With the twelfth sound of pure silver, Saint-Clair rose with a supple leap and stood up straight. Then he laughed, without a sound, his whole face illuminated. Arms stretched toward his friend, hands open, he spoke clearly:
“Jacques, get up! Oh! I know you are still very tired, depressed and weak. But it’s only physical, and it’s incomparably less effective now than on every night for the past few months. Get up!”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Comte at length, rising.
His tense face and his eyes, now very sharp, expressed infinite astonishment as well as joy. For he did not content himself with standing up, but began to walk. From one end of the studio to the other, for a length of nine or ten meters, he came and went, his step alert. He breathed deeply. He laughed with triumph. Then, finally coming to a rest before a smiling Saint-Clair, who had not moved, he cried out:
“By what miracle…?”
The Nyctalope, a hand on his friend’s shoulder, replied:
“Don’t get me wrong, Jacques. You are not healed, at least not completely. The mysterious evil has, if not destroyed, but at least diminished the healthy power of various vital organs of your body. Tonight, what’s taking place is not a cure, but a transition between mortal evil and regenerative convalescence... In my body, which was only touched for twenty-four hours, in an extremely brutal attack, the evil hasn’t had time yet to put in roots, so I am healed altogether. Anyway, that’s not the point. The main thing, at the present hour, is the confirmation of my conjectures. My diagnosis was correct, Jacques! And now...”
He stopped, lowered his head and meditated. The Comte, stupefied, did not think to interrupt this thinking with a single word. Finally, raising his head, Saint-Clair fixed his grave and hard eyes on those of his friend, and said in a slow and firm tone:
“So long as the enemy is not informed and does not risk all in an offensive that might kill us, Jacques, I am sure that I can save us, save Laure and Madeleine, unmask the monster, take his power away, and lastly, divine the depths of Basilie’s sphinx-like soul... if, at least, Basilie is not the pure and innocent girl she appears to be.”
“My God, Léo! My God!” moaned d’Hermont. “What are you talking about?. When will you explain to me…?”
But with cold resolution, Saint-Clair said:
“Not yet, not yet! I have only one thread of the plot, which is demoniacally complicated. Patience, Jacques! Patience and trust! How do you feel now? What is your physical, mental and moral state?. Come, let’s sit down again. Do not speak right away. Examine yourself, question yourself, analyze yourself. It’s necessary that I have of you, that you have of yourself at this important hour, a knowledge that is perfect in breadth and depth. It is necessary, Jacques, absolutely necessary!”
Jacques d’Hermont spoke to himself at first, slowly and with pauses, in a low voice. Then the two friends questioned one another, to arrive after an hour at these conclusions: since midnight, the action of the mysterious evil had been nullified on Jacques d’Hermont, and his happily restored morale had reacted with immediate, obvious effect; likewise, the same evil no longer had any effect on the Nyctalope.
“But how had this happened? And why?” asked Jacques, with a curiosity as cheerful as it was ardent.
“I hope I can tell you soon,” said the Nyctalope cheerfully. “Now let us get some real rest. Me, I will sleep in this armchair. You, go to the next room. You’re in your pajamas already: slide under the covers and sleep. I always wake at the hour I have determined in advance. Today, this will be seven. We therefore have five hours of sleep before us. Let us not lose a minute. Not a word more, Jacques. Go! Go!”
The Comte obeyed.
Five minutes later, in the total darkness of the room and the half-darkness of the studio, where the embers were glowing, the two friends were overtaken by sleep.
This continued without interruption until Saint-Clair, suddenly opened his eyes, and heard the silvery ringing of the old pendulum sounding 7 a..m.
He got up, shook out his limbs and went right away to wake up Jacques. Very awake and conscious now, he said:
“How do you feel?”
The Comte slipped out of bed, stood up to make some gymnastic movements and laughed:
“Very well, indeed! Oh! Not like before the mystery began! But much better than any morning since then.”
“Perfect. But careful, Jacques. No one... do you understand me? No one should see you today, nor even suspect you are convalescing. Also, you shouldn’t let anyone know that you and I spent the night outside our respective bedrooms. You will lock this room and the workshop with a key, in such a way that no one can enter. We will come back tomorrow night.”
“Saint-Clair!” cried d’Hermont, his eyes shining, “I think I am beginning to understand!”
“Stop! Say nothing! Not even to me!” commanded the Nyctalope. “And do what I ask. In short: you and I will pretend to be worse off this morning than we were yesterday. It’s a matter of playing the comedy well. It is of capital importance. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Then let’s go. Go back to your room, lie down and pretend you’re ill. I will go to mine and do the same. No arranging oneself this morning: the slightest ablution could give us a healthy air, which we should not have. As for the continuation of the comedy—which, of course, risks becoming a tragedy, will not hide this from you!—wait for my further instructions. I will give them to you either verbally or in writing, at the appropriate time. Come, enough talk. Let’s leave now! Ah! One more thing! If today you see any change whatsoever in the state and attitude of Basilie, or Vitto and Soca, think what you like, but no matter the circumstance, you must act and speak according to our plan. You and I are more ill than we were yesterday. Even if you begin to feel better, speak and act as if nothing new had happened to us between yesterday and today. That’s it! This time, I have finished. Let’s go!”
It was exactly 7:20 a.m. when Saint-Clair, without being seen in the corridors, returned to the red room.
There he found Vitto and Soca, who had shut themselves away the night before on his orders, at the very moment the sun had set. The two Corsicans were sitting in armchairs almost facing one another, before the burning fire.
“So?” asked Saint-Clair, as soon as he entered.
Soca replied:
“Ah, Monsieur, what you predicted happened, just as you said. At midnight, Vitto had a fever of 39°5 and I had one of 39°8. We shivered, chattered our teeth and sweated. Now we’re exhausted.”
“That’s perfect!” exclaimed the Nyctalope, with the liveliest and most evident satisfaction.
But immediately he added:
“I’m sorry, of course, but it had to be tested. Now, off you go. Back to your room. Take the dose of quinine I have prescribed. Do you have the tablets in your pockets?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” the two Corsicans replied together, standing with a bit of effort.
“Wash, shave, get dressed and eat well, even if you’re not hungry. Go take a walk in the woods. It’s a nice day. I have my reasons to be sure that the fox hunt will be called off. And don’t forget the slightest item in the instructions I gave you yesterday.”
He accompanied them to the vestibule, then returned to his room, where he dressed fully, but did not shave or shower. Opening the window, he let the fresh air and sun freely enter the room for a few minutes, then rang for Firmin.
CHAPTER V
Defensive Tactic
After the customary “Good Morning, Monsieur,” Firmin said, sounding content:
“I see that Monsieur is very well today, though he has not shaved.”
“Yes, Firmin, all is very well. But keep that wise remark to yourself. I must seem to be worse off than yesterday.”
“Very well, Monsieur! Will Monsieur take breakfast downstairs all the same?”
“Yes. But first, sit down, my friend...”
“Oh! Monsieur!” exclaimed the valet, confused by the armchair that Saint-Clair pointed
out to him.
“Sit down. We need to speak for a few minutes; it’s important.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
Firmin sat next to Saint-Clair, who was already seated in his armchair. The Nyctalope went directly into the heart of the matter:
“My friend, you should know that it is not just me to whom good health has returned this morning. It has also come back to your master. Oh! The Comte is not healed yet, but tonight, for the first time since the attack of the illness, the evil spell did not afflict him and did not worsen his state. As the influence of the moral on the physical exercised itself fully, his condition quickly improved, to such a point that your master cried out there had been a miracle. Do you understand?”
“Oh! Monsieur,” replied the valet, without false modesty. “I am not completely ignorant. I read a great deal. I borrow books from the library, and not just novels. I have read the astonishing chronicle of the Monsieur’s journeys to Tibet.”
“Very good. I will not delay in explanations then. Anyhow, do not ask questions. I have not even explained anything to your master. To you, as to him, I request no more at the moment than for you to listen and follow my instructions. Understood?”
“Certainly, Monsieur!” said the man, with force.
“Good! Now, take this key. It belongs to the studio and room that your master had set up for that Belgian painter, Van der Lass. The Comte and I spent the night there.. In the future, and until further notice, your master, Madame Dauzet and Mademoiselle Madeleine will only pass through their respective rooms after dinner. They will make it look as if they were sleeping in their room, but in reality, they will go to the Van der Lass apartment and spend the night there. There is already a bed and a large couch. You will make up another bed and couch. Madame Dauzet and Mademoiselle Madeleine will sleep in the room, and the Comte and I in the studio. All three will not return to their own rooms until after sunrise, a little before the usual time at which Mademoiselle Basilie rises. In fact, does she rise at a regular hour? And what does she do then?”
By his physiognomy, Firmin Gasse expressed his determination not to be surprised by anything, to understand without asking for explanations, and obey even if he did not comprehend. He answered with ease and simplicity.
“Well, Monsieur, Mademoiselle Basilie follows her alarm clock, which rings at 7 a.m.—6 a.m. after March 15th. She dresses alone and never calls for help. She stays in her pajamas if she plans to remain in the castle, and dresses for walking or horseback if she intends to go out. Then she comes down to the dining-room, where Jeannette serves breakfast. Usually Monsieur le Comte is there, too, and frequently Madame Dauzet and Mademoiselle Madeleine as well. If her aunt, sister or father have not come down for breakfast, Mademoiselle Basilie goes up after the meal to check on them...”
“Good,” Saint-Clair interrupted. “Another thing, Firmin...”
“I’m listening, Monsieur.”
“Your niece Jeannette... Are you sure of her intelligence and discretion? Listen to me! Absolute discretion with regard to everyone is necessary, even vis-à-vis Mademoiselle Basilie—in fact, her above all!. Your service would be easier, and there would be fewer risks of surprises, if Jeannette, under your orders, collaborated with you in the delicate and complicated day-to-day actions I consider essential to save Comte d’Hermont, his sister and his daughter, from death!”
Firmin maintained his sharp and naturally frank gaze on the Nyctalope. It was in a grave, firm tone that he replied:
“Monsieur, I am sure of Jeannette, absolutely. But you must also bring my wife into the secret. Otherwise, Mademoiselle Basilie will perceive something unusual at one time or another, for if I understand correctly, everything must be done without her having the slightest idea that things have changed.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then! Monsieur can trust me. With the help of Amélie and Jeannette, I will be in a position to carry out your instructions without anyone suspecting. I will answer for my wife as well as for my niece. But Monsieur will excuse me if I appear troubled, for Monsieur surely understands my emotion...”
“Firmin,” said Saint-Clair with kindness, “from now on, when you and I are alone, or in the presence of Vitto and Soca, do not address me in the third person. Direct formulas are more natural and rapid.”
The frank face of Firmin expressed a lively contentment, and in a very moved tone the man said:
“Thank you, Monsieur. May I ask you a question?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Mademoiselle Basilie... She is not to be told anything... Is it because...?”
He hesitated. Saint-Clair cut in clearly:
“Firmin, I was expecting this question, and I understand your emotion very well. All I can tell you at this time is this: Basilie must be kept in ignorance of our defensive, and eventually offensive, steps taken against the evil that is attacking Beech Grove, at least as long as I myself do not know why she has been preserved, at least until now, from that same evil that killed her mother and now threatens her father, aunt and sister.”
With these words, which Saint-Clair pronounced slowly, in a low and grave voice, Firmin turned pale. All at once he exclaimed, in a voice that was quieter but heavy with emotion:
“Oh! Monsieur! You have said just what I was thinking when I asked you that question. But, in the words you have spoken, there is something which overwhelms me. You said ‘preserved until now.’ Does that mean…?”
Saint-Clair replied gently:
“Yes, if my hypothesis is right, last night, Mademoiselle Basilie must have fallen ill, along with her aunt and sister whom she kept company. Following my plan, which Madame Dauzet and Mademoiselle Madeleine cleverly executed, Mademoiselle Basilie must have felt the first violent attack of the mysterious evil.”
“Oh!”
Saint-Clair added, with authority:
“I have not gone astray, Firmin. I shall soon know with precision in what state Basilie was last night and this morning... For the moment, let her be and wait for my further instructions.”
“Very well, Monsieur. I will.”
And Firmin showed, in his attitude, that he was a man capable of exercising an energetic authority over his emotions.
“Let me recapitulate and summarize,” Saint-Clair went on. “Tonight, the Comte, his sister and his older daughter, will sleep in the studio apartment. Everything will be prepared by you, your wife and your niece, so that Basilie has not the slightest idea of this change. I will also give detailed instructions to Jacques, Madame Dauzet and Mademoiselle Madeleine to that effect. You, Firmin, will organize the switch in the most discreet and secure way.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Now, pay attention, my friend! If my hypothesis is correct, your master, his sister and his older daughter, will progress toward health by the hour, attaining a state of convalescence that will be increasingly favorable. But the three of them must hide their progressive well being from Basilie, even if it is painful! They must pretend that the evil still has a hold on them, and is overwhelming and weakening them more and more. You, Firmin, Amélie, and Jeannette, must act as if it were really so. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, Monsieur! But how long will this last?”
“Oh!” said Saint-Clair, smiling, “not long! For the affectation of illness might, if it goes on too long, impair the correct progress of the cure. Keep calm! Soca, Vitto and I will act our part too, so the need for comedy won’t last more than a few days, a week maximum...”
Saint-Clair paused, and said in a less serious tone:
“Firmin, we have reached the point where I must speak to you about Vitto, Soca and myself. I will be brief. First, I want you to know that the three of us are going to disappear.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Firmin. “Disappear?”
“Yes, we’ll be leaving Beech Grove, to continue our journey toward the Dordogne.”
“Ah! Truly?” Firmin said in a tone of incredulity.
Saint-Cla
ir smiled.
“Bravo!” he said. “I see that you are intelligent. Our departure will be real only for Basilie... and maybe a few others. But as far as the Comte, his sister and older daughter, you, Amélie and Jeannette, we will not be far from here. We will even be very close. When the time comes, you will learn everything, Firmin. For now, I will say no more.”
He stood up; Firmin stood as well, saying:
“Very well, Monsieur. Do you have any orders to give me for now?”
“Oh! Just this: at 8 a.m., serve my breakfast. I will come down. Unless I’m mistaken, I will be alone this morning, in the dining room.”
“Ah?”
“Yes, Firmin. For I expect Mademoiselle Basilie to be ill. She will ring Jeannette, if she has not already done so. Go, my friend, go, and carry out the service as usual. You will not bring your wife and niece into our secret until the afternoon, when you can be alone with the two of them, far from any curious ear. Ah! A detail! Do not forget that I was taken ill this morning too. But as the evil’s grasp on me is recent, I am still in control.”
“Very well, Monsieur.”
“Let us seal the pact, my friend. Your hand.”
“Here, Monsieur!”
And the pact was sealed by a frank, cordial, solid clasp of hands from man to man.
Saint-Clair entered the dining-room at 8 a.m. sharp. Ten minutes later, Jeannette appeared, bringing eggs and ham. The young maid did not have her normal expression of smiling and good humor, however, and her “Good morning, Monsieur” lacked any joy.
“Good morning, Jeannette,” said the Nyctalope. “What’s the matter? You seem upset.”
Jeannette put down the plate, folded her hands and said quickly, with sharp breaths:
“Oh! Monsieur! Now Mademoiselle Basilie is ill too!”
Saint-Clair felt a deep satisfaction, but he did not let it show. On the contrary, he feigned a very sad surprise:
“Mademoiselle Basilie, ill! But how?”
“I don’t know. Madame Laure is with her. I was called to serve her tea with lemon in her room.”
The Nyctalope and The Tower of Babel Page 13
