‘If there is,’ replied the sergeant, ‘we shall read all about it as plainly as on a map, because of the snow.’
He was a likeable young man and seemed smart and intelligent. From the very first he had shown great acuteness in observing the tracks which Mathias had left behind him the evening before on returning home, tracks which soon became confused with the footprints made in going and coming by the farm-labourer and the woman. Meanwhile they came to the walls of a property of which the locksmith readily opened the gate.
From here onward, a single trail appeared upon the spotless snow, that of Mathias; and it was easy to perceive that the son must have shared largely in the father’s libations, as the line of footprints described sudden curves which made it swerve right up to the trees of the avenue.
Two hundred yards farther stood the dilapidated two-storeyed building of the Manoir-au-Puits. The principal door was open.
‘Let’s go in,’ said the sergeant.
And, the moment he had crossed the threshold, he muttered: ‘Oho! Old de Gorne made a mistake in not coming. They’ve been fighting in here.’
The big room was in disorder. Two shattered chairs, the overturned table and much broken glass and china bore witness to the violence of the struggle. The tall clock, lying on the ground, had stopped at twenty past eleven.
With the farm-girl showing them the way, they ran up to the first floor. Neither Mathias nor his wife was there. But the door of their bedroom had been broken down with a hammer which they discovered under the bed.
Rénine and the sergeant went downstairs again. The living-room had a passage communicating with the kitchen, which lay at the back of the house and opened on a small yard fenced off from the orchard. At the end of this enclosure was a well near which one was bound to pass.
Now, from the door of the kitchen to the well, the snow, which was not very thick, had been pressed down to this side and that, as though a body had been dragged over it. And all around the well were tangled traces of trampling feet, showing that the struggle must have been resumed at this spot. The sergeant again discovered Mathias’ footprints, together with others which were shapelier and lighter.
These latter went straight into the orchard, by themselves. And, thirty yards on, near the footprints, a revolver was picked up and recognized by one of the peasants as resembling that which Jérôme Vignal had produced in the inn two days before.
The sergeant examined the cylinder. Three of the seven bullets had been fired.
And so the tragedy was little by little reconstructed in its main outlines; and the sergeant, who had ordered everybody to stand aside and not to step on the site of the footprints, came back to the well, leant over, put a few questions to the farm-girl and, going up to Rénine, whispered: ‘It all seems fairly clear to me.’
Rénine took his arm.
‘Let’s speak out plainly, sergeant. I understand the business pretty well, for, as I told you, I know Mlle Ermelin, who is a friend of Jérôme Vignal’s and also knows Madame de Gorne. Do you suppose…?’
‘I don’t want to suppose anything. I simply declare that someone came there last night…’
‘By which way? The only tracks of a person coming towards the manor are those of M. de Gorne.’
‘That’s because the other person arrived before the snowfall, that is to say, before nine o’clock.’
‘Then he must have hidden in a corner of the living-room and waited for the return of M. de Gorne, who came after the snow?’
‘Just so. As soon as Mathias came in, the man went for him. There was a fight. Mathias made his escape through the kitchen. The man ran after him to the well and fired three revolver-shots.’
‘And where’s the body?’
‘Down the well.’
Rénine protested.
‘Oh, I say! Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?’
‘Why, sir, the snow’s there, to tell the story; and the snow plainly says that, after the struggle, after the three shots, one man alone walked away and left the farm, one man only, and his footprints are not those of Mathias de Gorne. Then where can Mathias de Gorne be?’
‘But the well…can be dragged?’
‘No. The well is practically bottomless. It is known all over the district and gives its name to the manor.’
‘So you really believe…?’
‘I repeat what I said. Before the snowfall, a single arrival, Mathias, and a single departure, the stranger.’
‘And Madame de Gorne? Was she too killed and thrown down the well like her husband?’
‘No, carried off.’
‘Carried off?’
‘Remember that her bedroom was broken down with a hammer.’
‘Come, come, sergeant! You yourself declare that there was only one departure, the stranger’s.’
‘Stoop down. Look at the man’s footprints. See how they sink into the snow, until they actually touch the ground. Those are the footprints of a man, laden with a heavy burden. The stranger was carrying Madame de Gorne on his shoulder.’
‘Then there’s an outlet this way?’
‘Yes, a little door of which Mathias de Gorne always had the key on him. The man must have taken it from him.’
‘A way out into the open fields?’
‘Yes, a road which joins the departmental highway three quarters of a mile from here…And do you know where?’
‘Where?’
‘At the corner of the château.’
‘Jérôme Vignal’s château?’
‘By Jove, this is beginning to look serious! If the trail leads to the château and stops there, we shall know where we stand.’
The trail did continue to the château, as they were able to perceive after following it across the undulating fields, on which the snow lay heaped in places. The approach to the main gates had been swept, but they saw that another trail, formed by the two wheels of a vehicle, was running in the opposite direction to the village.
The sergeant rang the bell. The porter, who had also been sweeping the drive, came to the gates, with a broom in his hand. In answer to a question, the man said that M. Vignal had gone away that morning before anyone else was up and that he himself had harnessed the horse to the trap.
‘In that case,’ said Rénine, when they had moved away, ‘all we have to do is to follow the tracks of the wheels.’
‘That will be no use,’ said the sergeant. ‘They have taken the railway.’
‘At Pompignat station, where I came from? But they would have passed through the village.’
‘They have gone just the other way, because it leads to the town, where the express trains stop. The procurator-general has an office in the town. I’ll telephone; and, as there’s no train before eleven o’clock, all that they need do is to keep a watch at the station.’
‘I think you’re doing the right thing, sergeant,’ said Rénine, ‘and I congratulate you on the way in which you have carried out your investigation.’
They parted. Rénine went back to the inn in the village and sent a note to Hortense Daniel by hand.
My very dearest Friend,
I seemed to gather from your letter that, touched as always by anything that concerns the heart, you were anxious to protect the love-affair of Jérôme and Natalie. Now there is every reason to suppose that these two, without consulting their fair protectress, have run away, after throwing Mathias de Gorne down a well.
Forgive me for not coming to see you. The whole thing is extremely obscure; and, if I were with you, I should not have the detachment of mind which is needed to think the case over.
It was then half-past ten. Rénine went for a walk into the country, with his hands clasped behind his back and without vouchsafing a glance at the exquisite spectacle of the white meadows. He came back for lunch, still absorbed in his thoughts and indifferent to the t
alk of the customers of the inn, who on all sides were discussing recent events.
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 shan’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 resorting 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 fo
ot of your land. You have 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 bank-notes 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 short cut. 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 in so far 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.’
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