“Has the Comte been told?”
“I don’t know, Monsieur.”
“But your uncle...”
“I’m going to tell him right now that Mademoiselle Basilie...”
At that moment, a door opened and Firmin entered. He went straight to Saint-Clair. Right away, he said:
“Monsieur, I have just informed Monsieur le Comte that Mademoiselle Basilie is not well. Last night, in Madame Laure’s music-room, Mademoiselle Basilie was suddenly taken ill with a violent attack of the fever. She suffered more and more until midnight. Now she is extremely dejected. Monsieur le Comte himself and Mademoiselle Madeleine are even worse than usual. Madame Laure too, but she has so much courage! She is at Mademoiselle Basilie’s bedside. Monsieur le Comte asks Monsieur to go see him—but not before Monsieur has had his breakfast.”
“Very well. I will go to your master in a quarter of an hour,” replied Saint-Clair, pretending for Jeannette’s sake to feel a deep anxiety.
Then he sat down. But before he started to eat, he said:
“Firmin, call Doctor Luvier. Tell him to come at once, if he can. In the case of Mademoiselle Basilie, suddenly taken ill, perhaps there is something to be done to stop this sickness from the start, one with which we are starting to have some experience. And you, Jeannette, serve me quickly.”
Twenty minutes later, having unhurriedly satisfied his robust morning appetite, Saint-Clair went to see his friend.
They were alone in the room, and could speak freely. They did so, however, only in low voices, Saint-Clair sitting on the edge of the bed where d’Hermont was lying. The Comte said at once:
“Your predictions, Léo...”
“…Have been confirmed, yes. Basilie had her first bout of fever, of an extreme violence, Firmin told me. This very violence justifies and strengthens my confidence in my hypothesis. I have had Doctor Luvier called. Yesterday, he gave me some good advice. He will take care of Basilie, and also Laure and Madeleine, who were attacked last night with the same violence. We have agreed to keep the medicines at their current levels, to avoid risking an aggravation of their condition. There is one more thing, Jacques...”
“What is it?” asked the Comte, at once anxious, curious and trusting.
“Doctor Luvier suggested that Basilie should stay in her room and that an experienced nurse be summoned from Tours. But I am letting you know that this nurse will, in fact, come from Paris. She already left this morning, since yesterday I sent a long telegram to my secretary from Tours. Now several things must happen...”
“What things?” asked the Comte.
“Someone will call me on the telephone. After this call, I will say that I have to leave Beech Grove with Vitto and Soca. Basilie will believe that I have gone to the Dordogne, and that my stay there will last a few weeks. But you, Firmin, his wife and his niece, know that I won’t be very far away. Listen, my friend...”
Leaning in closer, as if he were afraid that the walls had ears, Saint-Clair spoke for a long time. Not once did Jacques d’Hermont interrupt him. And listening with eagerness to the Nyctalope, the Comte’s face took on expressions at first of astonishment, then of anxiousness, and at last of admiration, but mixed with terror... A terror that, when Saint-Clair fell silent, made the Comte say in an anguished voice:
“But then Basilie...”
“No, Jacques! No! Do not judge. Do not blame. And, above all, do not suffer from the atrocious pain to come... Such an abomination seems impossible to me. I believe Basilie to be innocent—I truly do. And her innocence will show itself when I have exposed the criminal source of the mystery. For to admit that Basilie is guilty, would be to despair of everything, and no longer admit that a pure gaze reflects a pure soul...”
Saint-Clair went quiet again. He said nothing because he could not say everything he thought. It was, in any event, very much hypothetical. But he was able to give his face an expression of such sincerity, that Jacques d’Hermont breathed a sigh of relief. Saint-Clair went on:
“Do you need me to clarify anything in what I have just told you?”
“No, I understand. Everything here will go according to your plan.”
“Perfect. Now, there’s no need to continue to pretend to be ill all the time. Your real state has to be hidden only from Basilie. Only when you go see her must you take the precaution of seeming to be in bad health. As for Doctor Luvier, since yesterday, he has known my plans. Everything is on the right track now. Both our improvement last night and Basilie’s illness have begun to justify my hypothesis. I called Luvier about half an hour ago, and told him that what I had dared to predict came to pass. He will act accordingly. That is all. I will see you soon, since I will come back with him after he’s seen Basilie.
“Very well, my dear friend. I will wait for you.”
Jacques d’Hermont accompanied the Nyctalope back to the door with a long steady gaze, and an indefinable expression.
Downstairs, Saint-Clair did not have to wait for long. Just as he was coming into the vestibule, Firmin was opening the front door to Doctor Luvier.
“Good morning, Doctor,” said Saint-Clair.
“Good morning, Monsieur Saint-Clair.”
They shook hands. The doctor was both worried and curious. Firmin disappeared.
“So?” asked Luvier. “Are you and d’Hermont well? And has the evil come to Basilie? Is everything as you foresaw, expected, hoped?”
“Exactly!” said Saint-Clair.
“I confess that it terrifies me.”
“With good reason. But dominate this terror, my dear doctor. For your role here is going to be important... and perhaps very difficult.”
“My God! I’ve been thinking about everything you said since your visit. I didn’t sleep at all last night. But do not worry, I will act in a way that is worthy of your confidence, and I hope not to disappoint you. Before I see Basilie, do you have anything more to tell me?”
“Nothing—if you remember everything I told you.”
“Ah! Even if I lived a hundred years, I would never forget a single one of your words. Let’s go then?”
“Yes.”
What was happening then, Saint-Clair had predicted the day before in front of Doctor Luvier. The arrangements had been made in advance, and they did not exchange another word.
Upstairs, in front of the door of Basilie’s room, they separated. Led by Jeannette, who was waiting for him, the doctor entered the antechamber and passed into the room. Meanwhile Saint-Clair continued down the corridor and opened another door with caution. Thirty seconds later, he found himself in Basilie’s bathroom. He was separated from the bedroom of the young girl by only two curtains that, while very thick and completely drawn, did not prevent him from listening. If he slipped a finger between them and the doorframe, he could even see into the room.
Jeannette had not entered the room but instead discreetly closed the door behind her, as she had been instructed. Doctor Luvier was greeted by Laure Dauzet.
“Oh! My dear Madame!” said the doctor, impulsively but containing himself. He stopped, hands raised, eyes both pitying and disapproving.
Laure gave a hopeless smile and murmured:
“Yes, my face says it all! I tell you that I am at the end of my wits, and should be in bed, instead of playing the nurse. But then, who would watch over Basilie? Madeleine has less resistance than I, Jeannette is incapable of certain things, and Amélie has her work that gives her so much to do. That leaves only me...”
All that Doctor Luvier was going to say and do had been agreed in advance with the Nyctalope. The circumstances fit very well into the plan drawn up the day before between them and there was nothing in it that clashed with Luvier’s professional duties. He replied, in a low yet emphatic voice:
“My dear Madame, you must not undo through your excess of devotion the actions of a man now on the way to save you all!”
“Oh!” whispered Laure, taken by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Monsieur
Saint-Clair will tell you himself, soon enough, I hope. And you will obey him, for I believe that his way is the right one. But I would never have dared think the impossible could exist at this level! Come, excuse me, I am rambling. Is Basilie asleep?”
“No, but she is very weak. She does not react.”
“Let me see her.”
Passing before Madame Dauzet, Doctor Luvier walked toward the alcove.
The room was vast, like most of the bedrooms in the castle. And like most of them, it had two parts: one that could serve as a salon, study for intimate work, studio, a music room or simply room in which the alcove was only the extension; the other, the alcove itself, with ample space for the big bed, two bedside tables, a narrow wardrobe, and one or two seats. There the alcove was separated from the room by a double curtain of white muslin, now half raised by two parallel braces.
The double room was open to the outside by only a single window, but one that was wide and tall, a French window that gave onto a balcony. Oriented to the southeast, at this hour it fully received the first rays of the clear sun and was gilded by the pure, cold, transparent light of a beautiful dry winter morning. These rays, crossing the room almost horizontally, brushed the curtains of the alcove, so that it was both brightly and gently illuminated.
In the narrow girl’s bed she had used for many years, and which she laughingly said she wanted to keep until marriage, Basilie was not lying but sitting, her back and head resting on two large propped-up cushions.
Extremely pale, even a little emaciated, with bluish rings under her closed eyes, she slowly lifted her eyelids at the muffled sound of steps on the carpet. She fixed a blank look on the doctor, walking in front of Madame Dauzet. This look was so different from all the living looks Doctor Luvier had previously seen in the young girl, that even warned as he was, he became upset for a few seconds. Mechanically, out of the instinct to keep his normal expression, he began to speak with the familiarity that was long established between himself and the daughters of Comte d’Hermont.
“Well then, Basilie! Is it from vanity that you are ill? To make yourself interesting? Let’s see here…”
Over the nightdress put on a few minutes earlier, the young girl was wearing a pajama jacket in white silk buttoned under the chin, with sleeves reaching to the wrists. The doctor gently took hold of the left wrist and counted the pulsations, following with his eyes the hop of the second hand of the face of a little clock on the bedside table.
Basilie did not react in any way. In response to the words of the doctor, the “excellent Luvier” whom she admired, there was no answer. She was insensitive up to the wrist. Her sluggish gaze itself could not focus, her head did not give the slightest hint of movement, her long blonde eyelashes drooped and her face showed no expression but fatigue.
A minute went by.
“Good, good!” said the doctor, drawing away his light fingers from the wrist. “A normal depression after an abrupt and violent bout of fever. The cause of the fever itself? Hmm… Perhaps a bit too much walking in the woods yesterday, alongside the pond? And probably a slight blast of cold when passing from the sun of a clearing to the icy shadow of the thick undergrowth... Basilie, can you hear me?”
The pale lips of the young girl barely opened, and a “yes” came out like breath.
“Good! Above all, do not worry! It’s nothing. The right diet, a little quinine, silence, a half-day rest... A hot water bottle at your feet, replaced often... There, I will leave you now, my little one...”
All these words of such perfect professional banality were pronounced in a restrained but sure tone, confident and even warm.
Luvier turned his back to the bed, and preceded by Madame Dauzet, left the room without hurry.
From his vantage point between the curtains, Saint-Clair avidly watched Basilie, and saw that her face did not change position, expression or appearance; that her hands remained motionless on the sheet; and that, above all, her closed eyes did not open even once...
Patient and attentive, he remained in observation five long minutes.
Madame Dauzet returned after accompanying the doctor back to the corridor, and sat down in an armchair at the foot of the bed. Resolved to hold out until the arrival of the nurse from Tours promised by Luvier, she pulled a rosary from the pocket of her dressing gown, and began to move through it with a barely perceptible movement of her lips.
As for the young girl, half lying against the cushions, she seemed to be asleep; her breathing was so light that her small, round, firm breasts, visible under the thin linen, were without a single movement.
“I like it better this way,” said the Nyctalope to himself, letting the drapes fall. “Depression and complete lifelessness. Everything will be easy and remain secret.”
Leaving Basilie’s apartment, he went straight to the room of Jacques d’Hermont. Doctor Luvier, who had just spent a few minutes with Madeleine, came in immediately afterward.
The three men did not waste time on useless words. From everything Saint-Clair had told him the day before, Luvier knew the situation, which was just as the Nyctalope had predicted as a result of the evening arrangements. Basilie was in the apartment of Laure and Madeleine, and Jacques and Léo were in the studio of the Belgian painter. The consequences were a new virulence in the illness of Laure and Madeleine, a violent appearance of the same evil in Basilie, bouts of fever and depression in Vitto and Soca, and lastly, an obvious improvement in the state of the Comte and the full recovery of the Nyctalope.
“It’s all clear!” concluded Luvier, after having delivered his sober and rapid medical summary.
“We must confine ourselves to defensive tactics,” said Saint-Clair.
“For how long?” asked d’Hermont.
“Until I have obtained the results I hope for from the offensive tactic which I shall begin tomorrow morning—a tactic which only you two, for the moment, know in its essential plan. I will not reveal anything to Laure and Madeleine, who in the unconsciousness of a bout of fever or subsequent state of depression, might talk and be overheard by Basilie. Nor will I reveal my plans to Firmin, or his wife Amélie, or their niece Jeannette. These three servants will be informed only that I am leaving Beech Grove with Soca and Vitto, to better continue my work. They will strictly obey you, my dear Jacques, with respect to my defensive arrangements.”
“What about Laure and Madeleine?” asked the Comte, anxious.
“For now, they will sleep in the room adjacent to the studio, while you, Jacques, will remain near them in the studio itself. Thanks to the care of Firmin and Jeannette, your usual rooms will be made as if you had used them every evening. We must mistrust—not Basilie, you must understand!—but a Basilie that is deceived or enchanted. Yes, that’s what I said: deceived or enchanted. Unless... But no! No! I refuse to believe such an abomination!”
And as d’Hermont made a sharp gesture and opened his mouth, Saint-Clair continued firmly:
“Do not ask me any more today. Soon I hope to enlighten and relieve both your mind and your heart.”
In another tone, he went on:
“This morning, a nurse will arrive, supposedly from Tours, called by doctor Luvier, but in reality from Paris and summoned by me. She will be in charge of watching over and caring for Basilie in her room, as well as accompanying her and distracting her outside—that is, if you, Doctor, think it is good for the patient to go out a little. For now, she remains in a sickly state after the violent fever of last night, but this state will not get worse, for she will no longer stay at night in the apartment of her aunt and her sister.”
Saint-Clair became quiet. Head lowered, he meditated. Neither the Comte nor the doctor disturbed this meditation. At last, raising his head, the Nyctalope concluded:
“I believe I have told you everything. What time is it?”
Before he had consulted his wristwatch, Luvier answered:
“Twelve after nine.”
“Good! In fifteen minutes, I will receive a telep
hone call from Paris. Firmin will fetch me, and I will return to tell you I have been called urgently to the Dordogne. I will say the same thing to Madeleine in her room, and to Laure in Basilie’s room, where Basilie is certain to overhear. You, Doctor, at Saint-Christophe, and at the farms where you visit your patients today, you will create occasions to repeat that the guest of Monsieur d’Hermont and his two servants have left Beech Grove to continue their voyage to the Dordogne. It is necessary that everyone know this. After what I have told you yesterday, and you as well, my dear Jacques, you understand the very important reason for this lie, and the need for it to be spread as widely as possible. There! Now that is really all.”
At that very moment, a knock was heard on the door.
“Come in!” said the Comte.
Firmin appeared:
“Monsieur Saint-Clair is wanted on the telephone.”
“Thank you. I’m going.”
Ten minutes later, all the inhabitants of the castle including Basilie, whom Saint-Clair found with her eyes open, and with whom he exchanged a few words of circumstance, had learned that the Nyctalope, along with Vitto and Soca, would take to the road again at 3 p.m., after lunch.
At 11 a.m., in a hired car from Tours that had left Paris in the morning, a young nurse named Anna Large arrived at Beech Grove. Firmin received her at the foot of the great steps, and she was immediately led to the library where Comte d’Hermont and Léo Saint-Clair were waiting. They spoke for a good quarter of an hour.
Anna Large, registered nurse, then spent a few minutes in the room that had been prepared for her. Bareheaded, dressed in a white smock and slippers, she was introduced first to Madeleine, then to Laure Dauzet, then to Basilie, by the Comte.
Anna was a brunette with an attractive face and simple, easy features. She had a fine, light, supple build and was about thirty years-old. Her special trait was her voice: a light contralto that was music to the ears. She spread immediate sympathy, and, after a brief conversation, Basilie smiled and looked at her with cordial vivacity.
The Nyctalope and The Tower of Babel Page 14
