Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  ‘“The wretched woman threw herself at his feet, swearing that she would never speak. And she stayed with him, because she knew that they would never let her go alive! From that day on, they talked openly before her, and there were even some nights when they forced her to help them in many ways. They would tell her to follow them down to the grotto and close the argument by kicking her down ahead of them...

  ‘“Come, let’s go down there now. It’s the best part of the whole place.”

  ‘And he picked up his lantern again.

  ‘The women exchanged looks; then, catching sight of the bow-legged man who was staring at them covertly while he continued to polish his cauldron, they made up their minds and we went down into the cellar behind Scheffer. A slimy stairway, a greasy cord, weird shadows thrown by his flickering light... it was awful! We soon heard ringing blows like those of a hammer beating against chains. And, as a matter of fact, that is what it was. At the end of a subterranean passage the man threw open a door and we saw another lantern on the damp earth of the vault. Madame Scheffer was crouched on the ground, busy fastening a piece of chain to a ring in the cave wall, from which hung a lantern. At the end of the chain there was an iron collar. She had her back to us and did not bother even to look up, but continued her hammering with the violence of a madwoman. At last she stopped a moment.

  ‘“That,” the man explained, “I have had to have done. But it’s old iron just the same. The marks of the hammer won’t show as soon as it has rusted, and some people will be even able to find blood-stains.”

  ‘“What a beast!” I murmured; “there is no possible way of being bored with you!”

  ‘“No, eh? Nor with my wife!... Wait, and she’ll give you a thrill. She’ll tell you the story of the pretty little brunette who was imprisoned in this cave. It’s worth the trouble of listening...”

  “‘You ought to set up your little trick in Paris, Boulevard Rochechouart, near the Café of the Yellow-Hammer. You’d be a big success.”

  “‘I know,” he answered. “I’ve travelled. There are plenty of fools in the world.”

  ‘The grotto was not very big. Nevertheless, there was room enough for a little exhibit. An enormous rusty knife, a saw, an axe and all the necessary implements for an innkeeper who conducts his business in the way that the deceased Weisbach did, hung from nails embedded between the cracks of the stones. In one place were a pitchfork and an ox-goad; against the wall were some tongs. Some shapeless, colourless rags also hung from stalactites. Once, it seems, they had been clothes, and in another spot was a pile of débris which included some pieces of old leather, all that remained of some shoes.

  ‘“Read my collection of newspapers and you will see that all this stuff is mentioned. I haven’t made up a thing. Unfortunately, the police kept all the originals and I had to replace them as best I could!” He laughed and said to his wife. “Go to it; it’s your turn now.”

  ‘She stood up and came towards us and we shrank back. I shall see those squinting eyes and that big mouth all the rest of my life. And what a setting! The whole was brought into fantastic relief by the fierce, blood-red light thrown by the two lanterns, one of which was still on the ground. It was like a horrible, evil etching...

  ‘The woman put out her arms and grasped the pitchfork almost greedily, and as she spoke she glared at the little countess with such ferocity that the other was forced to turn away... And what a voice! It was like a sound from hell.

  ‘“And yet you know,” Scheffer said to us, “she only drinks her little swallow of brandy in the morning after her coffee like the rest of the world. Good old Annette!” (He called her Annette, like the other one!). “You will see what a wonder she is.”

  “‘Perhaps one of the ladies would like to try the iron collar,” she began. “It doesn’t matter that Madame is blonde: it would be just as effective.”

  ‘But the suggestion was not very well received, and Annette smiled a horrible smile!

  “‘Everyone to his own taste. This is what happened, according to the woman with the goitre. A beautiful brunette arrived one afternoon accompanied by a middle-aged gentleman. They were obviously rich and had lots of jewellery. A mishap to their carriage forced them to take shelter at the inn for the night, and the coachman, who went back to Soleure, was to return the next day with another carriage for them. When he arrived the next morning, he was informed that the two had departed early in the morning and that they had left money for him. He took the amount coming to him and went off without bothering any further about his customers. But his customers had never left the inn...

  “‘The gentleman, knocked unconscious by Daniel and cut up into pieces by Weisbach, was already in the cauldron. As to the lovely brunette, she was still alive in the little grotto... She lived there for fifteen days, according to the woman with the goitre. Every night as soon as the inn was closed they went down to see her. They had her chained down there to this iron collar. One evening the woman with the goitre heard cries and slipped down into the cellar, but Weisbach, who had sharp ears, discovered her. He dragged her into the vault. ‘You want to see?’ he said to her. ‘Then see you must... see what will happen to you if you talk.’ And she saw...

  “‘The lovely brunette was there, completely naked and chained as I have already described. She was just one piece of torn flesh, and Weisbach’s wife, now with the pitchfork, now with the goad, was stroking her ribs.”

  ‘So saying, Madame Scheffer went into action. And what she was telling was less horrible than what she did! Half bent over herself, with a savage light in her eyes, and that enormous mouth foaming at the corners, she hurled first her fork and then her goad where the chain hung. And she did it with a fire that suddenly ceased to be play and became a kind of madness and wild enjoyment.

  “‘The slut!” she screamed, and the sound of her voice sent a chill up my spine; “she killed the poor little brunette! like this! like this! and again! and again! She crushed in her ribs, tore the flesh, while the walls resounded with the other’s cries of pain. ‘Now you’re beautiful! Let your lover come now! Ah, and this, too. Now you are more beautiful than I!’

  ‘“I must tell you,” Madame Scheffer said, panting and turning towards us, or rather towards the little countess, who had to lean against the wall to keep from falling, “I must explain that Weisbach’s wife was as ugly as sin, and she squinted! Naturally she could not bear the sight of beautiful eyes” — so saying Madame Scheffer stared straight into the little countess’ eyes— “without wanting to scratch them out!”

  “‘Let’s go! let’s go!” Olivia Orsino cried; “I won’t stay here another second!” And she rushed from the vault.

  ‘We all followed her, and Scheffer, who was behind, said with a great laugh, “I told you she was priceless! She has learned her lesson well. But don’t let it upset you. Aside from that, she is as gentle as a lamb... and an excellent cook, too, as you will see.”

  ‘And then the woman herself, who had joined us, said, “So I frightened you? Well, I must tell the story; it will make people come!”

  ‘I felt Maria-Luce tremble and we were all a little pale when we came back into the big room. We looked at each other and finally burst out laughing... all except the countess.

  ‘“What a horrible, horrible woman!” she murmured.

  “‘And with all that, you don’t know the end of the story,” said Scheffer, jabbing at the chickens with a fork to see how nearly done they were. He stopped the string which turned the spit. “They are done to a turn, and with a good salad... you’ll praise our cook... The end of the story is this: The day when the woman with the goitre was dragged into the vault was the day in which Madame Weisbach scratched the little brunette’s eyes out with the pitchfork. She would teach the other to have more beautiful eyes than her own!”

  ““Squint now, squint now!’ is what she shrieked,” Madame Scheffer completed, loading herself with a pile of dishes from a large chest.

  ‘“Enough,” I said
firmly, “we’ve had enough of an appetiser; let’s eat!”

  ‘“Do you know what the Italian woman said to me?” Maria-Luce whispered. “She doesn’t want us to leave them. Let’s eat down here.”

  “‘Oh no!” I protested; “I’m sick of these stories and I want you all to myself.”

  ‘We took leave of the other two and I led my wife upstairs. We had a little trouble in finding our room in that strange hallway. The stairs were so steep that we came near to toppling down them, and it made me think of the Weisbachs. The traveller would go up the stairs while the servant waited for him in the dark at the top and pushed him down to the innkeepers, who were waiting at the bottom. And that was the end of him.

  ‘We, however, were a bit luckier, and, as there was only one room in the inn, we finally found it. But before locating it I opened doors into several other rooms filled with packing-cases and all sorts of débris. I wondered why, in an inn, they did not make use of so much precious space, and while Scheffer was serving us our supper, in front of a good fire and under a tame enough lamp, I could not help asking him for an explanation of this. He answered that it would be a great expense, useless perhaps... and finally after hesitating a moment he added:

  ‘“Besides it seems to me that the Weisbachs did not care to have too many travellers at one time!”

  ‘And he left, after putting a bottle of champagne on the table and wishing us good-night.

  ‘“Did you hear?” Maria-Luce whispered to me as soon as he was gone; “but why does he want to leave things in the same condition?”

  ‘“He hasn’t been here long. Give him a chance. You’re not going to begin imagining things are you?”

  ‘By the time supper was over, I had cheered her up again. We had emptied our bottle of champagne gaily and forgotten all about the horrors. We were just about to go to bed when a light knock came at the door... There was no bolt in this door, but there was a key and a sort of hook that fastened to a ring in the casing.

  ‘“Who is there?” I asked.

  ‘“Don’t open!” Maria-Luce whispered. She was already terror-stricken, for we had made quite an evening of it and might well be supposed asleep...

  ‘“Open, open quickly,” came a heavy voice which I recognised as the Italian’s.

  ‘At that I opened the door and the man threw himself into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was very pale and seemed in the throes of the wildest emotion...

  ‘“I’ve come to warn you,” he exclaimed, his voice trembling with emotion. “First of all, we can hear everything they say in the kitchen. These people are murderers. I heard his wife say to Scheffer: ‘We have nothing to fear. If they find the bones, they’ll think they belonged to that other affair!’ We’re not going to stay another second in this den. I’ve found a rope in the attic and I’ve fastened it to the window-ledge that overlooks the outside of the house, not the courtyard. Get dressed and follow us!”

  ‘Maria-Luce was already half undressed and I had thrown my coat on the chair.

  ‘“This is a fine tale!” I exclaimed, dumbfounded.

  ‘“You didn’t see that woman’s eyes,” said Maria-Luce, her teeth chattering with fright.

  ‘Seeing that I was undecided, the Italian lost no time and left us. Maria-Luce was dressing hastily, shaking in every limb.

  ‘“Let’s go! let’s go!” she begged. “You haven’t even a revolver.”

  ‘That was true. And besides it was impossible to oppose Maria-Luce. I took the bag, and two minutes later we were in the attic, after removing our shoes to make no noise. The little wooden door of the garret window was open and the cord fastened to the screw of a pulley. The Italians had already gone. We put our shoes on hastily, and it was then that I discovered a little streak of light coming through a crack in the floor. It came up from the kitchen, and I tried to peer through it. I saw nothing, but I could hear Scheffer’s voice say: “Which one shall we begin on?”’

  Chaulieu had reached this point in his narrative, when Captain Michel hit the table with such a blow of his fist that the saucers under their glasses jumped.

  ‘I expected that! What an original story! But in Paul-Louis Courier’s tale the innkeeper says, “Shall we kill them both?” and he was only referring to two chickens! You take us for geese, Chaulieu!’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Chaulieu. ‘I don’t know what this Paul-Louis thing of yours is — I don’t know him from the man in the moon — and if you are geese, inform your respective relations of the fact... I’m telling the adventure just as it happened to me.’

  ‘Let him finish,’ said Dorat; ‘I’ll bet he had forgotten all about love when he heard those words.’

  ‘Yes, old man, I certainly had, and so had Maria-Luce. And I can tell you we lost no time in making our escape! I made another knot in the cord and grasped hold of it. Maria-Luce, to whom I had given the bag, which contained quite a large sum of money and our toilet articles, got up on my shoulders, and when we reached the ground we ran for ten minutes without stopping. We started down towards Soleure by the first path we came to because we did not dare risk the main road. I expected to catch up to the Italians, but we lost ourselves in the pitch-black darkness. Slipping and sliding and falling on the soaked ground, we plunged on madly.’

  ‘You were frightened to death by that time,’ laughed Michel.

  ‘I should say we were. I couldn’t even stop Maria-Luce, who thought we were being pursued by bandits ready to shoot us down at any minute. The worst was that it began to rain again — and how!... Good Lord, what a night!... lost in a forest, torn and scratched by branches, and pelted with the heaviest kind of rain! Never in my life have I ever spent such hours. And I finally had to carry Maria-Luce, who was nothing more than a dripping bundle of rags... At last, a light! A peasant’s cottage... They took us in, warmed us, and gave us a bed. They dried our clothes for us, and in emptying my pockets I found a piece of paper with a few words written on it in pencil:

  ‘Thanks for the room. I leave you the coupé.’

  ‘I would have sworn it!’ exclaimed Captain Michel. ‘You must be a fool.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Chaulieu said again. ‘I haven’t finished! You can well imagine what a temper I was in over this stupid joke, which, considering Maria-Luce’s condition, narrowly escaped being criminal... It was no use rubbing her; she stayed as cold as ice. During the night she was taken with a high fever and I sent to Soleure for a doctor. It was two days before we were able to leave those kind peasants.

  ‘I had had enough of Switzerland, and we returned to Mourillon the shortest way possible; but alas! the good southern sun was not enough to cure Maria-Luce. She had always told me that her lungs were not very strong, and from that day on she began to cough. And when at last, a few years later, she stopped coughing she was dead.’

  Dorat coughed at that to show that he was still very much alive.

  ‘Listen, poor old Chaulieu,’ he said, ‘we’re all sorry, but as far as Maria-Luce’s death is concerned, it is a misfortune which might have occurred under entirely different circumstances, after a damp walk in the woods, for example. The truth of the matter, as far as your story goes, is that they played a rotten joke on you, that’s all.’

  ‘No!’ Chaulieu growled; ‘not at all... The story only begins to be interesting from now on!

  ‘The following year the Italian papers, and finally newspapers all over the world, were full of the disappearance of a man and a woman. And that is how we knew that our two Italians had been Antonio Ferretti and Countess Olivia Orsino. If we had had any doubts, which was impossible because the resemblance between them both was perfect, we would have been convinced by this fact: that they had been traced as far as Soleure, and there the trail ended!

  ‘When Maria-Luce and I learned of this we looked at each other in silence, and the same terrible thought struck us both. The unfortunate pair had wanted to make fun of us. They had hidden in a corner of the hall and after our departure had slipped
into our room, where the Scheffers had murdered them in our place!

  ‘Well, what do you say to that?’ he asked, enjoying the astonishment of his friends. ‘Not so bad, eh? Wait...

  ‘Remembering all we had seen and heard in the vault, and especially Madame Scheffer’s frenzied illustration with the goad and pitchfork, we became more and more convinced that these people had gone from pretence to actuality... I mean to say, they had carried the reconstruction of the crimes of the “Inn of Blood” to the finish!

  ‘“Do you remember,” Maria-Luce said to me, “do you remember how she stared at the countess?” Here Maria-Luce shivered and went on, “It was terrifying! One might have believed that the countess was already her prey, chained to the wall like the ‘pretty little brunette’... and that she was scratching her eyes out with the pitchfork! Ah, poor wretches! The ruffians may have tortured her, too, for fifteen days, having already cooked Antonio. And when I think... when I think that if it hadn’t been for that trouble over the coupé, they would never have played that trick as revenge!... It was we who—”

  ‘“Don’t think about it,” I exclaimed. But the matter could not rest there. Marie-Luce had nightmares about it at night, and so did I. At last, to get rid of the obsession, we did our duty. We returned to Soleure, and our first move was to go directly to the police, where we told the whole story from beginning to end.

  ‘An inquest followed which brought immediate results. All the details we gave, all the incidents just as they had happened before our eyes, were confirmed... And the Scheffers did not deny a thing. They did not seem in the least fazed by it. And yet there were several questions which might well have embarrassed them; but Scheffer had an answer to everything.

  ‘For example, when the judge asked: “What did the words Monsieur Chaulieu heard mean: ‘Which one shall we begin on?’” he answered quite naturally: ‘How do I know? How do you expect me to remember what I said that evening any more than any other evening? My words were of no importance except to the two who thought I was going to murder them. What stupidity! Perhaps they had something to do with the next day’s work. I couldn’t say...”