder of the gallery and came to the entrance
to the tower. Wallace pushed open the door slowly and then crept
through. Before them was the dark, forbidding stone spiral staircase.
Wallace slipped off his shoes and when Conrad had done likewise the
ascent began.