On returning yesterday from a fortnight’s journey, I did not find your daughter at home. She must have gone off with someone else, since I know that she has not returned to your house, taking advantage of these pretended disappearances—for you would not want me to believe that she has fallen victim to that. I have not been able to obtain any information regarding her flight, the house in which I have had the honor of accommodating her being some distance from the town. That’s how it is.16 But I thought it my duty to inform you, so that you know that from now on, even less than in the past, there is no connection between us.
Regards,
Onésime Front.
The horror of the fact was reinforced by the triviality of the boor who announced it. Suzanne had certainly not sinned for a second time; everything affirmed that. She must, therefore, have fallen prey to the sarvant! And what corroborated that was the devastation, on the night of May 17 and 18, of Saint-Champ, not far from Belley.
Suzanne abducted! This final blow put the lid on the Monbardeaus’ distress. Madame Monbardeau was out of her mind for a week, and then railed incessantly against the paternal rigor that had exiled the repentant sinner—to which Monsieur Monbardeau did not know how to reply, and bowed his head, weeping.
On the morning of May 19, the people of Artemare leaned that the night had been fatal to the village of Ruffieux, situated five kilometers beyond the Rhône on the road from Seyssel to Aix-les-Bains. The news lacked precision; there was vague mention of several people having been abducted, which required confirmation—but before that confirmation was obtained, the Artemarians heard of an event more sensational still. A reporter-photographer from Turin had set off well before dawn for the summit of the Colombier, in order to photograph the theater of the abduction in the splendor of the sunrise. This refinement is explained by the incalculable number of snapshots that he colleagues had already taken of the same place, in various conditions of time and temperature. In the same way that Marie-Thérèse and her companions had not come back down again, the reporter did not return.
There was great consternation in Artemare, palavers and whispered discussions, the outcome of which was that a troop of courageous men—they could still be found at that time—set off in search of the lost envoy. They went up to the cross, and there they discovered the photographic apparatus on its tripod, in the company of a sort of hideous, goiterous dwarf, clad in rags, sprawled on the grass, whom no one recognized. There was not the slightest trace of the journalist, unless he had been magically transformed into that repulsive creature with the excessively large head and the excessively sort arms, who watched the rescuers approach with animal eyes.
The searchers paused, looking everywhere for the former appearance of the journalist, but there was nothing! Then they approached his new manifestation—I mean the impassive ugly creature—and soon perceived that they were dealing with an unfortunate deaf-mute cretin.
In time they became bold enough to touch him—for, until then, the fear of burning their hands had deterred them. They tried to get him to stand up, and found—the ultimate disgrace!—that he was paralyzed. So they picked him up, along with the tripod, and they started to go down the mountain. When they reached Virieu-le-Petit, though, with expressions in which bewilderment persisted, they happened to meet a cowherd who was getting ready to take some fir-trunks to the saw-mill at Artemare, and the man, catching sight of the dwarf, cried out in dialect, which translated as: “Hey! That’s Gaspard! What’s he doing there?” And he told them that the idiot was a native of Riffieux, that he spent his days and nights crouched on the doorstep of his father’s house—which opened on to the road—and that all the cowherds, hauliers and messengers knew him by virtue of seeing him crouching by the roadside, motionless.
The story caused an uproar. An infernal substitution had taken place, of a journalist from Turin and an innocent from Ruffieux, on the top of the Colombier! Attempts were made to interrogate Gaspard, to obtain the slightest expressive gesture from him, but they were fruitless. Never had he been so deaf, nor so mute, nor more imbecilic, nor so paralyzed. His father, when he saw him again, regretted having done so. Such was the sole escapee, the only person who might have given any information on the subjects of the sarvants, and the only one they had elected to leave behind. The other reporter-photographers gave Gaspard’s father money, however, in order that he would permit them to take photographs of the hero, and he was thankful for his child’s return. Contrary to rumor, Gaspard had been the only human being that the sarvant had removed from Ruffieux.
On the night of May 19 and 20, it was the turn of Ameyzieu, almost beneath the walls of Mirastel—but the abundant precautions with which the country-folk surrounded themselves limited the damage and the material losses.
The guests at Mirastel told themselves that the hour had come for them to be tormented. The dangerous zone seemed to have narrowed around the château as it had expanded further away. Hazard alone could spare them from the sarvant’s attack.
Monsieur Le Tellier rejoiced in that fact. Since the commencement of the depredations, persuaded like everyone else that their secret was identical to that of the abduction of the fourth of May, he had spent his time in various activities. At first, he had been heartily glad at the thought of all the hypotheses that the resumption of hostilities had eliminated. By virtue of that fact, the range of conjectures had been singularly restricted, and that circumstances seemed to support the Duc d’Agnès, who had predicted that other abductions would take place before any ransom demands were issued. The present number of hostages retained by the sarvant demonstrated that the latter had not had any special interest in Marie-Thérèse and her cousins.
Having understood that, Monsieur Le Tellier immediately telegraphed the Duc d’Agnès, so that he could stop his friend Tiburce from following his false trail. The Duc replied, however, that Tiburce had already set off after Hatkins, having embarked for New York in pursuit of the billionaire on May 8.
Monsieur Le Tellier lamented that enormous stupidity and returned to his personal preoccupations. With his son, his bother-in-law and his secretary, he visited the plundered locations. They made observations; they asked questions. They experienced a sort of perverse relief in establishing that other families were suffering from the scourge that had struck them—but they did not obtain any clues, and started again, even more fervently, stimulated by the three women—who combined their encouragement with recommendations of prudence. The women did not let them go out after sunset, and forbade them to separate themselves from one another when they ventured into lonely places.
One day, however, Madame Arquedouve, who was the first to preach confidence and zeal, and was known to possess an uncommon bravery, suddenly changed her attitude and showed herself to be exceedingly pusillanimous. Pressed to confess the cause of her alarm, she eventually gave way the day after the sack of Ameyzieu. That night, as on the night of the sack of Talissieu, she had perceived strange vibrations—perhaps not exactly sounds, but something of the same sort: something vibrant, which her blind person’s senses had permitted her to appreciate.
They were perceptions analogous to those provoked by the passage of an airplane or a dirigible, or even a large fly, too distant to be heard, in the proper sense of the term, but neither one thing nor the other. It was a somber buzz, by virtue of being dull and deep, which impressed all her nerves, her entire body, rather than her ears. That anomaly had woken her up in the middle of both those nights, very apprehensive. The first time, she had been able to believe that she was the victim of one those delusions to which the infirm are exposed, but now she no longer doubted the authenticity of her sensations. That was why she had decided to speak.
In the wake of such a revelation, there was no one at Mirastel who was not profoundly thoughtful.
They were not the only ones to be meditative on May 20, 1912. By that time, all France and all Europe were taking an interest in the Bugist problem. The newspapers of the old world were taking
account of “the advent of a new terror.” The majority opined that it was “surely by the aerial route that the sarvants came,” and more than one “that they must belong to the flying species of which Brigadier Géruzon caught sight of two specimens.”
The Middle Ages were revived. Legends slid from hearth to hearth. Some, forgotten for centuries, were mysteriously resurrected. They even infiltrated Mirastel, and mingled their chimeras with the logic of the rationalists.
There was, however, no more time for reflection; while mulling over his mother-in-law’s story, Monsieur Le Tellier prepared to be vigilant, to see what might be seen. But the sarvants now appeared to have adopted the tactic of leaping from one place to another, randomly and capriciously.
He deduced from this incoherence—organized, after a fashion—that they would not fall upon Mirastel 24 hours after ransacking Ameyzieu.
Of all the mistakes that might have been made, that one was revealed, in hindsight, to be the worst.
XIII. The Sarvants at Mirastel
Since the resumption of the raids, Maxime had calculated the advantages that a searchlight might offer to the threatened dwelling. An excellent means of defense and observation, nothing was easier to improvise. At the instigation of his son, Monsieur Le Tellier had two remarkable powerful acetylene projectors sent from Paris, which two watchers were to maneuver continually every night.
Received at 1 p.m. on May 20, their installation was undertaken without delay, in the attic of the south-western tower—the one where Maxime’s laboratory was—beneath the low cupola. The modern rectangles of two large dormer windows, diametrically opposed, one looking northwards and the other southwards, punctuated the Louis XIII roof. The pivoting searchlights only had to be set up there to be able to direct their beams in every direction, each of the two illuminable sectors taking up exactly half of the surrounding area.
As they were not expecting the sarvants until the following day, the work of mounting the projectors was executed, as one might imagine, with more care than rapidity. At dinner time, only one of the searchlights was in place. It had, however, been filled with acetylene.
After the meal, Monsieur Le Tellier—still thinking about the next day—gathered the household together and gave the servants a lecture on observation. He recommended calm, self-possession, notes to be taken as soon as possible, written on anything that came to hand—on a wall, if necessary, with a stick of charcoal or a pointed stone…
He intended to repeat it all, and to explain his theory, on the following day.
Night fell. Robert proposed that they finish setting up the second light. The objection was raised that it would be better to do that in daylight, and that they would have 18 hours of sunlight for that purpose.
Then commenced one of those evenings so painful to those with heavy hearts. Everyone tried to kill time. Madame Le Tellier attempted to play patience. Her mother did crochet-work, in which her industry surpassed the skill of the sighted. Not far away, in the billiard-room adjacent to the drawing-room, Monsieur Le Tellier, Maxime and Robert started a game of billiards.
The windows had been left open, for the weather was fine and warm. They overlooked the terrace. The interior light illuminated the chestnut-trees and the lower branches of the ginkgo, as flat and stiff as painted trees. Beyond the parapet, the countryside was confusedly visible, dark and blue. Nothing but the impacts of the billiard balls, the noise of footsteps on the carpet, and the sound of four voices coming from the direction of the servants’ quarters disturbed the background silence. At intervals, a train streaked the profound darkness with a trail of sparks, resonated metallically on the Marlieu bridge, and left the scene. They could also hear—but only by pricking up their ears—slight movements of gravel; they were the comings and goings of Floflo, mounting guard like a good little sentry.
Such pleasant evenings should always be holidays…
But what’s that?
What’s the matter? Why is Madame Arquedouve running into the billiard-room, her hand extended in front of her, her face distraught, stammering with fright?
“What’s wrong?” cries Monsieur Le Tellier.
She grabs her son-in-law’s arm. “They’re here! I can hear them…feel them, rather!”
Robert has already started running, precipitating himself toward the tower in which the searchlight is lodged.
“Close the windows!” moans Madame Le Tellier, who comes in as pale as a corpse.
“No!” retorts Maxime. “We must try to see…to hear…Shh!”
“Shall we go up to the tower?” says Monsieur Le Tellier.
“No…no time… Shhh! Shhh!”
They listen. They’re like wax figures in a museum. They can hear Robert going up the stairs to the tower, four at a time; they can hear laughter coming from the kitchen…a train whistle…the lap-dog moving back and forth…
Except for Madame Arquedouve, no one can hear anything apart from these sounds—and yet, they interrogate the darkness with all their might. It is rendered more impenetrable by the contrast with the luminous foliage; they try to listen with their eyes…but the darkness is the same, for their eyes as for their ears.
“Listen!” whispers the blind woman. “They’re very close now…”
They hear nothing.
Yes—a bellowing. Yes—a whinnying. The farm has woken up. The ducks set up a frightened quacking in the darkness, as if a fox or a weasel were approaching; and there go the hens, which give voice to a prolonged clucking, as if an eagle were hovering overhead… The sheep intone a chorus of heart-rending lamentations…
Anguish reigns among the animals—and Floflo, who has come to a halt, suddenly starts barking.
Madame Arquedouve lifts up a finger and says: “The animals can hear too. They understand.”
There is a momentary silence then…and finally, in the depths of that silence, everyone hears the hum.
It is the arrival of a large fly, or a moth. Yes, it is the hum of a moth, hovering above a flower into which it plunges its long proboscis: a murmur that is simultaneously soft and robust, which seems strident even though it is very low; which is, in fact, curiously melancholy, and which shudders in your breast like a steamer’s propeller-shaft.
Now the windows are starting to vibrate…
“It’s coming from above!” they murmur. “No—it’s coming from the marsh. From Artemare! From Culoz!”
“The mountain,” says the grandmother, breathlessly.
Madame Le Tellier, with one hand on her quivering throat, whispers: “It’s still very distant, mother, believe…” But she does not finish, because a light, inexplicable breeze stirs the foliage; the leaves rustle, and a there is a sudden resonant snap!
They start at the abrupt sound that has just resounded somewhere outside, not far away, and seemingly in mid-air.
Floflo is barking furiously.
“Thunder?” asks Madame Arquedouve.
“No, Mother,” Monsieur Le Tellier replies. “There was no lightning. We didn’t see anything.”
“It wasn’t a spark either, an artificial discharge…”
“Evidently.”
“Maxime, get away from the window,” implored Madame Le Tellier.
“Keep listening!” commanded the astronomer.
The dog gives voice and runs to the far end of the garden. It’s pursuing the sarvants, for sure; they’re moving away. The humming has died away too…but Madame Arquedouve affirms that she can still hear it.
The dog falls silent. They breathe in. The blind woman’s features relax…
A sharp cry!
It’s nothing—just Madame Le Tellier, frightened by the unexpected sight of a broad beam of light, like a ray of sunlight piercing the night…
One might imagine that this auroral dart were completing the recent snapping sound, that it is a lightning-flash following the thunder, prodigiously…but the brightness persists and endures.
“Don’t be afraid, Luce,” says Monsieur Le Tellier. “It�
�s only the searchlight.”
A minute later, he rejoined his secretary in the little round attic.
Standing on a stool, Robert’s upper body was invisible, projecting through one of the skylights, and he was making the dazzling beam—solar in its power, lunar in its whiteness—describe vast arcs, sometimes celestial and sometimes terrestrial. He was darting his shaft of daylight over the whole of the southern landscape that could be embraced from his position. The searchlight illuminated villages, mountains, woods and châteaux by turns; it seemed that their image was being projected on a black screen, in the fashion of a magic lantern—but Robert had to lean over and lift up the projector with its heavy support to extend his field of exploration toward the Colombier; he did not discover anything at all whose presence was not legitimate.
The sarvants were already out of sight.
“Did you see them?” asked Monsieur Le Tellier.
“I lost too much time,” he secretary replied. “I had to start the generator, to light up…it took too long. They’ve gone—but they didn’t do anything.” War-weary, he abandoned the projector, which swung around, sweeping the expanse, and came to a halt pointed toward the ground, irradiating the terrace.
“Oh!” Robert exclaimed. “Look, Master!”
“What?” said the astronomer, sticking his head out of the window.
“The ginkgo. It’s been cut!”
Monsieur Le Tellier was, indeed able to see by means of the acetylene light that the ginkgo biloba had been decapitated. From his high station, he could see the severed trunk, whose cross-section formed a pale disk.
With a single stroke the sarvant had cut that roundel, as broad as a man’s neck and as hard as oak: with a single stroke of a chisel, so skillfully, so rapidly and so accurately applied that the tree had not even trembled; with a single stroke of the chisel whose click that the forester had once heard in the forest—the chisel to which no one had given another thought, but which was pitilessly pruning all the plantations in Bugey!
The Blue Peril Page 10
