Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  The veiled lady heaved a sigh and I saw the tears course down her cheeks under her veil.

  I was greatly upset. I have never been able to see a beautiful woman cry, even if she were not Amalia, without feeling moved in the very depths of my being. The veiled lady’s voice was soft and low, and when she spoke of her husband it held a note of tenderness and despair. She must have loved him as much as he loved her; and all the gestures by which she expressed her grief were French and wonderfully graceful and marked by perfect breeding and dignity.

  “The unhappy man thinks that I am dead,” she sighed. “How much he must suffer.”

  “Madame, he lives only to take his revenge.”

  “I’ve been told so, I’ve been told so. Monsieur Herbert, you have seen him. Tell me everything.”

  I gave a start and broke in:

  “Who told you, Madame, that I have seen your husband?”

  “The Admiral himself told me on the night of your arrival at Renich.”

  So that night when from the dormer window in the roof I watched those two beings, the veiled lady and the Admiral, in such animated conversation in the “madhouse,” it was of me that they were speaking.

  “Is it true,” she asked with a catch in her breath, “that he went mad and seeks to avenge my death by unspeakable cruelties; he who was always so good and kind; he the best and gentlest of men?”

  “He is like a mad dog, Madame. In that respect I hardly think that the Admiral can have said anything which was more than the truth. Mr. G — now calls himself Captain Hyx. He is devoting his fortune to avenge your torture and death, by putting innumerable people to death and by inflicting frightful torture on others. Incredible as it may appear, the world as well as he himself thinks that you died by torture. Fortunately fate has decreed that I should cross your path and cry aloud to you: Speak, say that you are alive, and the whole world will hear you. And your husband will be set free from the mental torment in which he is living, free from the purgatory in which he is held fast. For what can be greater torture to the foremost philanthropist of the day than to live solely to gratify his hatred?”

  “You are right. Oh, you are right,” she moaned. “It would be better for all of us to die. Why did we not die together?... The only true thing in life is love. It is love that can save the world.”

  “I shall remember your saying,” I returned, deeply touched by the accents in which she had uttered these last sentences; “but your husband will never be able to appreciate them so long as he believes that you are dead. Why do you not inform him that you are alive?”

  “Because I cannot.... I cannot.”

  “I have no hope in anything then,” I replied.

  “Monsieur Herbert of Renich,” she went on, “put aside for the time any effort to understand, and tell me in full, I beg of you, in full, all that happened while you were with him. Tell me everything that he said to you, everything. I want to know all. Perhaps it is not too late to make amends.”

  “It would not be too late, perhaps, if you would speak the word, the one little word.”

  “I tell you again that I cannot.”

  “Well then, write it.”

  “I will not write it.”

  At these last words I hung my head in such despair that my strange visitor came nearer to me in an access of compassion in which she did not appear to be entirely mistress of herself, for her hand no sooner touched mine than she straightway drew back, and waited in an attitude of extreme reserve for me to begin my story.

  Was I never to be allowed to forget those sorrowful, terrible hours on the “Vengeance”? Must I continue to live through them again, and to excite fresh amazement, fresh maledictions, fresh tears? When I explained the wild purpose which animated the gloomy minds of those with whom I had been living, when I repeated almost word for word the things that had been said to me in the little chapel, when I conjured up the unforgettable scene in which Captain Hyx forced me to look at his famous Account Books and his Ledger on the altar, the veiled lady raised her face to heaven and prayed.

  She was the soul of charity, worthy of her whom she attempted to save, and unable to comprehend such horrors. The spirit of Miss Campbell dwelt in her. She would have preferred to be a martyr rather than an executioner. And the knowledge that her husband had become an executioner — because of her — sent her to the foot of the Cross with a prayer that I could read in her eyes, under her veil... Incomprehensible, inscrutable, mysterious, despairing veiled lady! When she came to earth again she fixed her haggard eyes on me, this noble and generous and sorrowful daughter of France, and said:

  “For me.... For me.”

  I tried to take her hand and to supplicate her as she had supplicated God, but she shrank back into the darkest corner of my cabin.

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried.

  What was she afraid of? What could she fear from me? Was I not in her presence the most deferential, the most suppliant of men? Then why that gesture of affright, why that cry?

  Observing my amazement and deep pain she at once drew nearer.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “Everything frightens me.... The least movement near me alarms me. You must bear with me. If you know what we went through.... If you knew what we suffered. Everything startles me.... A sudden gesture disturbs me. It’s weakness.... You must not be angry with me, Monsieur Herbert.”

  A terrible thought flashed across my mind. Was she refusing to see her husband again, the husband whom she adored, because she would not go to him stained by one of those crimes which were committed in the war?

  I stammered a few words and from the manner in which I stigmatised the Huns, “to whom nothing was sacred,” she was able to divine my thought but she protested with a blush.

  “God and the Blessed Virgin have preserved me,” she exclaimed with great simplicity.

  Not knowing what else to say, and feeling more than ever at a loss, I began to speak of Amalia with the object of eliciting her sympathy, and I spoke of her in such terms of pure affection, and told her of our cruel and blameless adventure with such sincere feeling that we were soon mingling our tears. When I ceased speaking I waited anxiously to observe the effect which I had produced on her, as well as the result of our mutual display of emotion.

  “You are an honourable man,” she said. “I cannot tell you anything more about myself, but I can bring to your knowledge something which concerns you very closely. You will be able to judge how greatly I esteem you, how much I sympathise with you, and how much I trust you.... listen, Monsieur Herbert. You are bound to hear about it very soon. I prefer that you should hear it from my lips, because you have in me a true and grateful friend who conforms to the same religion of pity for the unfortunate as you do.... A misfortune has befallen you of which you know nothing and of which you must continue to be ignorant after I have spoken.... You mustn’t say anything about it to anyone. You mustn’t ask for an explanation from anyone. Promise me that. Remember that if you make trouble in consequence of my disclosure it will react against me, and we shall never be able to be of service to each other.”

  “Madame,” I answered, “your last words give me hope in spite of the misfortune of which you speak. May I then one day be of service to you?”

  “Perhaps... perhaps. Yes, one day perhaps. And now listen to me, my friend.”

  I felt a pang at my heart. What was I to learn now?... I was I don’t know how far from anticipating this new stroke of fate.

  “When you questioned me so unexpectedly at the furrier’s,” began the veiled lady, “I hurried back with my lady companion to the Admiral to acquaint him with the incident, for as I did not know you I feared that it was a prearranged affair on his part, an attempt to discover, perhaps, how I should act in such circumstances.... During the interview that he gave me at the Com Exchange I realised that he was not expecting anything of the sort, and that I was telling him something which was news to him. On the other hand I learnt who you were, and I was as alarmed as he wa
s — for a different reason of course — at the turn which events might take. I dreaded, in particular, lest the genuine interest which you might fed in me, should be disastrous to you, and drive you into some false step, or some ill-considered outburst.... I knew that your house was next to mine. And I returned to my place in haste hoping to meet you again — by accident! You will understand what you were to me now. You were the man who had just come from my husband. Unfortunately I did not meet you again....

  “I received an order from the authorities at the Corn Exchange to remain indoors. What an agreeable end to the day! And what a night! I could not close my eyes. I left my window in the ‘madhouse’ open, and I did not take my gaze from the house in which I believed that you were sleeping.... Often as I passed your house I caught a glimpse of your mother’s gentle and venerable face. I thought of you. I thought of her. I knew that she had greatly suffered in your absence. We were both in different degrees the victims of the terrible Von Treischke. I may tell you that in my heart I felt ‘the deepest sympathy for your mother who did not know me...

  “About three o’clock in the morning I heard strange noises proceeding from the bottom of the garden, or rather from your house, for the wall runs along the wild orchard on that side. At the same time a light appeared in the little dormer window which looks out on to our garden. The light was extinguished almost immediately, but as the night was clear, I could distinguish two human figures slipping through the window on to the roof. It was a work of some difficulty. And soon I became aware that those two figures were those of two women who were hiding themselves on the roof, their feet resting against the gutter, their hands clinging to the iron bars of the window. They were assuredly in a most precarious position..

  “My mother and Gertrude,” I interrupted in a muffled voice.

  “Yes, Monsieur, your mother and her maid.... Poor women....”

  “They might have killed themselves.... Swear to me, Madame, that nothing terrible happened to them.... Perhaps they are dead.... And you are trying to keep it from me....”

  “No, no. I swear that I am not.... Ten minutes elapsed, and they did not move. Then search was made for them on the roof. It did not take long. The window which had been shut down was pushed open again. A man carrying a lantern appeared, and shouted in German, ‘Here they are!’ And turning to the two unhappy women, who must have been so terrified that they could not utter a word, the man said: ‘You must be mad. You might have fallen and killed yourselves....’ Two other figures came out on to the roof and seized the women, who then began to cry out, but they were roughly forced back into the loft. Then the light disappeared, and I heard no more.”

  “And you, Madame, did you not call for help?”

  “I could not, I am sorry to say, Monsieur Herbert, call for help; neither for myself nor for anyone else. I am forbidden to utter a cry.... I assure you that I would have done anything to be able to help those poor women.... I’m going to tell you something so that you shall not think that my heart is entirely withered, my dear Monsieur Herbert,” she continued in a tone of peculiar wistfulness. “When I saw the two women on the roof I thought that a good long ladder would save them. As it happened there was a ladder in the orchard lying on the ground against the wall. I saw it there the night before. It was a nice long ladder, and it attracted my attention as one is attracted by anything that one has not seen before. I do not know by whom or for what purpose it was placed there. I went down to my housekeeper’s room and roused her from her sleep. I drew aside the window curtains and pointed out the two women on the roof, and I told her to go and help them with the ladder....”

  “What then, what then?”

  “She refused to interfere. She grumbled rather rudely at me for troubling about matters which did not concern me, and she added that if I did not return to my own room then and there, she would tell Von Treischke everything at the first opportunity. Her threat might well have alarmed me. Nevertheless the first thing that I did when I saw Von Treischke — that is to say, the first opportunity that I had there, Monsieur — was to ask him what he intended to do with those poor old women, for there is no doubt in my mind that any harm which might come to me, and perhaps also to you, can only happen by his orders.

  “He admitted quite frankly that he had ‘secured’ your mother, those were his words, and her maid into the bargain, on purpose to have at his disposal the entire good will of Monsieur Herbert who was sometimes a little undecided. I am repeating his exact words.”

  “The scoundrel. What more does he want from me? What is he going to ask me to do next? I shall never be able to refuse him the least thing, the least thing.... Cannot you give me a clue, however slight, as to the place to which he sent my mother and her servant?”

  “Unfortunately I cannot.”

  “I see the whole thing now. There’s no doubt about it. They wanted her. They were on the look out for her the night before. The ruffians relied on finding my mother alone in her room, and they went away when they discovered that the three of us, my mother, Gertrude and I, were sitting up, locked in her room, and keeping watch. And they slunk away, the cowards, because there was a man present, and because they didn’t want to create a scandal. We were neutrals, friendly neutrals, with whom it was as well to have as little unpleasantness as possible. That is why when they came in the night to carry off, as hostages, two elderly women whom they believed to be defenceless, they gagged and bound their own soldiers in order that no one should suspect ‘ kultur’ of such an outrage against the rights of neutrals who had always been amenable to them. May it be a warning to others. I understand now. But they will pay dearly for it some day. Captain Hyx is not so far out as some people imagine...

  I was speaking at random under the influence of a painful upheaval of my entire being, but in an undertone, for I felt the necessity of keeping within myself any violent expression of wrath.

  The veiled lady had risen to her feet, and quietly and sadly, with a slow movement of her hands, gloved with black mittens, she lowered her veil, or rather her mask — the mask which prevented Mrs. G — from being seen.

  And my thoughts turned to that other masked figure who was far away. God knows where.... These two masked beings were both sailing in the depths of the sea and would meet one day soon, perhaps in a few hours, and I felt, without being able to understand, alas, without being able to understand, that we were on the eve of some tremendous tragedy.

  The veiled lady was ready to depart after partly opening my door and glancing down the deserted passage. I stopped her for a moment as she was about to slip out.

  “Madame, there was no necessity to wake up that spiteful lady companion of yours. As she was sleeping, why did you not yourself go down to the orchard?

  Why did you not yourself make use of the ladder to help those poor women?”

  “Because I am not allowed to touch ladders,” she whispered in a breath, quite close, quite close to my ear.

  She went away. I was extremely surprised to see her leave the cabin so calmly, seeing that she had warned me that we were both incurring risks by her visit.... I followed her without letting her perceive it. Some few steps further on she entered the little cabin in which previously I had had a couple of cocktails with the Commander. It could not have been her own apartment. The door was closed behind her.

  I crept up and placed my ear against the door, and I heard Von Treischke’s voice:

  “You’ve been a long time, but if he is now convinced, really convinced, that you don’t wish to be recognised we may, perhaps, be able to make something of this fellow.”

  “I hope so,” replied the veiled lady. And I heard a deep sigh as she went on, “I think it was quite unnecessary to alarm those two poor women. He will do his utmost to meet your wishes.”

  “Quite possibly, but when he knows that I am keeping a tight hold over his mother, I shall be able to let him go into the street without fearing that he will tell everyone that he has met face to face the shade of Mrs. G
— the deeply mourned wife of the greatest philanthropist in the world.”

  After Von Treischke’s harsh bantering voice came the veiled lady’s soft entreating accents:

  “Monsieur, he will do what you want him to do. Promise me that no harm shall come to his mother.”

  Incomprehensible, disquieting, compassionate veiled lady.... You may ask me anything, anything....

  More than that.... My life is at your service after those words of yours....

  I heard footsteps and I had to hurry away. I locked myself again in my cabin. What a night I passed! What a night! Everything that I learnt from the veiled lady, everything that she had said was a new cause of alarm to me, but everything that she left unsaid made me horribly ill. Oh if I could only understand it all... understand it all.

  CHAPTER X

  AN ATROCITY

  I ALLUDED IN a preceding chapter to certain Hun laughter. I heard it when I was those gentlemen’s guest and they recounted with infinite gusto their piratical exploits. Now it was my lot to see and hear an outburst of the same merriment at a moment of Hun glorification; I mean, of course, at a moment of Hun crime.

  In the ordinary way I did not forget that I was neutral, but on that day, the day on which I saw and heard their mockery, I threw off the white robe of neutrality.

  Travelling modifies one’s ideas! And there were times when I was filled with less horror of Captain Hyx than I was of this Hun laughter.

  I suspected, the night before, that something was in the wind. Moreover I fancied that a move of more than ordinary significance was in preparation. We made our way southwards after following the line of the great islands, and although the weather was not mild, far from it, the bitter cold of northern latitudes was left behind.

  In the morning the officers were bubbling over with a restless gaiety that transformed and transported them. Their language was more effusive and their gestures more exuberant than usual. For example, they shook each other by the hand with sufficient force almost to crush the fingers for no apparent reason. A wireless communication, it would seem, was not unconnected with this unwonted display of excitement.