The eyelids with their long eyelashes drooped. Then they rose again, and once again, he saw her eyes, so clear, so blue and so deep that one always wondered whether there was a thought behind them, or if they contained nothing but a happy basic instinct to live. But at that moment, those eyes, while losing nothing of their innocence, expressed an infinite anguish, while her trembling lips murmured something that Saint-Clair and Anna Large could barely make out:
“I don’t understand, my God! Why do you look at me like that? Why do you say such words to me?”
Suddenly, clutching her hands to her face, Basilie began to cry.
This had the immediate effect of calming the Nyctalope. For he saw that Basilie was not crying like a guilty woman or a terrified girl, but like a desperate little child, who really did not understand. She did not understand the death of her mother, the illness of her father, aunt and sister, her own immunity until today, her recent bout of fever, the anger of the Nyctalope. He said to himself:
“Is it possible that her understanding should become conscious only at this moment? How is it that she did not understand or seemed not to understand in the past? My God! When I told her to look at me, she hid her face in her hands. Parents know that, even among little girls, especially among them, there are some great actresses...”
He had moved a few steps from the bed. On his right, Nurse Large also watched Basilie. For several minutes there was no other sound in the room but that of her convulsive sobs and groans. Laure and Madeleine remained motionless, although thanks to the dose of ether, they were visibly revived. As for Jacques d’Hermont, stiff in the armchair, hands clenched under his arms, he looked from Saint-Clair to Basilie with eyes so extraordinarily dilated that he seemed crazy.
Suddenly, Saint-Clair seized Nurse Large’s arm, and drew her to the farthest corner of the room. In a low voice, but with extreme vigor, he spoke to her:
“Anna, listen to me. I must speak. I must express my thoughts in words to make them clearer before my judgment. I have told you everything, so you understand what is going on here. According to my theory, based on verifiable ideas, only those living from sunset to sunrise in the library, the Comte’s study and the apartment occupied by Madame Dauzet and Madeleine, became ill. The soundness of my theory has been demonstrated by the fact that Basilie was attacked the day she spent hours in the apartment of Laure and Madeleine. Also, the Comte, Laure and Madeleine did not have an attack of fever on the nights when they moved in to the studio apartment. Finally, although I was attacked the third night of my stay here, I was unharmed on the fourth night because I stayed in that same studio. Soca and Vitto were attacked because I put them in my room. Conclusion: Well! Come on, Anna, say it yourself!”
Nurse Large responded at once:
“This is obvious: whatever place the evil comes from, by whatever process it is created, the man or woman who directs it knows the movements of the people who are here. In your case, he knew forty-eight hours after your arrival the room you occupied. As for the Comte, his sister and his eldest daughter, the criminal was not warned until forty-eight hours after their nocturnal relocation to the studio apartment. And he or she was also not warned when Basilie remained, according to your arrangements, in the rooms where the same evil took place.”
“So,” said Saint-Clair, seizing the nurse’s wrists and pressing them, “Basilie is not guilty!”
Nurse Large had a moment of hesitation. Finally, in a dubious tone, she said:
“Directly guilty? No, no doubt. But as an indicator...”
“Come,” said Saint-Clair, impatiently, “use your reason better. She cannot have been an indicator for three days, since you have been watching her and she has not left her room. How are we to explain that Jacques, Laure and Madeleine were attacked in the studio tonight?”
A silence.
Nurse Large said softly:
“Let’s say she is innocent. Then why is she alone immune? And who is the snitch, if we assume that the criminal is not at Beech Grove?”
“There,” said Saint-Clair, obviously satisfied, “that is a well-framed question. I am now absolutely certain that the criminal is not at Beech Grove. But I also believe that the snitch is someone here, for it would be impossible otherwise to know of the changes that were made in the sleeping arrangements if one does not live in the castle. Another related but important question is: when and how does the snitch communicate with the Cross of Blood?”
At this name, Nurse Large started.
“The Cross of Blood?” she said.
“Yes. I sent a friend there, and she spent the afternoon with Armand Logreux d’Albury. First, in a small room, then in his sanctum, where she noticed something unusual—an instrument that looked abnormal and sinister, but which is quite meaningful to me. She has given me only a brief description of it, for she herself did not understand it, but I recognized it...”
Another silence. Finally, he said:
“First, it is necessary to know how Armand Logreux d’Albury was made aware of the movements of people at Beech Grove. It is child’s play to figure it out knowing that the shoes with the cracked sole were hidden in a corner of La Migeonne. Then, everything becomes immediately clear, even the more astonishing events, such as that incomprehensible scene of ecstasy and pain on the lawn, with the luminous nimbus...”
“Excellent!” said Anna Large.
“My God, all of this is exciting,” exclaimed the Nyctalope, with intense pleasure. “But first, we must reassure this poor weeping child, who is herself dreadfully part of the mystery! What role did she play without knowing what the consequences would be? Or does she really know nothing and understand nothing? Let’s see, Anna, what was Basilie’s attitude during those last few days when you had her under your immediate care?”
The nurse replied with precision:
“By your instructions, and with the help of Doctor Luvier, after her extraordinary attack of fever, Basilie was kept in a state of physical and mental weakness, which, without endangering her health, made her my prisoner in this apartment. She spoke very little, and only about the small necessities that presented themselves. I tried not to share confidences, as this would have been premature of me, but I did watch her reaction to some pointed comments I made. But I saw in her only a kind of childish incomprehension. And yet, Monsieur, the truth is that, in spite of everything, I cannot help but feel a certain uneasiness around her.”
As she went silent, Saint-Clair insisted:
“Why?”
“Because of her eyes. I found them sometimes fixed on my face, on my own eyes. Oh! It was only a flash. But once, using mirrors, I was able to look at them for a good minute.”
“Yes? What did you find?”
“They are too clear, too deep, too unfathomable. Ah! They are not childish, I assure you. And I said to myself: Is it possible that there is nothing behind this void, this frightening, inhuman void?”
She was silent again. Saint-Clair frowned. He meditated for a couple of minutes, and then shrugged his shoulders:
“Bah! We will see! The essential thing is that, unless I am wrong, I shall soon have before me, in my eyes, and between those two hands”—he waved his hands clenched like talons, almost touching the pale face of the nurse—“yes, I will have the criminal. Woe to him if, at that moment, Nieve is not alive and intact! Come, I will try to calm Basilie.”
With a quick step he walked to the bed. The girl was no longer sobbing. She was thrown back on the cushions, offering her whole admirable neck, her head inclined a little to one side. Her arm and hands rested softly on the sheets. Tears slowly fell from her half-closed eyelids and shone brightly on her cheeks. The Nyctalope bent down, took the two long pale hands, carried them one after the other to his lips and kissed them gently.
Then he said in the caressing, enveloping, penetrating voice he used when he wanted to speak in a certain way to a woman:
“Basilie, my girl, do not be afraid. All this will end. And it will end well. Y
our father, your aunt, your sister will recover. You yourself will no longer feel the fever from which you are still suffering. I can see that you do not understand me, and for this very reason, I am beginning to make sense of things. Basilie, come my dear, open your eyes, look at me, look at me with confidence, with friendship...”
Without her pretty head moving, her eyes opened and fixed on the Nyctalope a dreadful look he could not bear.
In her eyes, Saint-Clair had now perceived the truth. The supreme decision, the definitive thought, sprang into into his mind, and he did not hesitate a moment.
“Basilie,” he said, “be happy! You will be saved today. All of you, especially you, who would have run a danger worse than death!”
Turning around, he walked back through the castle with quick steps to rejoin Vitto and Soca outside.
“Go straight to La Migeonne,” he commanded them. “You know what you must do.”
They set off immediately through the park, lighting their way through the night with a small electric lamp.
As for Saint-Clair, he set off at a run, for a quarter of an hour through the country.
Once at the encampment, he immediately woke Andrès del Borgo and Nieve.
“You,” he said to the girl, “dress quickly and be ready to follow me. We are going to the Cross of Blood. You, Andrès, keep watch here in case I send little Pépito, whom we will take with us, back to you with more instructions. Quick, help him get dressed!”
The whole camp was in a state of excitement. Saint-Clair went to his caravan, opened a small suitcase in a wardrobe, and took out a box, the lid of which opened with a spring.
From this case he chose a ring with an agate stone set in gold. Under the light of an electric torch, he examined it and several times operated the mechanism it contained.
Satisfied, he opened a drawer and was about to grab a high-caliber Browning, when, withdrawing his hand, he growled:
“No! No weapons! What Nieve has will be enough, I hope. If I am mistaken, then as usual my salvation will come from my brain and bare hands.”
He was still wearing the overcoat he had brought from Beech Grove, and that he had left unbuttoned. He now buttoned it back up, and with the ring clenched in his left fist, he left the caravan. Nieve and Pépito were ready and waiting, the girl and the child protected from the cold by long hooded capes.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Clouds filled the whole sky, and the night was dark. For the Nyctalope, it did not matter. But Nieve and Pépito could only keep up with his pace by holding his hands.
It took only a few minutes to reach the steps of the Cross of Blood. No dog barked or showed itself. The master of the house did not believe he needed any dogs to protect himself.
During the journey, the Nyctalope had spoken to Nieve, who listened attentively, but did not say a word.
At the top of the steps, after handling the door knocker several times, Nieve waited a good five minutes. Finally the heavy gate opened, and, after a few words exchanged between her and Hambad Sin, the gate closed behind Nieve.
“If all goes well,” thought the Nyctalope, “I will only have to wait ten minutes.”
All did go well, for according to the luminous dial of his wrist-watch, he counted only seven minutes before the portal was reopened.
“Come, Pépito.”
Nieve welcomed them into the hallway.
“All is well,” she said with a splendid smile. “He has not touched me, even with his fingertips.”
Exultant, Saint-Clair allowed himself to be guided by the girl who walked before him. He neglected Hambad Sin, who seemed to be sleeping in an armchair on the landing.
They found Armand Logreux d’Albury stretched out on the black couch of the sanctum, where the projector of evil rays was pointed over the great open bay in the direction of Beech Grove.
The Nyctalope looked at Logreux and murmured:
“His mind will be able to live a few more years, but his body is now paralyzed forever. Hambad Sin will look after him. You only pricked him once, Nieve?”
“Yes.”
“And Logreux, five times?”
“Yes.”
“All is well then.”
He went straight to the projector, studied the machine, then quickly began to dismantle it.
“I was right!” he said, nodding his head. “Just as some radiologists are victims of X-rays, so were the occupants of Beech Grove, except for Basilie, victims of these undiscovered rays. For for centuries, the priests of the Aggartha in Tibet have used a complex set of crystals and mirrors to protect their sacred city from western explorers. This defense has always been victorious, as no expedition has yet reached the true summit of Mount Everest.”
Leaving aside this machine, which he planned to turn over to Government, so it would be stored in a safe place, the Nyctalope turned towards the divan. At this very moment, Armand Logreux d’Albury opened his eyes; but only his gaze could speak, as all the muscles of his body, including the vocal cords, had been paralyzed by the poison contained in the agate ring, which had slipped out five drops when Nieve had applied her ringed finger to the man’s virile neck as he had grasped her in a violent embrace.
Saint-Clair spoke, for although Logreux was silent, he was not deaf:
“You coveted Basilie and the estate of the d’Hermonts. And you realized that you could only have her, and it, by creating a void of death around her. You enlisted the help of some low-minded accomplices. I will find out just how they acted, but I already know who they are: Hector Gasse and his wife. You are defeated, Logreux. I will give orders for your physical life to be sustained, but your mind will be forever trapped in a paralyzed body! Pépito, go run and tell your father to come with Luisa.”
And turning to Nieve, he added:
“Without any more delay, I must see Soca and Vitto. Meanwhile, help me disassemble the essential elements of this machine. We will wrap them into packages, which we shall take away when we leave this house and never return.”
The work was done when Soca and Vitto showed up. The former did not wait to be questioned. He said:
“It was very simple. Every day, Anna Gasse went to Beech Grove to bring eggs, milk and cheese. She remained an hour or two in the kitchen, and chatted with all the servants, including her daughter, Jeannette. Without thinking of evil, without suspecting that they were informing the enemy, all spoke in such a way that Anna could then inform Logreux of the smallest permanent or temporary changes in the existence of the residents of Beech Grove.”
“Yes,” said Saint-Clair. “That is how Logreux knew about the changes in sleeping quarters I made recently.”
Then Nieve, with a new audacity and extraordinarily intimate tone, said:
“What about Basilie’s role?”
“Logreux was a master of what we sometimes call ‘astral projection’ in the West. Having met Basilie and placed her under his magnetic influence, he could then, with much concentration and for brief periods of time, literally see though her eyes.”
“There remains only one thing to explain: the voluptuous and mortal ecstasy on the pedestal of the statue, and the luminous nimbus.”
“I knew that from the first day!” said Saint-Clair. “Remote suggestion for ecstasy of pain; projection of a powerful portable electric torch for the luminous nimbus.”
And he concluded, smiling, with that gentle skepticism that he sometimes showed:
“Jacques d’Hermont will never believe me when, to explain and sum up everything, I tell him: magnetic waves and the power of suggestion. But that’s just it! Armand Logreux d’Albury was a great physician doubled with a brilliant physicist who found a way to combine occult sciences of the Orient with the immense progress accomplished in the West in modern optics. The mirrors of his projector were a thousand times more active and more precise than the simple crystal lenses the secret priests of Mount Everest.”
Four days later, Basilie was no longer the only one to laugh, sing and love l
ife at Beech Grove. Her father, aunt and elder sister were just as eager to enjoy the happiness of their health.
The Nyctalope remained with them for only one more day, but he will never be forgotten in that small corner of Touraine.
Emmanuel Gorlier: The Tower of Babel
CHAPTER I
The Mysterious Hindu
On this beautiful evening, September 10, 1931, the travelers who were leaving the Gare de Lyon poured onto the sidewalks. Some of them headed for the taxis, others stormed the bus, a few went on foot, loaded with baggage to one extent or another. Among the latter were two workers dressed in their overalls, caps glued to their heads. They walked briskly toward Boulevard Diderot, probably meaning to reach the banks of the Seine. An attentive observer could have noticed that they were keeping up with an old man twenty yards in front of them. This man, slightly bent over, was wearing a big turban and was obviously a Hindu. With a serious expression on his face, he looked straight in front of him and apparently paid no attention to what was happening in the street.
The two men were already far from the station. One of them, a tall blonde with green eyes, said to his companion:
“Say, Jacques, he walks pretty fast for an old guy.”
Jacques, a wiry little fellow with brown hair, smiled back:
“Don’t exaggerate! He’s got to be younger than he looks. I wonder where he’s leading us.”
“Yeah. Ever since we’ve been on his tail, he’s been keeping up a good pace,” the guy named Stéphane, observed.
The two men belonged to the CID—Committee for Information and Defense—an organization created a few years earlier by the Nyctalope to defend the interests of France and its European allies. Its mission was mainly to gather information in order to keep the territory safe. Only the highest of French and European ministers knew of its guarded existence. The CID worked in collaboration with the Prime Minister and was often called in to intervene in the most secretive and sensitive affairs.
The Nyctalope and The Tower of Babel Page 20
