THE SECOND VICTIM
The urgent summons from Fouchard left no doubt in Wallace’s mind
that the mystery had yielded a new feature. He and Yolande hurried
back to the house and found Fouchard in earnest conversation with some
of the servants. Yolande’s face fell when she saw this, for the news
looked anything but good.
“What is it, Fouchard?” she asked.
“Severin is missing.”
“Missing?”
“It was brought to my notice that Severin’s room had not been slept in
last night, nor is he to be found about the château.”
“But we saw him at ten o’clock last night,” said Wallace.
“Some of the servants saw him at eleven, just before he locked up.
When he did not put in an appearance this morning they presumed he was
unwell. The chambermaid ultimately made the discovery.”
The servants whom Fouchard had been questioning were dismissed, and
the quartette looked at each other--Yolande with fear and
apprehension, Wallace and Conrad in speechless surprise, and Fouchard
with ill-concealed rage.
“You don’t think Severin is in this conspiracy?” asked Conrad.
“No--no,” said Yolande. “I fear--I fear----”
It was obvious what she feared, and Fouchard inclined his head grimly.
“But this is appalling!” said Conrad. “It was Severin who was so sure
that nothing would happen until the moon----”
“Superstitious rot!” snapped Fouchard. “I never paid the slightest
heed to it. There is only one thing to be done, and that is to search
the whole place. I am deeply sorry, mademoiselle--I scarcely expected
this.”
“There is no sign of any struggle in Severin’s bedroom?”
“None--nor in any other room. I have already been through most of the
occupied rooms.”
“Let us make a start,” pleaded Wallace, whose impatience was manifest
in his twitching limbs.
Fouchard nodded, and soon the three men were probing in every dark
corner. Wallace had persuaded Yolande to await them on the terrace,
for he anticipated another ghastly discovery. The vaults were tackled
last of all, and there their worst expectations were realised. The
body of Severin was found lying flat on the floor at the far end of
the vault, with his throat cut. He was quite dead, and his limbs were
stone cold.
“Ghastly!” exclaimed Conrad.
“No attempt to hide the corpse this time,” mused Fouchard. “It must
have happened last night.”
“But what was Severin doing down here? He dreaded the place, and
certainly would not have come down here close to midnight.”
“Don’t ask me any questions,” snapped Fouchard. “I have already asked
myself every conceivable question that has any bearing on these
horrible crimes. Now I’ll have the idiots from Arveyes down
here--wasting time.”
Yolande was apprised of the discovery. She made a brave attempt to
control her emotions, but Severin had been a beloved and faithful
servant and the blow was heavy. Wallace’s heart ached as he gazed upon
that beautiful, troubled face.
“This is hell, Connie,” he said. “Where is it going to end? If
Fallières and Severin, why not you and me--or Yolande? God, it is
maddening to feel so helpless.”
Fouchard got into touch with Arveyes, and again the local police and
the doctor arrived. The servants now were completely terrified. Three
maids packed their bags as soon as the police had done with them, and
others talked of going. But Bertha, though pale of face, displayed no
desire to go.
“What do you know of this?” snapped Fouchard, banishing discretion in
his ignominy.
“I?”
“Yes--you. You were not on the best of terms with Severin--I happen to
know that.”
Bertha started, but her eyes did not waver. She glared back at
Fouchard until that worthy winced.
“Do you dare accuse me?” she asked hoarsely.
“I’ve the best of reasons for making that remark.”
Here the magistrate from Arveyes interrupted. He was a pompous little
man, and objected to Fouchard stealing his thunder.
“I am examining the witnesses, Monsieur Fouchard,” he said haughtily.
“I should like to know what these two gentlemen know of this affair. I
understand they have been staying in the château for a considerable
period--in fact, the exact period covering the two crimes.”
“Monsieur, they are my guests and friends,” objected Yolande.
Notwithstanding, Wallace and Conrad were compelled to answer a
multitude of questions, mostly to satisfy the vanity of the little
magistrate. Fouchard was so disgusted he strode out of the room.
“This is the limit!” said Wallace later. “We seem to be getting
dragged into it. The idiot!”
“I am so--so sorry,” said Yolande. “I fear I have been the means of
submitting you to great indignity.”
“It isn’t your fault, Yolande,” replied Wallace with a smile. “I
suppose he only did what he thought was his duty. After all, we are
strangers to him. Poor old Severin!”
The remains of Severin were removed later, and Fouchard put in an
appearance at dinner, for he missed as few meals as possible at the
château.
“Baffled!” he said. “Who is going to be the next, I wonder?”
“S-sh!” ejaculated Wallace angrily.
“I am sorry. But these are grim facts, monsieur. I can find no motive
for either crime, and one is led to the conclusion that no one in this
place is immune. Mademoiselle, you must leave at once. I insist!”
But Yolande shook her head. The second tragedy, following so close
upon the first, only served to harden her resolution. Wallace
flinched, but flashed a look of admiration across the table.
“But it is madness--” said Fouchard.
“I stay, monsieur. Let us not waste words.”
“_Zut!_” he grunted. “It is not for me to give orders.”
He got on with the meal, and for some time no conversation passed.
Fouchard’s disgruntlement vanished at about the same rate as the
courses, so that when coffee was served he was almost normal again.
“Of course Bertha had no hand in Severin’s death,” he said suddenly.
“But you practically accused her!”
“Only to see how she would take it. She is in league with the Monster
in some way, but cold-blooded murder is not in her line. I am not so
certain about Niels. I don’t think he would fight shy of anything that
would gain him his ends.”
“And what are his ends?”
“Ah! There you have me.”
“Something in this château?”
“It would appear so.”
“You think that the objects of Niels’s party and of the Monster are
identical?”
“They must be. If we only knew what that object was half our work
would be done. I am wondering whether it would be of any use to
endeavour to come to terms with Bertha.”
“Come to terms!”
“Why not? I presume that all of us want justice done for these two
cold-blooded murders. If Bertha can help us to get our man she
deserves what wealth or treasure lies hidden here.”
“If any,” put in Conrad.
“We could at least promise her a free hand.”
“Yolande would never consent to any parley with that party,” said
Wallace. “It would be like hoisting the white flag. Besides, it is
absolutely certain that Bertha will not give anything away. Whatever
the secret is, they would die rather than reveal it.”
“Yes,” mused Fouchard. “But the woman might speak if I could put her
two confederates in jail with long sentences to serve. While she hopes
to achieve her end she is fearless. I’d have no difficulty in
convicting Heinrich and Niels if only I could land them, but they are
elusive fish.”
“Yet they must be living somewhere in the neighbourhood.”
“I have tried everything, and the people at Arveyes have been busy in
that direction. They seem to have dug themselves in very securely.”
On the following day Fouchard made another small discovery. He was
engaged in perambulating his favourite corner of the garden when he
noticed a man loitering outside. He promptly secreted himself behind a
bush, and ultimately saw the loiterer climb over the low wall and slip
a letter between two loose bricks in one of the supporting columns of
the terrace.
Two minutes later the letter was in his possession. He came into the
house looking more perplexed than ever, and helped himself to a drink
before he divulged what it was that was troubling him.
“Another!” he said.
“Another what?” enquired Conrad.
“Can you read German?”
“Fairly well.”
“Then have a look at that.”
Conrad took the roughly-opened envelope and extracted a single sheet
of paper. He translated the contents for Wallace’s edification:
“Dear Bertha--_Am joining Niels to-night. Come if you can to the
usual place--to-morrow at seven o’clock._
“Walther.”
“Who the devil--” gasped Conrad. “Has Bertha seen this message?”
“No. But she is going to. I shall put it back where I found it, and
trust to our little Bertha to lead us to the lair.”
“Whew!” said Wallace, mopping his brow. “This is an invasion. Did you
see the man who brought the note?”
“Yes. He couldn’t have helped us. He was a peasant, and there is no
doubt the note was given him with instructions what to do, and a
reward. Had I apprehended him it would have placed our cunning friends
on the _qui vive_. I must get a fresh envelope and replace this
message without delay.”
He went off, and Conrad sat shaking his head, while Wallace chewed the
end of a cigarette. The gathering forces of the other side made it
abundantly clear that they had not the slightest intention of
abandoning their quest.
“Niels, Heinrich, Bertha, now Walther,” chanted Wallace. “What a
collection!”
“And the Monster.”
“Five sets of clever brains--against three. I wonder what Fouchard
will do if he successfully runs them to earth? Personally I don’t
believe it will help at all. They will all keep their mouths shut, and
we shall be exactly where we are, without even the chance of getting
wise to their motives.”
“You heard what he said. He will jail the men and try to coerce
Bertha.”
“What a hope! If Bertha could have spoken she would have done so
before. I am afraid Fouchard is at his wits’ end, and is likely to
bungle things.”
Fouchard made all his plans that evening. Hopeful of a round-up, he
had brought the local police into his scheme. Bertha was to be trailed
from the moment she left the house, and the whole party arrested _en
bloc_.
“For the time being you and I are to have a holiday,” said Conrad.
He did not seem very disappointed, and Wallace could not help feeling
that he was relieved not to have to assist in arresting the woman in
the case. Yolande was duly informed of what was pending.
“Do you think it will lead to any good?” she asked Wallace.
“I have doubts about it. It is obvious that Fouchard is still smarting
from injured pride. He is dying to lay hands on Niels, who collared
him so cleverly.”
“Bertha is the greatest mystery,” she replied reflectively. “I do not
know what to think about her. While I have every reason to believe
that she is conspiring to rob me--of something, I have got to like
her. She is gentle, sympathetic, and altogether the most efficient of
maids. I wonder what her relations are with those men?”
“She may be in their power--compelled to do their bidding. We must
wait and see what to-morrow will bring.”
A bitter disappointment was in store for Fouchard, for on the
following evening Bertha did not leave the château at all. Fouchard
crept back after hours of impatient waiting, having missed his dinner
in the bargain.
“Baulked again,” he said savagely.
“She hasn’t been there?”
“No--the minx! That letter was genuine enough, but she must have seen
me take it. Confound the woman!”
“And what now?” asked Conrad sweetly.
“I don’t know--I wish I did. These are hard nuts to crack. They are
all eyes, and ears, and brains.”
“They are indeed,” sighed Yolande. “One feels all the time that one is
being watched. I would give almost everything I possess to have
justice done, and to live in peace again.”