“She brought back with her from this adventure a young monster, four years old, Alex Vorski by name, which young monster lived with his mother near the village of Joachimsthal in Bohemia. Here, in course of time, she instructed him in all the practices of hypnotic suggestion, extralucidity and trickery. Endowed with a character of unexampled violence but a very weak intellect, a prey to hallucinations and nightmares, believing in spells, in predictions, in dreams, in occult powers, he took legends for history and falsehoods for reality. One of the numerous legends of the mountains in particular had impressed his imagination: it was the one that describes the fabulous power of a stone which, in the dim recesses of the past, was carried away by evil genii and which was one day to be brought back by the son of a king. The peasants still show the cavity left by the stone in the side of a hill.
“‘The king’s son is yourself,’ his mother used to say. ‘And, if you find the missing stone, you will escape the dagger that threatens you and will yourself become a king.’
“This ridiculous prophecy and another, no less fantastic, in which the Bohemian woman announced that her son’s wife would perish on the cross and that he himself would die by the hand of a friend, were among those which exercised the most direct influence on Vorski when the fateful hour struck. And I will go straight on to this fateful hour, without saying any more of what our conversations of yesterday and last night revealed to the three of us or of what we have been able to reconstruct. There is no reason to repeat in full the story which you, Stéphane, told Véronique d’Hergemont in your cell. There is no need to inform you, Patrice, you, Vorski, or you, All’s Well, of events with which you are familiar, such as your marriage, Vorski, or rather your two marriages, first with Elfride and next with Véronique d’Hergemont, the kidnapping of François by his grandfather, the disappearance of Véronique, the searches which you set on foot to find her, your conduct at the outbreak of the war and your life in the internment-camps. These are mere trifles besides the events which are on the point of taking place. We have cleared up the history of the God-Stone. It is the modern adventure, which you, Vorski, have woven around the God-Stone, that we are now about to unravel.
“In the beginning it appears like this: Vorski is imprisoned in an internment-camp near Pontivy in Brittany. He no longer calls himself Vorski, but Lauterbach. Fifteen months before, after a first escape and at the moment when the court martial was about to sentence him to death as a spy, he escaped again, spent some time in the Forest of Fontainebleau, there found one of his former servants, a man called Lauterbach, a German like himself and like himself an escaped prisoner, killed him, dressed the body in his clothes and made the face up in such a way as to give him the appearance of his murderer, Vorski. The military police were taken in and had the sham Vorski buried at Fontainebleau. As for the real Vorski, he had the bad luck to be arrested once more, under his new name of Lauterbach, and to be interned in the camp at Pontivy.
“So much for Vorski. On the other hand, Elfride, his first wife, the formidable accomplice in all his crimes and herself a German — I have some particulars about her and their past life in common which are of no importance and need not be mentioned here — Elfride, I was saying, his accomplice, was hidden with their son Raynold in the cells of Sarek. He had left her there to spy on M. d’Hergemont and through him to ascertain Véronique d’Hergemont’s whereabouts. The reasons which prompted the wretched woman’s actions I do not know. It may have been blind devotion, fear of Vorski, an instinctive love of evil-doing, hatred of the rival who supplanted her. It doesn’t matter. She has suffered the most terrible punishment. Let us speak only of the part she played, without seeking to understand how she had the courage to live for three years underground, never going out except at night, stealing food for herself and her son and patiently awaiting the day when she could serve and save her lord and master.
“I am also ignorant of the series of events that enabled her to take action, nor do I know how Vorski and Elfride managed to communicate. But what I know most positively is that Vorski’s escape was long and carefully prepared by his first wife. Every detail arranged. Every precaution was taken. On the fourteenth of September of last year, Vorski escaped, taking with him the two accomplices with whom he had made friends during his captivity and whom he had, so to speak, enrolled: the Otto and Conrad whom you know of.
“It was an easy journey. At every cross-roads, an arrow, accompanied by a number, one of a series, and surmounted by the initials ‘V. d’H.,’ which initials were evidently selected by Vorski, pointed out the road which he was to follow. At intervals, in a deserted cabin, some provisions were hidden under a stone or in a truss of hay. The way led through Guémené, Le Faouet and Rosporden and ended on the beach at Beg-Meil.
“Here Elfride and Raynold came by night to fetch the three fugitives in Honorine’s motor-boat and to land them near the Druid cells under the Black Heath. They clambered up. Their lodgings were ready for them and, as you have seen, were fairly comfortable. The winter passed; and Vorski’s plan, which as yet was very vague, became more precisely outlined from day to day.
“Strange to say, at the time of his first visit to Sarek, before the war, he had not heard of the secret of the island. It was Elfride who told him the legend of the God-Stone in the letters which she wrote to him at Pontivy. You can imagine the effect produced by this revelation on a man like Vorski. The God-Stone was bound to be the miraculous stone wrested from the soil of his native land, the stone which was to be discovered by the son of a king and which, from that time onward, would give him power and royalty. Everything that he learnt later confirmed his conviction. But the great fact that dominates his subterranean life at Sarek was the discovery of Brother Thomas’ prophecy in the course of the last month. Fragments of this prophecy were lingering on every hand, which he was able to pick up by listening to the conversations of the fisherfolk in the evenings, lurking under the windows of the cottages or on the roofs of the barns. Within mortal memory, the people of Sarek have always feared some terrible events, connected with the discovery and the disappearance of the invisible stone. There was likewise always a question of wrecks and of women crucified. Besides, Vorski was acquainted with the inscription on the Fairies’ Dolmen, about the thirty victims destined for the thirty coffins, the martyrdom of the four women, the God-Stone which gives life or death. What a number of disturbing coincidences for a mind as weak as his!
“But the prophecy itself, found by Maguennoc in the illuminated missal, constitutes the essential factor of the whole story. Remember that Maguennoc had torn out the famous page and that M. d’Hergemont, who was fond of drawing, had copied it several times and had unconsciously given to the principal woman the features of his daughter Véronique. Vorski became aware of the existence of the original and of one of the copies when he saw Maguennoc one night looking at them by the light of his lamp. Immediately, in the darkness, he contrived somehow to pencil in his note-book the fifteen lines of this precious document. He now knew and understood everything. He was dazzled by a blinding light. All the scattered elements were gathered into a whole, forming a compact and solid truth. There was no doubt possible: the prophecy concerned him! And it was his mission to realize it!
“This, I repeat, is the essence of the whole matter. From that moment, Vorski’s path was lighted by a beacon. He held in his hand Ariadne’s clue of thread. The prophecy represented to him an unimpeachable text. It was one of the Tables of the Law. It was the Bible. And yet think of the stupidity, of the unspeakable silliness of those fifteen lines scribbled at a venture, with no other motive than rhyme! Not a phrase showing a sign of inspiration! Not a spark, not a gleam! Not a trace of the sacred madness that uplifted the Delphian pythoness or provoked the delirious visions of a Jeremiah or an Ezekiel! Nothing! Syllables, rhymes! Nothing! Less than nothing! But quite enough to enlighten the gentle Vorski and to make him burn with all the enthusiasm of a neophyte!
“Stéphane, Patrice, listen to the p
rophecy of Brother Thomas. The Superhun wrote it down on ten different pages of his note-book, so that he might wear it ten times next to his skin and engrave it in the very substance of his being. Here’s one of the pages. Stéphane, Patrice, listen! Listen, O faithful Otto! And you yourself, Vorski, for the last time listen to the doggerel of Brother Thomas! Listen as I read!
“In Sarek’s isle, in year fourteen and three, There will be shipwrecks, terrors, grief and crimes, Death-chambers, arrows, poison there will be And woe, four women crucified on tree! For thirty coffins victims thirty times.
“Before his mother’s eyes, Abel kills Cain. The father then, coming forth of Almain, A cruel prince, obeying destiny, By thousand deaths and lingering agony, His wedded wife one night of June hath slain.
“Fire and loud noise will issue from the earth In secrecy where the great treasure lies And man again will on the stone set eyes Once stolen from wild men in byegone days O’er the sea; the God-Stone which gives life or death.”
Don Luis Perenna had begun to read in emphatic tones, bringing out the imbecility of the words and the triteness of the rhythm. He ended in a hollow voice, without resonance, which died away in an anguished silence. The whole adventure appeared in all its horror.
He continued:
“You understand how the facts are linked together, don’t you Stéphane, you who were one of the victims and who knew or know the others? So do you, Patrice, don’t you? In the fifteenth century, a poor monk, with a disordered imagination and a brain haunted by infernal visions, expresses his dreams in a prophecy which we will describe as bogus, which rests on no serious data, which consists of details depending on the exigencies of the rhyme or rhythm and which certainly, both in the poet’s mind and from the standpoint of originality, possesses no more value than if the poet had drawn the words at random out of a bag. The story of the God-Stone, the legends and traditions, none of all this provides him with the least element of prophecy. The worthy man evolved the prophecy from his own consciousness, not intending any harm and simply to add a text of some sort to the margin of the devilish drawing which he had so painstakingly illuminated. And he is so pleased with it that he takes the trouble to take a pointed implement and engrave a few lines of it on one of the stones of the Fairies’ Dolmen.
“Well, four or five centuries later, the prophetic page falls into the hands of a Superhun, a criminal lunatic, a madman eaten up with vanity. What does the Superhun see in it? A diverting puerile fantasy? A meaningless caprice? Not a bit of it! He regards it as a document of the highest interest, one of those documents which the most Superhunnish of his fellowcountrymen love to pore over, with this difference, that the document to his mind possesses a miraculous origin. He looks upon it as the Old and New Testament, the Scriptures which explain and expound the Sarek law, the very gospel of the God-Stone. And this gospel designates him, Vorski, him, the Superhun, as the Messiah appointed to execute the decrees of Providence.
“To Vorski, there is no possibility of mistake. No doubt he enjoys the business, because it is a matter of stealing wealth and power. But this question occupies a secondary position. He is above all obeying the mystic impulse of a race which believes itself to be marked out by destiny and which flatters itself that it is always fulfilling missions, a mission of regeneration as well as a mission of pillage, arson and murder. And Vorski reads his mission set out in full in Brother Thomas’ prophecy. Brother Thomas says explicitly what has to be done and names him, Vorski, in the plainest terms, as the man of destiny. Is he not a king’s son, in other words a ‘prince of Almain?’ Does he not come from the country where the stone was stolen from the ‘wild men o’er the sea?’ Has he not also a wife who is doomed, in the seer’s prophecies, to the torture of the cross? Has he not two sons, one gentle and gracious as Abel, and the other wicked and uncontrolled as Cain?
“These proofs are enough for him. He now has his mobilization-papers, his marching-orders in his pocket. The gods have indicated the objective upon which he is to march; and he marches. True, there are a few living people in his path. So much the better; it is all part of the programme. For it is after all these living people have been killed and, moreover, killed in the manner announced by Brother Thomas that the task will be done, the God-Stone released and Vorski, the instrument of destiny, crowned king. Therefore, let’s turn up our sleeves, take our trusty butcher’s knife in hand, and get to work! Vorski will translate Brother Thomas’ nightmare into real life!”
CHAPTER XVII. “CRUEL PRINCE, OBEYING DESTINY”
DON LUIS ONCE more addressed himself to Vorski:
“We’re agreed, aren’t we, Kamerad? All that I’m saying exactly expresses the truth?”
Vorski had closed his eyes, his head was drooping, and the veins on his temple were immoderately swollen. To prevent any interference by Stéphane, Don Luis exclaimed:
“You will speak, my fine fellow! Ah, the pain is beginning to grow serious, is it? The brain is giving way? . . . Remember, just one whistle, a bar or two of Tipperary and I interrupt my speech . . . . You won’t? You’re not ripe yet? So much the worse for you! . . . And you, Stéphane, have no fear for François. I answer for everything. But no pity for this monster, please! No, no and again no! Don’t forget that he prepared and contrived everything of his own free will! Don’t forget . . . But I’m getting angry. What’s the use?”
Don Luis unfolded the page of the note-book on which Vorski had written down the prophecy and, holding it under his eyes, continued:
“What remains to be said is not so important, once the general explanation is accepted. Nevertheless, we must go into detail to some slight extent, show the mechanism of the affair imagined and built up by Vorski and lastly come to the part played by our attractive ancient Druid . . . . So we are now in the month of June. This is the season fixed for the execution of the thirty victims. It was evidently appointed by Brother Thomas because the rhythm of his verse called for a month in one syllable, just as the year fourteen and three was selected because three rhymes with be and tree and just as Brother Thomas decided upon the number of thirty victims because thirty is the number of the Sarek reefs and coffins. But Vorski takes it as a definite command. Thirty victims are needed in June ‘17. They will be provided. They will be provided on condition that the twenty-nine inhabitants of Sarek — we shall see presently that Vorski has his thirtieth victim handy — consent to stay on the island and await their destruction. Well, Vorski suddenly hears of the departure of Honorine and Maguennoc. Honorine will come back in time. But how about Maguennoc? Vorski does not hesitate: he sends Elfride and Conrad on his tracks, with instructions to kill him and to wait. He hesitates the less because he believes, from certain words which he has overheard, that Maguennoc has taken with him the precious stone, the miraculous gem which must not be touched but which must be left in its leaden sheath (this is the actual phrase used by Maguennoc)!
“Elfride and Conrad therefore set out. One morning, at an inn, Elfride mixes poison with the coffee which Maguennoc is drinking (the prophecy has stated that there will be poison). Maguennoc continues his journey. But in an hour or two he is seized with intolerable pain and dies, almost immediately, on the bank by the road-side. Elfride and Conrad come up and go through his pockets. They find nothing, no gem, no precious stone. Vorski’s hopes have not been realized. All the same, the corpse is there. What are they to do with it? For the time being, they fling it into a half-demolished hut, which Vorski and his accomplices had visited some months before. Here Véronique d’Hergemont discovers the body . . . and an hour later fails to find it there. Elfride and Conrad, keeping watch close at hand, have taken it away and hidden it, still for the time being, in the cellars of a little empty country-house.
“There’s one victim accounted for. We may observe, in passing, that Maguennoc’s predictions relating to the order in which the thirty victims are to be executed — beginning with himself — have no basis. The prophecy doesn’t mention such a thing. In any case, Vors
ki goes to work at random. At Sarek he carries off François and Stéphane Maroux and then, both as a measure of precaution and in order to cross the island without attracting attention and to enter the Priory more easily, he dresses himself in Stéphane’s clothes, while Raynold puts on François’. The job before them is an easy one. The only people in the house are an old man, M. d’Hergemont, and a woman, Marie Le Goff. As soon as these are got rid of, the rooms and Maguennoc’s in particular will be searched. Vorski, as yet unaware of the result of Elfride’s expedition, would not be surprised if Maguennoc had left the miraculous jewel at the Priory.
“The first to fall is the cook, Marie Le Goff, whom Vorski takes by the throat and stabs with a knife. But it so happens that the ruffian’s face gets covered with blood; and, seized with one of those fits of cowardice to which he is subject, he runs away, after loosing Raynold upon M. d’Hergemont.
“The fight between the boy and the old man is a long one. It is continued through the house and, by a tragic chance, ends before Véronique d’Hergemont’s eyes. M. d’Hergemont is killed. Honorine arrives at the same moment. She drops, making the fourth victim.
“Matters now begin to go quickly. Panic sets in during the night. The people of Sarek, frightened out of their wits, seeing that Maguennoc’s predictions are being fulfilled and that the hour of the disaster which has so long threatened their island is about to strike, make up their minds to go. This is what Vorski and his son are waiting for. Taking up their position in the motor-boat which they have stolen, they rush after the runaways and the abominable hunt begins, the great disaster foretold by Brother Thomas:
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 240
