Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “At last!” cried Rouletabille, and he threw the door open.

  The man who entered looked like a corpse. Never was human face so pallid, so bloodless, so devoid of all semblance of life. So many emotions had ravaged his visage that it expressed not a single one.

  “Ah! you were there!” he said. “Well, it is over.”

  And he fell into the chair from which Rouletabille had just raised the Lady in Black. He looked up at her.

  “Your wish is realized,” he said. “It is where you wished it to be.”

  “Did you see his face?” questioned Rouletabille excitedly.

  “No,” answered Darzac, wearily. “I have not seen it. Did you think that I was going to open the sack?”

  I thought that Rouletabille would have shown discomfiture at this answer but, on the contrary, he turned to M. Darzac and said:

  “Ah, you did not see his face. That’s very good, indeed.” And he pressed his hand affectionately.

  “The important thing now,” he went on, “is not that, at all. It is necessary that we should close the circle. And you will help us do that, M. Darzac. Wait a moment.”

  And almost joyously, he threw himself down on all fours and crawled around among the furniture and under the bed as I had seen him do in the Yellow Room. And from time to time, he raised his head to say:

  “Ah, I shall find something — something that will save us.”

  I answered, looking at M. Darzac: “Aren’t we saved already?”

  “Which will save our brains,” Rouletabille went on.

  “The boy is right!” exclaimed M. Darzac. “It is absolutely necessary for us to know how that man got into the room.”

  Suddenly Rouletabille rose to his feet, holding in his hand a revolver which he had found under the panel.

  “Ah! you have found his revolver!” cried M. Darzac.

  “Fortunately, he did not have time to use it.”

  As he spoke M. Darzac took from his pocket his own revolver — the revolver which had saved his life — and held it out to the young man.

  “This is a good weapon!” he said.

  Rouletabille examined it closely and looked into the empty barrel out of which had sped the ball which had dealt death; then he compared the pistol with that which he had found under the panel and which had fallen from the hand of the assassin. The latter was a “bull dog” and bore the mark of a London gunsmith; it seemed to be quite new, every barrel was filled and Rouletabille declared that it had never been fired.

  “Larsan only avails himself of firearms in the last extremity,” said the young man. “He hates noise of any kind. You may be sure that he intended merely to frighten you with his revolver, otherwise he would have fired it immediately.”

  And Rouletabille returned M. Darzac’s revolver and put Larsan’s in his pocket.

  “Of what use is it to be armed now?” cried M. Darzac, shaking his head. “I assure you it is quite futile.”

  “You believe so?” demanded Rouletabille.

  “I am certain of it.”

  Rouletabille made a few steps through the room and said:

  “With Larsan, one can never be sure of anything. Where is the body?”

  M. Darzac replied.

  “Ask my wife. I want to forget all about it. I know nothing more about this horrible thing. When the remembrance of that dreadful journey shall return to me, I shall try to make myself believe that it was a nightmare. And I will drive it away. Never speak to me of it again. No one save Mme. Darzac knows where the body is. She may tell you, if she likes.”

  “I have forgotten, too!” said Mathilde. “I was obliged to do so.”

  “Nevertheless,” insisted Rouletabille, shaking his head, “you must tell me. You said that he was in his agony. Are you sure that he is dead now?”

  “I am perfectly sure,” replied M. Darzac, simply.

  “Oh, it is finished. Is it not entirely ended?” pleaded Mathilde. She arose and walked to the window. “See! there is the sun! This horrible night is dead — dead, forever! Everything is over!”

  Poor Lady in Black! The yearnings of her soul revealed themselves in her words. “It is finished!” And the fact, as she believed it, made her forget all the horror of the scene which had passed in this room. Larsan no more! Larsan buried! Buried in the potato sack!

  And we all started up in affright, when the Lady in Black began to laugh — the frantic laugh of a madwoman! She ceased as suddenly as she had begun and a horrible stillness followed. We dared look neither at her nor at each other! She was the first to speak.

  “It is all over!” she said. “Forgive me: I won’t laugh again.”

  And then Rouletabille said, speaking in a very low tone:

  “It will be over when we know how he got in.”

  “What good would it do?” replied the Lady in Black. “It is a question to which he alone knows the answer. He is the only one who could tell us and he is dead.”

  “He will not be truly dead for us until we know that,” responded Rouletabille.

  “Evidently,” said M. Darzac, “so long as we do not know that, we shall be uneasy and he will be there in our minds. He must be driven away! he must be!”

  “Let us try to drive him away then,” said Rouletabille.

  And he went to the Lady in Black and gently took her hand in his and attempted to draw her into the next room, begging her to lie down and rest. But Mathilde declared that she would not go. She said: “What! you would drive Larsan away and I not here!” And her voice sounded as though she were about to laugh again. I made a sign to Rouletabille not to insist upon her absence.

  Rouletabille opened the door leading into the corridor and called Bernier and his wife.

  They did not wish to enter, but we insisted on their doing so, and a general consultation took place from which we deduced the following facts:

  (1) Rouletabille had visited the apartment at five o’clock and searched behind the panel and at that time there was no one in the room.

  (2) After five o’clock, the door of the apartment had been twice opened by Pere Bernier, who alone had the right to open it in the absence of M. and Mme. Darzac. The first time was at five o’clock to permit M. Darzac to enter; the next at eleven o’clock to admit M. and Mme. Darzac.

  (3) Bernier had locked the door of the apartment when M. Darzac went out with us between a quarter past and half past six.

  (4) The door of the apartment had been locked and bolted by M. Darzac as soon as he entered his room, both in the afternoon and in the evening.

  (5) Bernier had stood guard before the door of the apartment from five o’clock till eleven o’clock with a brief interruption of not more than two minutes at six o’clock.

  When we had discussed and fully established these facts, Rouletabille, who was sitting at M. Darzac’s desk taking notes, arose and said:

  “So far, it is very simple. We have only one hope. It is in the few moments that Bernier was off guard about six o’clock. At least, at that time, no one was in front of the door. But there was someone behind it. It was you, M. Darzac. Can you reiterate, after having thoroughly searched your memory, that when you went into your room, you instantly closed the door and drew the bolt?”

  “I can!” replied M. Darzac, solemnly; and he added: “And I opened that door only when you and Sainclair knocked upon it. I swear it.”

  And in saying this, as later events proved, the man spoke the truth.

  Rouletabille thanked the Berniers and dismissed them to get some rest. Then, his voice trembling, the lad said:

  “It is well, M. Darzac, you have closed the circle. The apartment in the Square Tower is now closed as firmly as was the Yellow Room which was like a strong box, or as the ‘inexplicable gallery.’”

  “One would guess immediately that Larsan was mixed up in the affair!” I exclaimed. “It is the same mode of procedure!”

  “Yes,” observed Mme. Darzac. “Yes, M. Sainclair, it is the same mode of procedure.” And she u
nfastened her husband’s collar to show the wounds hidden beneath it.

  “See!” she said. “They are the same nail prints. I know them well.”

  There was a sorrowful silence.

  M. Darzac, caring only to solve this strange problem, reviewed the crime of the Glandier. And he repeated what he had said in the Yellow Room:

  “There must be a passage in the floor, in the ceiling or in the walls.”

  “There is not,” replied Rouletabille.

  “Then he must have found some way to make one,” persisted M. Darzac.

  “Why?” asked Rouletabille. “Did he do anything of the sort in the Yellow Room?”

  “Oh, this isn’t the same thing at all!” I exclaimed. “This apartment is more firmly closed than the Yellow Room since no one could have gotten into it before nor after.”

  “No, it is not the same thing,” pronounced Rouletabille. “It is just the opposite. In the Yellow Room, there was a body missing: in the room in the Round Tower, there is a body too many.”

  And he tottered out, leaning on my arm so as not to fall. The Lady in Black rushed toward him. He had strength enough left to stop her with a gesture.

  “Oh — this is nothing!” he said. “I’m a little tired, that’s all!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE SACK OF POTATOES

  WHILE M. DARZAC, with the assistance of Bernier, busied himself, as Rouletabille advised, with obliterating all signs of the tragedy, the Lady in Black, who had hastily changed her dress, hurried to her father’s rooms in order not to run the risk of encountering any of the other members of the party. Her last word was to counsel us to prudence and silence. Rouletabille also took leave of us.

  It was now about seven o’clock in the morning and things began to stir in and about the château. We could hear the fishermen singing in their boats. I threw myself upon my bed, and in a few moments I was sleeping profoundly, vanquished by the physical weariness which was stronger than my powers of resistance. When I awakened, I lay for a few moments on my couch in a pleasant bewilderment, but as the events of the night dawned on my remembrance, I started up in terror.

  “Ah!” I cried out, “A body too many! No, no! It can’t be! It’s impossible!”

  It was this which surged across the dark gulf of my thoughts, above the abyss of my memory; this impossibility of “a body too many.” And the horror which I found in my heart at my awakening was not confined to myself — far from it! All those who had mingled, near or far, in this strange drama of the Square Tower, shared it; and even though the horror of the event itself were appeased — the horror of the body in its last throes of agony thrown into a sack which a man carried off at night to cast it into who knows what far off and profound and mysterious tomb where it might gasp out its last breath of life — even if, I say, this horror should be forgotten and blotted out of the mind, and effaced from the vision, yet still the impossibility of this “body too many” grew and increased and rose up before us higher and higher and more threatening and more dreadful. Certain persons there are — like Mme. Edith, for example — who deny almost from habit, anything which they cannot understand — who deny the presentation of the problem which destiny holds for us (such as we have established in the preceding chapter) even while every event and every circumstance among those which had the Fort of Hercules for their theatre rendered proof of the exactitude of the presentation.

  First of all, the attack! How had the attack been made? At what moment? By what means of approach? What mines, trenches, covered paths, breaches — in the domains of the mental fortifications — have served the assailant and delivered the château over into his hands? Yes, under the existing conditions, where was the attack? The answer is — silence. And yet, the facts must be brought to light. Rouletabille has said so; he ought to know. In a siege as mysterious as this, the attack may be in everything or in nothing. The assailant is as still as the grave itself and the assault is made without clamor and the enemy approaches the walls walking in his stocking feet. The attack? It is, perhaps, in the very stillness itself, but again, it may, perhaps, be in the spoken word. It is in a tone, in a sigh, in a breath. It is in a gesture, but if perhaps it may be in all which is hidden, it may be, also, in all that is revealed — in everything which one sees and which one does not see.

  Eleven o’clock! Where was Rouletabille? His bed had not been disturbed. I dressed myself hurriedly and went to look for my friend, whom I found in the outer court. He took me by the arm and led me into the vast drawing room of “la Louve.” There, I was surprised to find, although it was not yet time for luncheon, everybody assembled. M. and Mme. Darzac were there. It seemed to me that M. Rance’s manner was rather frigid. When he shook my hand in wishing me good morning, he barely touched my fingers. As soon as we entered the room Mme. Edith, from the dark corner where she was reclining carelessly on a sofa, saluted us with the words:

  “Ah, here is M. Rouletabille with his friend, Sainclair. Now we shall know why we have all been summoned here!”

  To this remark, Rouletabille responded by first excusing himself for having requested us all to gather at so early an hour; but he had, he went on to say, such a serious and important communication to make to us that he had not wished to delay it one moment longer than was absolutely necessary. His tone was so grave that Edith pretended to shiver and counterfeited an infantile terror. Rut Rouletabille, without noticing her, continued: “Before you shiver, Madame, wait until you know what you have to he afraid of. I have some news for you which is very far from pleasant.”

  We all looked at him, and then at each other! What was he about to say? I endeavored to read in the faces of M. and Mme. Darzac what they thought of the matter. Both showed remarkably little evidence of last night’s horrors! But what was it that Rouletabille had to say to us? He entreated those who were standing to be seated and then he began to speak. He addressed himself to Mme. Rance.

  “First of all, Madame, permit me to inform you that I have decided to suppress the ‘guard’ which surrounded the Château of Hercules, like an inner wall, and which I judged necessary for the protection of M. and Mme. Darzac and which you kindly allowed me to establish, although it vexed you, showing the most charming of good humor and accommodating spirit.”

  This direct allusion to the mocking remarks and innuendos of Mme. Edith at the time when we mounted guard made Mr. Rance and his wife both smile. But no smile arose to the lips of M. or Mme. Darzac nor myself, for we had begun to ask ourselves anxiously what the boy was preparing to say.

  “Ah, really, are you going to withdraw the guard from the château, M. Rouletabille? Well, I am very glad to hear it, although I assure you that it did not vex me in the least!” exclaimed Mme. Edith with an affectation of gayety. “On the contrary, it has interested me very much, because, you know, I am of a very romantic nature, and if I rejoice at the change, it is because the fact proves to me that M. and Mme. Darzac are no longer in any danger.”

  “This is true, Madame,” replied Rouletabille, “since last night.”

  Mme. Darzac could not refrain from a hasty movement which no one save myself perceived.

  “So much the better!” cried Mme. Edith. “May Heaven be praised! But how is it that my husband and I are the last to hear the news? Interesting things must have been happening last night! The nocturnal trip of M. Darzac to Castelar was one of them, without doubt!”

  As she spoke, I could see the embarassment of M. and Mme. Darzac. The former, after a glance at his wife, started to speak, but Rouletabille would not permit him to do so.

  “Madame, I do not know where M. Darzac went last night, but it is necessary that you should know one thing: and that is the reason why M. and Mme. Darzac have ceased to run any danger. Your husband, Madame, has told you of the frightful tragedy of the Glandier two years ago and of the villainous part played in it by—”

  “Frederic Larsan — yes, monsieur, I know all that.”

  “You know also, of course, that the reason
why we have placed such a strong guard here around M. Darzac and his wife was because we had seen this man again?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, M. and Mme. Darzac are no longer in danger because this man cannot appear again ever.”

  “What has become of him?”

  “He is dead.”

  “When did he die?”

  “Last night.”

  “And how did he die last night?”

  “He was killed, madame.”

  “And where was he killed?”

  “In the Square Tower.”

  We all sprang to our feet at this declaration in the greatest agitation. M. and Mme. Rance seemed completely stupefied by the words which they had heard and M. and Mme. Darzac and myself were plunged into the most profound agitation by the fact that Rouletabille had not hesitated to reveal the secret.

  “In the Square Tower?” cried Mme. Edith. “And who, then, has killed him?”

  “M. Robert Darzac,” replied Rouletabille. “And he entreats everyone to sit down.”

  It was astonishing how we seated ourselves with one accord, as though, at such a moment, we had nothing to do except to obey this youngster. But almost immediately Mme. Edith arose and seizing M. Darzac by the hand, she exclaimed with an emphasis which made me decide that I had judged her wrongly when I called her affected:

  “Bravo, Monsieur Robert! All right! You are a gentleman!”

  Then she paid some exaggerated compliments — for after all, it was her nature to exaggerate things — to Mme. Darzac. She swore eternal friendship for her; she declared that she and her husband were ready, under all circumstances, to stand by the Darzacs and that the latter might count upon their zeal and their devotion and that they would swear whatever one liked before all the judges in the tribunal.

  “Gently, dear Madame,” interrupted Rouletabille. “There is no question of judges and we hope that there may not be. There’s no need of it. Larsan was a dead man in the eyes of the whole world long before he was killed last night — he will continue to be dead, that is all! We have decided that it would be useless to reopen a scandal of which M. and Mme. Darzac have already been made the innocent victims and we have counted upon your assistance. The affair has happened in so mysterious a fashion that even you, if we had not informed you in regard to it, would never have suspected. But M. and Mme. Darzac are endowed with sentiments too noble to permit them to forget what they owe to their hosts. The most simple rules of hospitality ordered them to tell you that they killed a man in your house last night. How foolish it would be to lay bare this unfortunate story to some Italian police officer and subject you to the inconvenience of having your names coupled with the miserable business, and, it might easily be, to have a search made of your house and hired servants of the law under your roof! M. and Mme. Darzac, for your sakes alone, are anxious that you should not run the risk of being the object of idle gossip, or, perhaps, of having the police descend upon your home.”