Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  CHAPTER VI

  A PIECE OF ORANGE-COLOURED MATERIAL

  “WHAT DOES IT all prove?” growled Jean in a black temper, head bent. “Why shouldn’t there be a woman’s footprints in the garden? How can we tell who came here to see de Lauriac? And why are you on showing that these marks were made by Odette’s shoes? —

  “For three reasons,” returned Rouletabille, wiping his forehead. “First, because I saw them near where the wrap was found; secondly, because they are the exact size of Odette’s shoes; and lastly, because they came from over there.” —

  And Rouletabille pointed to a small door in a rather low wall, which divided de Lauriac’s domain from the “The partition door,” exclaimed Jean with a laugh.

  “I believe the partition door has been permanently closed for ever so long.” —

  “Well, see for yourself, returned Rouletabille, and he had but to give it a push for the door to open.

  “Oh, I am stifling,” cried Jean.

  He turned and walked a few steps towards de Lauriac’s house, his whole body expressing menace, but Rouletabille stood in his path. He pointed to Tavan, who was standing not far away slyly taking in what was being said.

  “Restrain yourself, I entreat you.

  “I will kill this man de Lauriac,” Jean muttered, grinding his teeth and shaking with passion.

  Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders and beckoned Alari to come to him. He had but to point to the door for the old servant to grasp the position.

  “I can say for certain that last night the door was still locked and bolted. You can see that lock and bolts are covered with rust. The door hasn’t been unlocked and unbolted for years. As a matter of fact, not since the death of Monsieur de Lauriac’s father.”

  “Where was the key kept?

  “Indeed, monsieur, I couldn’t tell you. You should ask monsieur or mademoiselle.”

  “Very good, Alari. You can go back to the château, and I know you well enough to feel that you’ll hold your tongue about all this.”

  “Certainly, monsieur, but what about old Tavan?

  “Leave old Tavan to me.”

  He hurried Alari into the park and went into it himself with Jean. From that side he could see the key in the lock. He made sure also that a very considerable effort must have been required to push back the bolts. Jean, who was staggered by the thought of Odette visiting de Lauriac of her own free will the night before, watched him speechless and dazed as he tried the fastenings.

  Suddenly ominous cries rang out, in which Alari’s voice rose above the others.

  Rouletabille and Jean darted forward and, turning the angle formed by a dense wood, discovered a number of persons standing round Alari, who was on his knees. These were men who had brought the day’s supplies to the Viei-Castou-Nou, and they were breaking forth into lamentations in which the words “the good God” and “sinner” proclaimed that some terrible calamity had occurred.

  On pushing aside the panic-stricken group, the young men found themselves in the presence of a dead body, the face of which was covered with blood. Jean uttered a great shout:

  “Monsieur de Lavardens murdered!”

  Alari was shedding tears. Old Tavan, who also had come hurrying up, declared that the “poor man” was already cold.

  Rouletabille waved him away, forbidding him to touch the body. He alone was entitled to do so. He at once noticed a ghastly wound in the temple, which appeared to have been inflicted by some sharp weapon. At the same time he noted on the victim the marks of a struggle which had obviously been desperate. Monsieur de Lavardens’ clothes were in disorder, the neck of his shirt was torn, and in his clenched hand he held a piece of orange-coloured material.

  “Why, that’s from Monsieur de Lauriac’s tie,” exclaimed Alari.

  “Yes it is. Yes it is. It’s from Monsieur de Lauriac’s tie,” the others standing round cried in unison.

  “Are you positive?” demanded Jean in a hoarse voice.

  I should think I was positive!” declared Alari. rising to his feet. “And old Tavan, too, is positive about it. Why don’t you say something, Tavan?”

  “Because this is beginning to be a matter which is no business of mine.”

  “What is your business then?” inquired Rouletabille sharply.

  “To look after my garden,” returned Tavan. “I should certainly have done better if I had stayed in my garden this morning.”

  “That wouldn’t have prevented your master from being murdered,” exclaimed Jean.

  Jean rushed into de Lauriac’s estate, the others following him; and over and above the tumult Alari could be heard repeating:

  “I told you so! I told you so!... A highwayman.”

  Rouletabille, however, did not go with the crowd, but, on the contrary, after briefly examining the appearance of things near the body, hurried off in the opposite direction, that is to say, he returned to the Viei-Castou-Nou.

  He encountered Estève, the lady’s maid, in the hall as she was coming up from the kitchen, carrying her mistress’s breakfast on a tray, for the events which we have described had taken place within a quarter of an hour.

  When Estève beheld the journalist again she could not repress a start of uneasiness.

  “What fresh news is there, monsieur, that you look so upset?”

  “Go upstairs. I’ll come with you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders with annoyance and mounted the stairs.

  “Be good enough to tell your mistress that I must speak to her at once.”

  She tried to make some protest, but Rouletabille gave her a look which silenced her. Then she knocked at the door of the room and entered. She came out again almost directly, white-faced, seeking to control her too obvious emotion and speak in a firm voice:

  “Mademoiselle will see you presently. She cannot see you just now.”

  Rouletabille pushed her out of the way, opened the door without waiting for permission and entered Odette’s room.

  The room was empty.... The bed had not been slept in.

  He turned sharply to Estève, who tried to make off, but, seizing her by the wrist and closing the door, he said:

  Now to business.”

  CHAPTER VII

  ESTÈVE

  “WHAT HAVE I done? What have I done?” cried Estève, in a state of extreme terror.

  “I swear that you shall tell me,” Rouletabille rapped out in her face. “To begin with, you knew that your mistress was not in her room. Don’t lie. You deceived us.”

  “I swear to heaven I thought she was in her room. Lord preserve me!... I swear to heaven... I swear to heaven...”

  She lifted her wide-open eyes to him appealingly. Rouletabille looked into their depths and then let her go as though he were relenting. He endeavoured to recover his own calmness, and to quieten her he spoke in the language of the district.

  “Why were you so put out a little while ago?”

  “How do I know,” she returned. “Your eyes frightened me.”

  “You’re not speaking the truth, Estève. You know something that you choose not to tell me, but listen to me — your mistress was kidnapped last night. I have sent for the examining magistrate, and you will be arrested as an accomplice.”

  “Kidnapped! Kidnapped!” cried the poor girl, and she sank weeping to the foot of Mademoiselle de Lavardens’ bed....” Oh, why did you run away?”

  “Estève, I believe you to be a good girl,” went on Rouletabille, “and you may have been guilty of an act of carelessness which will be forgiven if you honestly speak out. Did you not enter into conversation yesterday with certain persons whom we do not as a rule see at Viei-Castou-Nou or hereabouts?”

  “No, monsieur. No, monsieur. Not a soul.... But stay... yesterday morning the garden gate was open. I was tidying the room when I noticed opposite the gate a rough-looking fellow. As it happened mademoiselle passed in front of the gate, and I heard the good-for-nothing have the cheek to call out to her.”

  “
What did mademoiselle do?”

  “She went out and talked to him very nicely for some time, believe me. She is always too good to those vagabonds, especially when they are like this one, who looked a real brigand and stared at her with his wicked eyes.”

  “Did mademoiselle say anything to you about it when she came in?”

  “No, but I asked her. I was curious to know what this man wanted. ‘He is a dog-clipper,’ she told me. ‘He asked me if I had any dogs to be clipped.’ That was all. Then I went back to the window, but the man was gone. No matter, I didn’t like the look of him. That’s the man, certainly, who did the deed.

  Oh, poor mademoiselle!” moaned Estève. “She was so trusting, so kind to everybody.”

  Just then Jean came along like a whirlwind. They heard him rushing up the stairs shouting:

  “Odette! Odette!”

  Rouletabille bundled Estève into a small dressing-room and turned the key, exclaiming:

  “You are my prisoner. I haven’t done with you by a long way.”

  Then he opened the door to Jean and had but to point to the bed which had not been slept in.

  “Oh, the villain!” Jean bellowed.

  “Whom do you mean?” asked Rouletabille frigidly.

  “You ask me that!” exclaimed Jean. “Why, I mean the man who murdered de Lavardens and kidnapped Odette. Oh, Rouletabille, Rouletabille, you know that Odette has been carried off and you are not yet on her tracks!”

  “Who told you that I am not on her tracks?” returned the journalist, losing patience. “Who says that I am not going after her more quickly by remaining in this room than if I were flying over the ground in a motor-car. My poor fellow,” he added, going up to him. “You are running after de Lauriac. Every step you take is leading you away from Odette.”

  “You defend de Lauriac now,” gasped Jean. “Well, here, read this. This is what I found in a room at his place, which was turned upside down last night by this dreadful business. Read it. Read it, I tell you.”

  Rouletabille read the letter, which was all crumpled:

  “Mademoiselle, — The treatment that I have received at your house in defiance of your pledged word, and the attitude which, alas! your father and you have adopted towards me, have roused my indignation. I must see you. I shall expect you to-night at ten o’clock in the garden, near the partition gate. If you fail to come, I will not be answerable for the consequences.

  “Your sorrowful

  “Hubert de Lauriac.”

  “Do you understand now,” cried Jean excitedly. “I assure you that there is no necessity to go down on your hands and knees to grasp the meaning of this letter.... Odette received a letter and tried to prevent some rash action on de Lauriac’s part. She went to the garden. The villain compelled her to go to his house. The poor dear cried out. Her father heard her, took down a dog-whip which I have here” — and Jean thrust in the journalist’s face the dog-whip which he had likewise picked up at de Lauriac’s—” and made a rush at the scoundrel.... There was a terrible scene.... He tried to bring his daughter home. The struggle was continued in the garden and park, and de Lauriac did not shrink from murder in order to carry off Odette.... And now heaven only knows where she is or what steps we must take to rescue her...

  Rouletabille bit his lip until the blood came. He knew that Jean was, as a rule, as gentle as a young girl, but as impulsive and headstrong as an artist or a poet, and in the first moment of “passion” could not control himself. He would have to give full play to his fury before the language of cold common-sense would make any impression on him. Rouletabille took his two burning hands in his:

  “Don’t let us, I entreat you, my dear Jean, waste our time in talking at random in this way. You must understand that it was not Odette who was the first to go to de Lauriac’s place, but Monsieur de Lavardens. And the letter which I have just read proves it, and corroborates all that up to now I have been able to picture of the tragedy.”

  “You forget that the letter was not addressed to Monsieur de Lavardens, but to Odette.”

  “You compel me to say that I know Odette better than you do,” returned Rouletabille with a sad smile. “I am positive — mark you, I am positive — that when Odette received that letter she took it to her father. Do you follow now why Monsieur de Lavardens was the first to go to de Lauriac’s house, and why Odette, in her alarm at his failure to return, went after him?”

  “What do I care about all that?” said Jean distractedly. “The fact remains that de Lauriac murdered him. Oh, I want to get at him, I tell you.”

  Rouletabille endeavoured to hold him back.

  “Jean, it was not de Lauriac who committed the murder.”

  “Rouletabille, you are no longer a friend of mine,” retorted Jean, as he wrenched himself free and ran like a madman to meet the examining magistrate, who had now arrived.

  CHAPTER VIII

  IN WHICH THE FATAL SIGN AGAIN APPEARS

  ROULETABILLE WENT TO the dressing-room and took Estève back to Odette’s room.

  “Mademoiselle de Lavardens received a letter from Monsieur de Lauriac yesterday,” he began, “and you brought it to her.”

  “I swear I gave no letter to Mademoiselle Odette.”

  “I did not say that you gave her the letter. I said that you brought it.”

  “I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t bring anything,” she cried, wringing her hands, a prey to despair which was not simulated, but the result, perhaps, of remorse for her falsehood. Rouletabille interpreted her attitude rightly. He determined to play a bold stroke, and pointing through the window to the officials who were beginning their investigations:

  “See!” he said. “There are the magistrates who are here to arrest Monsieur de Lauriac on the charge of kidnapping Mademoiselle Odette and murdering Monsieur de Lavardens.”

  Estève drew herself up, electrified. “Monsieur de Lavardens murdered!” She swayed and would have fallen but that Rouletabille held her.

  “Yes, murdered, and woe betide the man or woman who does not speak the whole truth!”

  “Well, I will tell you... I will tell you,” the hapless woman cried in a choking voice. “I was wrong to take money from Monsieur de Lauriac. If I had only known! Lord, if I had only known!”

  “Why did he give you money?”

  “To tell him what Mademoiselle Odette was doing and whether she was receiving any letters from Monsieur Jean, and even from you — in short, everything. I oughtn’t to have done it. Heavens, if I had known! In the end I was obliged to do as I was told.... I was passing yesterday along the footpath when he jumped over his wall and gave me a letter for Mademoiselle Odette. I refused at first, but he said: ‘You’ve only got to put this letter in her room. She won’t know that you brought it.’ And he gave me more money. So I did as he wished, and placed the letter there, on the chest of drawers.” The poor girl stopped for a moment, choked with sobbing.

  “Come, come, now,” urged Rouletabille. “What took place after that?”

  “After that I wondered what would happen when Mademoiselle Odette found the letter.... Well, she saw it that evening when she went to her room. I kept an eye on her from the head of the stairs. She at once went to her father’s room.”

  “Of course,” muttered Rouletabille.

  “I expected them to ring for me. I was dead frightened. But mademoiselle returned to her room a few minutes later and I heard nothing more. So I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep the whole night.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About half-past nine.”

  “As you couldn’t sleep, didn’t you hear anything unusual?”

  “Yes,” confessed Estève, with a shudder, “I heard a cry and seemed to recognize mademoiselle’s voice.”

  “What then?”

  “And then I buried my head, in my pillow. Later I said to myself that I must have been dreaming. I couldn’t really believe that mademoiselle would leave her room. For all that, the reason of my being so upse
t this morning was that it was getting late and she hadn’t rung for her breakfast. So I went downstairs to look for her, for I was inwardly quite scared, because of the cry in the night.... Oh, when I saw the wrap my blood ran cold, and I went down to the kitchen.... Then my knees gave way beneath me, and I hadn’t sufficient strength to go up again. Afterwards I thought it over and saw you, and said to myself that the truth would soon be known.... Oh, when I saw that her room was empty! I don’t know how I had the courage to come out and lie to you. But I had to do it, hadn’t I? I intended to tell Monsieur de Lavardens privately.”

  “Monsieur de Lavardens died a violent death as a result of this letter, not to mention that Mademoiselle Odette is probably also dead,” declared Rouletabille in his most lugubrious voice.

  “Heavens, you’ll drive me crazy.”

  “The chief culprit in these two crimes is you. Remember, Estève, that the stigma of crime never disappears.”

  Estève gazed at him haggard-eyed and asked in a breath:

  “Shall I be sent to prison?”

  “Not if you tell the truth when I question you, because you have not yet done telling the truth.”

  “But what about the magistrates?” sobbed the poor woman. “What must I say to them?”

  “Oh, you needn’t tell the magistrates anything, for, as you may suppose, they would put you in prison at once — you may be quite certain of that. But you must tell me... me who won’t have you put in prison if you speak the truth...” And he bent over her and fixed her with a piercing look: “You must tell me where this thing came from.”

  As he spoke he flashed before her eyes a curious ornament which he had taken from the partly-open drawer of a work table, in which it had been thrown among ribbons and such like. His attention, always on the alert, even when he seemed entirely absorbed by an examination as keen as that to which he had subjected the lady’s maid, had been attracted by the fantastic beauty of an oriental frontlet which exhibited the mysterious sign of the Romanys — the cross and crescent shaped like a dagger, which he had observed one evening engraved on a certain slave bangle.