But Paul paid no attention to either the brother or the sister, nor did the officers and soldiers. All observed the same rigidly impassive attitude, seemed unaffected by what was happening.
Two or three minutes passed, during which a few words were exchanged in whispers, while not a soul stirred. Broken down and shattered with excitement, Élisabeth wept. Bernard’s flesh crept at the sound of his sister’s sobs and he felt as if he was suffering from one of those nightmares in which we witness the most horrible sights without having the strength or the power to act.
And then something happened which everybody except Bernard and Élisabeth seemed to think quite natural. There was a grating sound behind the row of clothes. The invisible door moved on its hinges. The clothes parted and made way for a human form which was flung on the ground like a bundle.
Bernard d’Andeville uttered an exclamation of delight. Élisabeth looked and laughed through her tears. It was the Comtesse Hermine, bound and gagged.
Three gendarmes entered after her:
“We’ve delivered the goods, sir,” one of them jested, with a fat, jolly chuckle. “We were beginning to get a bit nervous and to wonder if you’d guessed right and if this was really the way she meant to clear out by. But, by Jove, sir, the baggage gave us some work to do. A proper hell-cat! She struggled and bit like a badger. And the way she yelled! Oh, the vixen!” And, to the soldiers, who were in fits of laughter, “Mates, this bit of game was just what we wanted to finish off our day’s hunting. It’s a grand bag; and Lieutenant Delroze scented the trail finely. There’s a picture for you! A whole gang of Boches in one day! . . . Look out, sir, what are you doing? Mind the beast’s fangs!”
Paul was stooping over the spy. He loosened her gag, which seemed to be hurting her. She at once tried to call out, but succeeded only in uttering stifled and incoherent syllables. Nevertheless, Paul was able to make out a few words, against which he protested:
“No,” he said, “not even that to console you. The game is lost. And that’s the worst punishment of all, isn’t it? To die without having done the harm you meant to do. And such harm, too!”
He rose and went up to the group of officers. The three, having fulfilled their functions as judges, were talking together; and one of them said to Paul:
“Well played, Delroze. My best congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir. I would have prevented this attempt to escape. But I wanted to heap up every possible proof against the woman and not only to accuse her of the crimes which she has committed, but to show her to you in the act of committing crime.”
“Ay; and there’s nothing half-hearted about the vixen! But for you, Delroze, the villa would have been blown up with all my staff and myself into the bargain! . . . But what was the explosion which we heard?”
“A condemned building, sir, which had already been demolished by the shells and which the commandant of the fortress wanted to get rid of. We only had to divert the electric wire which starts from here.”
“So the whole gang is captured?”
“Yes, sir, thanks to a spy whom I had the luck to lay my hands on just now and who told me what I had to do in order to get in here. He had first revealed the Comtesse Hermine’s plan in full detail, together with the names of all his accomplices. It was arranged that the man was to let the countess know, at ten o’clock this evening, by means of that electric bell, if you were holding a council in your villa. The notice was given, but by one of our own soldiers, acting under my orders.”
“Well done; and, once more, thank you, Delroze.”
The general stepped into the circle of light. He was tall and powerfully built. His upper lip was covered with a thick white mustache.
There was a movement of surprise among those present. Bernard d’Andeville and his sister came forward. The soldiers stood to attention. They had recognized the general commanding-in-chief. With him were the two generals of whom the countess had spoken.
The gendarmes had pushed the spy against the wall opposite. They untied her legs, but had to support her, because her knees were giving way beneath her.
And her face expressed unspeakable amazement even more than terror. With wide-open eyes she stared at the man whom she had meant to kill, the man whom she believed to be dead and who was alive and who would shortly pronounce the inevitable sentence of death upon her.
Paul repeated:
“To die without having done the harm you intended to do, that is the really terrible thing, is it not?”
The commander-in-chief was alive! The hideous and tremendous plot had failed! He was alive and so were his officers and so was every one of the spy’s enemies. Paul Delroze, Stéphane d’Andeville, Bernard, Élisabeth, those whom she had pursued with her indefatigable hatred: they were all there! She was about to die gazing at the vision, so horrible for her, of her enemies reunited and happy.
And above all she was about to die with the thought that everything was lost. Her great dream was shattered to pieces. Her Emperor’s throne was tottering. The very soul of the Hohenzollerns was departing with the Comtesse Hermine. And all this was plainly visible in her haggard eyes, from which gleams of madness flashed at intervals.
The general said to one of those with him:
“Have you given the order? Are they shooting the lot?”
“Yes, this evening, sir.”
“Very well, we’ll begin with this woman. And at once. Here, where we are.”
The spy gave a start. With a distortion of all her features she succeeded in shifting her gag; and they heard her beseeching for mercy in a torrent of words and moans.
“Let us go,” said the commander-in-chief.
He felt two burning hands press his own. Élisabeth was leaning towards him and entreating him with tears.
Paul introduced his wife. The general said, gently:
“I see that you feel pity, madame, in spite of all that you have gone through. But you must have no pity, madame. Of course it is the pity which we cannot help feeling for those about to die. But we must have no pity for these people or for members of their race. They have placed themselves beyond the pale of mankind; and we must never forget it. When you are a mother, madame, you will teach your children a feeling to which France was a stranger and which will prove a safeguard in the future: hatred of the Huns.”
He took her by the arm in a friendly fashion and led her towards the door:
“Allow me to see you out. Are you coming, Delroze? You must need rest after such a day’s work.”
They went out.
The spy was shrieking:
“Mercy! Mercy!”
The soldiers were already drawn up in line along the opposite wall.
The count, Paul and Bernard waited for a moment. She had killed the Comte d’Andeville’s wife. She had killed Bernard’s mother and Paul’s father. She had tortured Élisabeth. And, though their minds were troubled, they felt the great calm which the sense of justice gives. No hatred stirred them. No thought of vengeance excited them.
The gendarmes had fastened the spy by the waistband to a nail in the wall, to hold her up. They now stood aside.
Paul said to her:
“One of the soldiers here is a priest. If you need his assistance. . . .”
But she did not understand. She did not listen. She merely saw what was happening and what was about to happen; and she stammered without ceasing:
“Mercy! . . . Mercy! . . . Mercy! . . .”
They went out. When they came to the top of the staircase, a word of command reached their ears:
“Present! . . .”
Lest he should hear more, Paul slammed the inner and outer hall-doors behind him.
Outside was the open air, the good pure air with which men love to fill their lungs. Troops were marching along, singing as they went. Paul and Bernard learnt that the battle was over and our positions definitely assured. Here also the Comtesse Hermine had failed. . . .
A few days later, at the Château d’Orn
equin, Second Lieutenant Bernard d’Andeville, accompanied by twelve men, entered the casemate, well-warmed and well-ventilated, which served as a prison for Prince Conrad.
On the table were some bottles and the remains of an ample repast. The prince lay sleeping on a bed against the wall. Bernard tapped him on the shoulder:
“Courage, sir.”
The prisoner sprang up, terrified:
“Eh? What’s that?”
“I said, courage, sir. The hour has come.”
Pale as death, the prince stammered:
“Courage? . . . Courage? . . . I don’t understand. . . . Oh Lord, oh Lord, is it possible?”
“Everything is always possible,” said Bernard, “and what has to happen always happens, especially calamities.” And he suggested, “A glass of rum, sir, to pull you together? A cigarette?”
“Oh Lord, oh Lord!” the prince repeated, trembling like a leaf.
Mechanically he took the cigarette offered him. But it fell from his lips after the first few puffs.
“Oh Lord, oh Lord!” he never ceased stammering.
And his distress increased when he saw the twelve men waiting, with their rifles at rest. He wore the distraught look of the condemned man who beholds the outline of the guillotine in the pale light of the dawn. They had to carry him to the terrace, in front of a strip of broken wall.
“Sit down, sir,” said Bernard.
Even without this invitation, the wretched man would have been incapable of standing on his feet. He sank upon a stone.
The twelve soldiers took up their position facing him. He bent his head so as not to see; and his whole body jerked like that of a dancing doll when you pull its strings.
A moment passed; and Bernard asked, in a kind and friendly tone:
“Would you rather have it front or back?”
The prince, utterly overwhelmed, did not reply; and Bernard exclaimed:
“I’m afraid you’re not very well, sir. Come, your royal highness must pull yourself together. You have lots of time. Lieutenant Delroze won’t be here for another ten minutes. He was very keen on being present at this — how shall I put it? — at this little ceremony. And really he will be disappointed in your appearance. You’re green in the face, sir.”
Still displaying the greatest interest and as though seeking to divert the prince’s thoughts, he said:
“What can I tell you, sir, by way of news? You know that your friend the Comtesse Hermine is dead, I suppose? Ha, ha, that makes you prick up your ears, I see! It’s quite true: that good and great woman was executed the other day at Soissons. And, upon my word, she cut just as poor a figure as you are doing now, sir. They had to hold her up. And the way she yelled and screamed for mercy! There was no pose about her, no dignity. But I can see that your thoughts are straying. Bother! What can I do to cheer you up? Ah, I have an idea! . . .”
He took a little paper-bound book from his pocket:
“Look here, sir, I’ll read to you. Of course, a Bible would be more appropriate; only I haven’t one on me. And the great thing, after all, is to help you to forget; and I know nothing better for a German who prides himself on his country and his army than this little book. We’ll dip into it together, shall we? It’s called German Crimes as Related by German Eye-witnesses. It consists of extracts from the diaries of your fellow-countrymen. It is therefore one of those irrefutable documents which earn the respect of German science. I’ll open it at random. Here goes. ‘The inhabitants fled from the village. It was a horrible sight. All the houses were plastered with blood; and the faces of the dead were hideous to see. We buried them all at once; there were sixty of them, including a number of old women, some old men, a woman about to become a mother, and three children who had pressed themselves against one another and who died like that. All the survivors were turned out; and I saw four little boys carrying on two sticks a cradle with a child of five or six months in it. The whole village was sacked. And I also saw a mother with two babies and one of them had a great wound in the head and had lost an eye.’”
Bernard stopped to address the prince:
“Interesting reading, is it not, sir?”
And he went on:
“‘26 August. The charming village of Gué d’Hossus, in the Ardennes, has been burnt to the ground, though quite innocent, as it seems to me. They tell me that a cyclist fell from his machine and that the fall made his rifle go off of its own accord, so they fired in his direction. After that, they simply threw the male inhabitants into the flames.’ Here’s another bit: ‘25 August.’ This was in Belgium. ‘We have shot three hundred of the inhabitants of the town. Those who survived the volleys were told off to bury the rest. You should have seen the women’s faces!’”
And the reading continued, interrupted by judicious reflections which Bernard emitted in a placid voice, as though he were commenting on an historical work. Prince Conrad, meanwhile, seemed on the verge of fainting.
When Paul arrived at the Château d’Ornequin and, alighting from his car, went to the terrace, the sight of the prince and the careful stage-setting with the twelve soldiers told him of the rather uncanny little comedy which Bernard was playing. He uttered a reproachful protest:
“I say! Bernard!”
The young man exclaimed, in an innocent voice:
“Ah, Paul, so you’ve come? Quick! His royal highness and I were waiting for you. We shall be able to finish off this job at last!”
He went and stood in front of his men at ten paces from the prince:
“Are you ready, sir? Ah, I see you prefer it front way! . . . Very well, though I can’t say that you’re very attractive seen from the front. However. . . . Oh, but look here, this will never do! Don’t bend your legs like that, I beg of you. Hold yourself up, do! And please look pleasant. Now then; keep your eyes on my cap. . . . I’m counting: one . . . two . . . Look pleasant, can’t you?”
He had lowered his head and was holding a pocket camera against his chest. Presently he squeezed the bulb, the camera clicked and Bernard exclaimed:
“There! I’ve got you! Sir, I don’t know how to thank you. You have been so kind, so patient. The smile was a little forced perhaps, like the smile of a man on his way to the gallows, and the eyes were like the eyes of a corpse. Otherwise the expression was quite charming. A thousand thanks.”
Paul could not help laughing. Prince Conrad had not fully grasped the joke. However, he felt that the danger was past and he was now trying to put a good face on things, like a gentleman accustomed to bear any sort of misfortune with dignified contempt.
Paul said:
“You are free, sir. I have an appointment with one of the Emperor’s aides-de-camp on the frontier at three o’clock to-day. He is bringing twenty French prisoners and I am to hand your royal highness over to him in exchange. Pray, step into the car.”
Prince Conrad obviously did not grasp a word of what Paul was saying. The appointment on the frontier, the twenty prisoners and the rest were just so many phrases which failed to make any impression on his bewildered brain. But, when he had taken his seat and when the motor-car drove slowly round the lawn, he saw something that completed his discomfiture. Élisabeth stood on the grass and made him a smiling curtsey.
It was an obvious hallucination. He rubbed his eyes with a flabbergasted air which so clearly indicated what was in his mind that Bernard said:
“Make no mistake, sir. It’s my sister all right. Yes, Paul Delroze and I thought we had better go and fetch her in Germany. So we turned up our Baedeker, asked for an interview with the Emperor and it was His Majesty himself who, with his usual good grace. . . . Oh, by the way, sir, you must expect to receive a wigging from the governor! His Majesty is simply furious with you. Such a scandal, you know! Behaving like a rotter, you know! You’re in for a bad time, sir!”
The exchange took place at the hour named. The twenty prisoners were handed over. Paul Delroze took the aide-de-camp aside:
“Sir,” he said, “you will p
lease tell the Emperor that the Comtesse Hermine von Hohenzollern made an attempt to assassinate the commander-in-chief. She was arrested by me, tried by court-martial and sentenced and has been shot by the commander-in-chief’s orders. I am in possession of a certain number of her papers, especially private letters to which I have no doubt that the Emperor himself attaches the greatest importance. They will be returned to His Majesty on the day when the Château d’Ornequin recovers all its furniture, pictures and other valuables. I wish you good-day, sir.”
It was over. Paul had won all along the line. He had delivered Élisabeth and revenged his father’s death. He had destroyed the head of the German secret service and, by insisting on the release of the twenty French prisoners, kept all the promises which he had made to the general commanding-in-chief. He had every right to be proud of his work.
On the way back, Bernard asked:
“So I shocked you just now?”
“You more than shocked me,” said Paul, laughing. “You made me feel indignant.”
“Indignant! Really? Indignant, quotha! Here’s a young bounder who tries to take your wife from you and who is let off with a few days’ solitary confinement! Here’s one of the leaders of those highwaymen who go about committing murder and pillage; and he goes home free to start pillaging and murdering again! Why, it’s absurd! Just think: all those scoundrels who wanted war — emperors and princes and emperors’ and princes’ wives — know nothing of war but its pomp and its tragic beauty and absolutely nothing of the agony that falls upon humbler people! They suffer morally in the dread of the punishment that awaits them, but not physically, in their flesh and in the flesh of their flesh. The others die. They go on living. And, when I have this unparalleled opportunity of getting hold of one of them, when I might take revenge on him and his confederates and shoot him in cold blood, as they shoot our sisters and our wives, you think it out of the way that I should put the fear of death into him for just ten minutes! Why, if I had listened to sound human and logical justice, I ought to have visited him with some trifling torture which he would never have forgotten, such as cutting off one of the ears or the tip of his nose!”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 187
