He went up to his room and had been asleep some time when he was awakened by a tapping at the door. He got up and opened it:
“Is it you? … Is it you?” he whispered.
Hortense and he stood gazing at each other for some seconds in silence, holding each other’s hands, as though nothing, no irrelevant thought and no utterance, must be allowed to interfere with the joy of their meeting. Then he asked:
“Was I right in coming?”
“Yes,” she said, gently, “I expected you.”
“Perhaps it would have been better if you had sent for me sooner, instead of waiting … Events did not wait, you see, and I don’t quite know what’s to become of Jérôme Vignal and Natalie de Gorne.”
“What, haven’t you heard?” she said, quickly. “They’ve been arrested. They were going to travel by the express.”
“Arrested? No.” Rénine objected. “People are not arrested like that. They have to be questioned first.”
“That’s what’s being done now. The authorities are making a search.”
“Where?”
“At the château. And, as they are innocent … For they are innocent, aren’t they? You don’t admit that they are guilty, any more than I do?”
He replied:
“I admit nothing, I can admit nothing, my dear. Nevertheless, I am bound to say that everything is against them … except one fact, which is that everything is too much against them. It is not normal for so many proofs to be heaped up one on top of the other and for the man who commits a murder to tell his story so frankly. Apart from this, there’s nothing but mystery and discrepancy.”
“Well?”
“Well, I am greatly puzzled.”
“But you have a plan?”
“None at all, so far. Ah, if I could see him, Jérôme Vignal, and her, Natalie de Gorne, and hear them and know what they are saying in their own defence! But you can understand that I sha’n’t be permitted either to ask them any questions or to be present at their examination. Besides, it must be finished by this time.”
“It’s finished at the château,” she said, “but it’s going to be continued at the manor house.”
“Are they taking them to the manor house?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes … at least, judging by what was said to the chauffeur of one of the procurator’s two cars.”
“Oh, in that case,” exclaimed Rénine, “the thing’s done! The manor house! Why, we shall be in the front row of the stalls! We shall see and hear everything; and, as a word, a tone of the voice, a quiver of the eyelids will be enough to give me the tiny clue I need, we may entertain some hope. Come along.”
He took her by the direct route which he had followed that morning, leading to the gate which the locksmith had opened. The gendarmes on duty at the manor house had made a passage through the snow, beside the line of footprints and around the house. Chance enabled Rénine and Hortense to approach unseen and through a side window to enter a corridor near a back staircase. A few steps up was a little chamber which received its only light through a sort of bull’s-eye, from the large room on the ground floor. Rénine, during the morning visit, had noticed the bull’s-eye, which was covered on the inside with a piece of cloth. He removed the cloth and cut out one of the panes.
A few minutes later, a sound of voices rose from the other side of the house, no doubt near the well. The sound grew more distinct. A number of people flocked into the house. Some of them went upstairs to the first floor, while the sergeant arrived with a young man of whom Rénine and Hortense were able to distinguish only the tall figure:
“Jérôme Vignal,” said she.
“Yes,” said Rénine. “They are examining Madame de Gorne first, upstairs, in her bedroom.”
A quarter of an hour passed. Then the persons on the first floor came downstairs and went in. They were the procurator’s deputy, his clerk, a commissary of police and two detectives.
Madame de Gorne was shown in and the deputy asked Jérôme Vignal to step forward.
Jérôme Vignal’s face was certainly that of the strong man whom Hortense had depicted in her letter. He displayed no uneasiness, but rather decision and a resolute will. Natalie, who was short and very slight, with a feverish light in her eyes, nevertheless produced the same impression of quiet confidence.
The deputy, who was examining the disordered furniture and the traces of the struggle, invited her to sit down and said to Jérôme:
“Monsieur, I have not asked you many questions so far. This is a summary enquiry which I am conducting in your presence and which will be continued later by the examining magistrate, and I wished above all to explain to you the very serious reasons for which I asked you to interrupt your journey and to come back here with Madame de Gorne. You are now in a position to refute the truly distressing charges that are hanging over you. I therefore ask you to tell me the exact truth.”
“Mr. Deputy,” replied Jérôme, “the charges in question trouble me very little. The truth for which you are asking will defeat all the lies which chance has accumulated against me. It is this.”
He reflected for an instant and then, in clear, frank tones, said:
“I love Madame de Gorne. The first time I met her, I conceived the greatest sympathy and admiration for her. But my affection has always been directed by the sole thought of her happiness. I love her, but I respect her even more. Madame de Gorne must have told you and I tell you again that she and I exchanged our first few words last night.”
He continued, in a lower voice:
“I respect her the more inasmuch as she is exceedingly unhappy. All the world knows that every minute of her life was a martyrdom. Her husband persecuted her with ferocious hatred and frantic jealousy. Ask the servants. They will tell you of the long suffering of Natalie de Gorne, of the blows which she received and the insults which she had to endure. I tried to stop this torture by restoring to the rights of appeal which the merest stranger may claim when unhappiness and injustice pass a certain limit. I went three times to old de Gorne and begged him to interfere, but I found in him an almost equal hatred towards his daughter-in-law, the hatred which many people feel for anything beautiful and noble. At last I resolved on direct action and last night I took a step with regard to Mathias de Gorne which was … a little unusual, I admit, but which seemed likely to succeed, considering the man’s character. I swear, Mr. Deputy, that I had no other intention than to talk to Mathias de Gorne. Knowing certain particulars of his life which enabled me to bring effective pressure to bear upon him, I wished to make use of this advantage in order to achieve my purpose. If things turned out differently, I am not wholly to blame … So I went there a little before nine o’clock. The servants, I knew, were out. He opened the door himself. He was alone.”
“Monsieur,” said the deputy, interrupting him, “you are saying something—as Madame de Gorne, for that matter, did just now—which is manifestly opposed to the truth. Mathias de Gorne did not come home last night until eleven o’clock. We have two definite proofs of this: his father’s evidence and the prints of his feet in the snow, which fell from a quarter past nine o’clock to eleven.”
“Mr. Deputy,” Jérôme Vignal declared, without heeding the bad effect which his obstinacy was producing, “I am relating things as they were and not as they may be interpreted. But to continue. That clock marked ten minutes to nine when I entered this room. M. de Gorne, believing that he was about to be attacked, had taken down his gun. I placed my revolver on the table, out of reach of my hand, and sat down: ‘I want to speak to you, monsieur,’ I said. ‘Please listen to me.’ He did not stir and did not utter a single syllable. So I spoke. And straightway, crudely, without any previous explanations which might have softened the bluntness of my proposal, I spoke the few words which I had prepared beforehand: ‘I have spent some months, monsieur,’ I said, ‘in making careful enquiries into your financial position. You have mortgaged every foot of your land. You hav
e signed bills which will shortly be falling due and which it will be absolutely impossible for you to honour. You have nothing to hope for from your father, whose own affairs are in a very bad condition. So you are ruined. I have come to save you.’ … He watched me, still without speaking, and sat down, which I took to mean that my suggestion was not entirely displeasing. Then I took a sheaf of banknotes from my pocket, placed it before him and continued: ‘Here is sixty thousand francs, monsieur. I will buy the Manoir-au-Puits, its lands and dependencies and take over the mortgages. The sum named is exactly twice what they are worth.’ … I saw his eyes glittering. He asked my conditions. ‘Only one,’ I said, ‘that you go to America.’ … Mr. Deputy, we sat discussing for two hours. It was not that my offer roused his indignation—I should not have risked it if I had not known with whom I was dealing—but he wanted more and haggled greedily, though he refrained from mentioning the name of Madame de Gorne, to whom I myself had not once alluded. We might have been two men engaged in a dispute and seeking an agreement on common ground, whereas it was the happiness and the whole destiny of a woman that were at stake. At last, weary of the discussion, I accepted a compromise and we came to terms, which I resolved to make definite then and there. Two letters were exchanged between us: one in which he made the Manoir-au-Puits over to me for the sum which I had paid him; and one, which he pocketed immediately, by which I was to send him as much more in America on the day on which the decree of divorce was pronounced … So the affair was settled. I am sure that at that moment he was accepting in good faith. He looked upon me less as an enemy and a rival than as a man who was doing him a service. He even went so far as to give me the key of the little door which opens on the fields, so that I might go home by the shortcut. Unfortunately, while I was picking up my cap and greatcoat, I made the mistake of leaving on the table the letter of sale which he had signed. In a moment, Mathias de Gorne had seen the advantage which he could take of my slip: he could keep his property, keep his wife … and keep the money. Quick as lightning, he tucked away the paper, hit me over the head with the butt end of his gun, threw the gun on the floor and seized me by the throat with both hands. He had reckoned without his host. I was the stronger of the two, and after a sharp but short struggle, I mastered him and tied him up with a cord, which I found lying in a corner … Mr. Deputy, if my enemy’s resolve was sudden, mine was no less so. Since, when all was said, he had accepted the bargain, I would force him to keep it, at least insofar as I was interested. A very few steps brought me to the first floor … I had not a doubt that Madame de Gorne was there and had heard the sound of our discussion. Switching on the light of my pocket torch, I looked into three bedrooms. The fourth was locked. I knocked at the door. There was no reply. But this was one of the moments in which a man allows no obstacle to stand in his way. I had seen a hammer in one of the rooms. I picked it up and smashed in the door … Yes, Natalie was lying there, on the floor, in a dead faint. I took her in my arms, carried her downstairs and went through the kitchen. On seeing the snow outside, I at once realized that my footprints would be easily traced. But what did it matter? Was there any reason why I should put Mathias de Gorne off the scent? Not at all. With the sixty thousand francs in his possession, as well as the paper in which I undertook to pay him a like sum on the day of his divorce, to say nothing of his house and land, he would go away, leaving Natalie de Gorne to me. Nothing was changed between us, except one thing: instead of awaiting his good pleasure, I had at once seized the precious pledge which I coveted. What I feared, therefore, was not so much any subsequent attack on the part of Mathias de Gorne, but rather the indignant reproaches of his wife. What would she say when she realized that she was a prisoner in my hands? … The reasons why I escaped reproach Madame de Gorne has, I believe, had the frankness to tell you. Love calls forth love. That night, in my house, broken by emotion, she confessed her feeling for me. She loved me as I loved her. Our destinies were henceforth mingled. She and I set out at five o’clock this morning … not foreseeing for an instant that we were amenable to the law.”
Jérôme Vignal’s story was finished. He had told it straight off the reel, like a story learned by heart and incapable of revision in any detail.
There was a brief pause, during which Hortense whispered:
“It all sounds quite possible and, in any case, very logical.”
“There are the objections to come,” said Rénine. “Wait till you hear them. They are very serious. There’s one in particular …”
The deputy-procurator stated it at once:
“And what became of M. de Gorne in all this?”
“Mathias de Gorne?” asked Jérôme.
“Yes. You have related, with an accent of great sincerity, a series of facts which I am quite willing to admit. Unfortunately, you have forgotten a point of the first importance: what became of Mathias de Gorne? You tied him up here, in this room. Well, this morning he was gone.”
“Of course, Mr. Deputy, Mathias de Gorne accepted the bargain in the end and went away.”
“By what road?”
“No doubt by the road that leads to his father’s house.”
“Where are his footprints? The expanse of snow is an impartial witness. After your fight with him, we see you, on the snow, moving away. Why don’t we see him? He came and did not go away again. Where is he? There is not a trace of him … or rather …”
The deputy lowered his voice:
“Or rather, yes, there are some traces on the way to the well and around the well … traces which prove that the last struggle of all took place there … And after that there is nothing … not a thing …”
Jérôme shrugged his shoulders:
“You have already mentioned this, Mr. Deputy, and it implies a charge of homicide against me. I have nothing to say to it.”
“Have you anything to say to the fact that your revolver was picked up within fifteen yards of the well?”
“No.”
“Or to the strange coincidence between the three shots heard in the night and the three cartridges missing from your revolver?”
“No, Mr. Deputy, there was not, as you believe, a last struggle by the well, because I left M. de Gorne tied up, in this room, and because I also left my revolver here. On the other hand, if shots were heard, they were not fired by me.”
“A casual coincidence, therefore?”
“That’s a matter for the police to explain. My only duty is to tell the truth and you are not entitled to ask more of me.”
“And if that truth conflicts with the facts observed?”
“It means that the facts are wrong, Mr. Deputy.”
“As you please. But, until the day when the police are able to make them agree with your statements, you will understand that I am obliged to keep you under arrest.”
“And Madame de Gorne?” asked Jérôme, greatly distressed.
The deputy did not reply. He exchanged a few words with the commissary of police and then, beckoning to a detective, ordered him to bring up one of the two motorcars. Then he turned to Natalie:
“Madame, you have heard M. Vignal’s evidence. It agrees word for word with your own. M. Vignal declares in particular that you had fainted when he carried you away. But did you remain unconscious all the way?”
It seemed as though Jérôme’s composure had increased Madame de Gorne’s assurance. She replied:
“I did not come to, monsieur, until I was at the château.”
“It’s most extraordinary. Didn’t you hear the three shots which were heard by almost everyone in the village?”
“I did not.”
“And did you see nothing of what happened beside the well?”
“Nothing did happen. M. Vignal has told you so.”
“Then what has become of your husband?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come, madame, you really must assist the officers of the law and at least tell us what you think. Do you believ
e that there may have been an accident and that possibly M. de Gorne, who had been to see his father and had more to drink than usual, lost his balance and fell into the well?”
“When my husband came back from seeing his father, he was not in the least intoxicated.”
“His father, however, has stated that he was. His father and he had drunk two or three bottles of wine.”
“His father is not telling the truth.”
“But the snow tells the truth, madame,” said the deputy, irritably. “And the line of his footprints wavers from side to side.”
“My husband came in at half past eight, monsieur, before the snow had begun to fall.”
The deputy struck the table with his fist:
“But, really, madame, you’re going right against the evidence! … That sheet of snow cannot speak false! … I may accept your denial of matters that cannot be verified. But these footprints in the snow … in the snow …”
He controlled himself.
The motorcar drew up outside the windows. Forming a sudden resolve, he said to Natalie:
“You will be good enough to hold yourself at the disposal of the authorities, madame, and to remain here, in the manor house …”
And he made a sign to the sergeant to remove Jérôme Vignal in the car.
The game was lost for the two lovers. Barely united, they had to separate and to fight, far away from each other, against the most grievous accusations.
Jérôme took a step towards Natalie. They exchanged a long, sorrowful look. Then he bowed to her and walked to the door, in the wake of the sergeant of gendarmes.
“Halt!” cried a voice. “Sergeant, right about … turn! … Jérôme Vignal, stay where you are!”
The ruffled deputy raised his head, as did the other people present. The voice came from the ceiling. The bull’s-eye window had opened and Rénine, leaning through it, was waving his arms:
“I wish to be heard! … I have several remarks to make … especially in respect of the zigzag footprints! … It all lies in that! … Mathias had not been drinking! …”
The Eight Strokes of the Clock Page 17
