The Helm of Hades

by Paul Halter

  ‘Could Jacob have been thrown out of a window somewhere and then been brought back discreetly to the side of the pond?’

  ‘We looked very carefully into that, as you can well imagine,’ replied Merle with a smile. ‘After all, it did seem to be the only solution to the puzzle. Unfortunately, that idea was rapidly discredited. For a distance of ten miles in every direction there was not a building or a construction anywhere near the required height, with the exception of the Lassac church steeple and we were quickly able to rule that out. Nor were there any cliffs, escarpments or natural formations anywhere. The little hill we started from was in fact the highest point of the region! As for trees, there weren’t many of them and only a couple even reached a height of thirty feet. What’s more, the experts were categorical about the scene of the crime. The peculiar nature of the soil around the pond, with its yellow chalk and stones, traces of which had been found in the victim’s wounds, left no doubt. As for the time of death, that corresponded to the observed facts, plus or minus half an hour. To sum it up: as incredible as it may sound, Jacob Amalric was smashed to pieces on the pond bank as the result of a fall from a great height.’

  There was a renewed silence, broken by Twist in a tone half ironic and half resigned:

  ‘In that case, we have no choice but to listen to the rest of the story.’

  Merle stared fixedly at the fire, obviously satisfied with his account so far, then continued:

  ‘The first witness I questioned was Mathias, the bird of prey. Never an easy person in the first place, he was visibly irritated by the interrogations earlier that afternoon. We were in the kitchen, at the very place where he had sat when the incident occurred. His account was as clear and concise as the books he kept and, I have to admit, convincing. From where he had been sitting, he had not had a clear view of the area around the house or the banks of the pond. Lace curtains and the assorted bric-a-brac around the windows had further reduced his field of vision. His brother Jacob had appeared in normal spirits at the time of his customary nine o’clock walk. And—although he couldn’t swear it on oath—he thought he recognised his brother’s voice when he had called, around ten o’clock, to announce that he had seen the golden ladder. There had been the same fervent, high-pitched tone that his brother used when describing matters dear to his heart.

  ‘“I suppose,” he said, “that it was his incessant Bible reading that eventually addled his brain. Even though I didn’t really approve, I became resigned to his matrimonial project. Despite my warnings about the financial complications that would inevitably arise, he treated me and my objections with disdain. The fact that his wife-to-be was young enough to be his daughter and came from a different background was of no importance. The vision of the golden ladder was, for him, a sign from the heavens. He was so inflexible and so determined that I eventually threw in the towel. That’s why I didn’t take much notice when he shouted out this morning. He’d claimed to have seen the golden ladder several times in the last few days and had even pointed it out to me, but I—need I tell you?—had seen nothing, other than the reflection of the sun on the surface of the pond.”

  ‘“But weren’t you surprised not to have seen him when he called out at ten o’clock ? ”

  ‘Mathias shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘“He could have been anywhere outside: behind a rock or a bush. I tell you, the whole business was beginning to get on my nerves. I didn’t want to get any more involved.”

  ‘“And the scream you heard shortly thereafter? Was it a long cry of distress, like someone falling from a great height?”

  ‘Mathias pursed his lips, but agreed:

  ‘“Yes, that’s how I would describe it. At least, I would now. At the time, I must confess I didn’t recognise it for what it was.”

  ‘“And the noise of the fall?”

  ‘“Hard to say. Again, it all happened so quickly. I had a distinct impression that the ground shook. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the result of a gentle fall. I went outside and that’s when Henri arrived in his car. That was a surprise, too, because I hadn’t seen him for quite a while.”

  ‘While I had been listening to Mathias’ testimony, I had noticed a large Holy Bible, bound in faded leather, sitting on a side table. Now I picked it up and opened it at the page where it was bookmarked, which not surprisingly turned out to be “The Dream of Jacob ” from Genesis 28, illustrated with a luminous staircase reaching to the sky, on which angels wandered up and down. I thumbed through the rest of the pages and noticed one had been dog-eared at John 4. Once again, it was about Jacob, this time under the picture of a reclining Jesus: “So he came to a town of Samaria which was named Sychar [....] Now Jacob’s well was there. Jesus, being tired after his journey, was resting by the well. It was about the sixth hour.” I also found an illustration of the seductive Delilah, which reminded me of the young woman Victorine whom Jacob had been planning to marry. That prompted me to ask the master of the house how she had viewed her forthcoming marriage with the late lamented Jacob.

  ‘“In other words,” replied Mathias with a bitter smile, “was she as enamoured of him as he was of her? Or was she marrying him because of his beautiful eyes?”

  ‘His cynical regard made me feel uncomfortable.

  ‘“Yes,” I mumbled. “You could put it that way.”

  ‘“It would be best, I think, if you put the question to her directly.”

  ‘And on that sour note, the interview ended. Next we went outside to interrogate the youngest son, Henri. The first thing I asked him was to describe as accurately as possible the moment of his arrival at the farm. He said he’d been at the wheel of his car, with the top down, about thirty yards from the house, when he had heard the blood-curdling scream. Hence his attention at that point had been directed towards the road and the building, and he hadn’t really looked at the pond or its banks. Certainly not at the east bank where the crime had apparently taken place, and which was in any case partially hidden behind some large boulders which lined the road at that point. That was probably why he hadn’t witnessed his brother’s fall, although he was absolutely certain he hadn’t seen a ladder leading up into the heavens. If there had been such a sight, he couldn’t possible have missed it. He had heard the noise of a fall, but not as clearly as his brother, no doubt because of the noise of the motor. He had seen Mathias rush out about ten seconds later. As far as I could determine, his account was consistent with the known facts. I then asked him to show me the letter he had received two days earlier from his brother, asking him to come as soon as possible to discuss a matter of great importance. Even though the letter gave no details, there was little doubt, from its enthusiastic tone, that the matter in question was the forthcoming marriage.

  ‘“I was quite surprised to get the letter,” explained Henri, a good-looking fellow with a charming manner. “I hadn’t had any news from my brother for quite a while—six months or more—and to be frank, our last meeting had been pretty unpleasant. Nothing really serious, just disagreements regarding the management of some assets our father had left us. In any case, once Mathias and Jacob decided to bury themselves in this godforsaken hole, our paths were bound to diverge. I arrived late last night, so I decided to take a room at Les Trois Lavandières. That’s where I met the owner Maurice and spent a little time with the barman Julien, who explained the situation to me. And once I saw the lovely Victorine... well, it became obvious to me that there was something not quite right about the marriage. How can I say this tactfully? Jacob was not exactly a ladies’ man and, for her part, Victorine didn’t seem to be bursting with joy. I fell asleep with the idea of bringing everything out into the open the next day. I left at nine o’clock in the morning, but then I found one of my tyres was flat. It took me longer than I expected to change it and so I arrived later than planned. You know the rest.”

  ‘That evening, Inspector Letellier and I dined at Les Trois Lavandières, waited on by Julien, a sturdy young man with a rather sullen manner
. Victorine was notable by her absence. Some of the customers suggested, tongue in cheek, that she had locked herself in her room to mourn alone. There were only a few regulars left by the time we got around to questioning Julien. He turned out to be rather shy, although forthright enough and willing to please. He spoke respectfully of the deceased, but his eyes betrayed the resentment he obviously felt towards him.

  ‘“He wasn’t a man you could really dislike,” he said, after accepting a glass from the inspector. “He was well-educated and liked to chat. But—how should I put it?–—he seemed to think he was God... and he never once left me a tip! Anyway, I’m not going to speak ill of him now he’s dead.”

  ‘“What did you think about his marriage to Victorine?” asked Inspector Letellier, with a studied indifference.

  ‘The young man’s eyes flashed angrily.

  ‘“It’s none of my business,” he muttered. “And anyway, I think you’re smart enough to have worked it out.”

  ‘“Worked what out?” asked Letellier.

  ‘“Ask Maurice.”

  ‘It was a stinging reply. Before he went back into his shell, I decided to change the subject and ask him about his conversation the previous night with Henri. He acknowledged having spoken to him. Henri had asked a number of questions, particularly concerning his brother Jacob’s projects. But the youngest Amalric brother had failed to charm him.

  ‘“He seemed slightly less greedy than the other two. But don’t let that fool you. He’s not much better. If you’d seen how he ogled Victorine when she was around – I’m sure he wouldn’t have thought twice about taking her from his brother, if he’d had the chance.”

  ‘“I see,” said the inspector, with a knowing look. “I’d heard they didn’t get on well together. Just one more point. Amalric claimed he left the inn at around nine o’clock this morning. Can you confirm that? ”

  ‘Julien thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t start work until late afternoon. You should ask Maurice or Victorine, if she’s in any state to talk. She might not be grief-stricken, but she’s had a shock all the same.”

  ‘After locking the doors of the hostelry, Maurice Auriol was next to be questioned.

  ‘“Maybe that Jacob’s ladder was a sign from above, after all,” he said. He was a grey-haired fifty-year old with a sad, owl-like gaze.

  ‘“What do you mean?” asked Inspector Letellier.

  ‘“That the good lord heard my prayers and found a way to thwart the odious blackmail against my person.”

  ‘“What blackmail?”

  ‘“Sacrificing my daughter in order to pay off my debts to the Amalrics. To Mathias most of all,” he added, with a look that was a mixture of sadness and bitterness. “I had borrowed a considerable sum of money from him that I was not in a position to repay. He had me in the palm of his hand. I’d been worried for several months that the bailiffs could come at any time. Then, one bright morning about a month ago, up pops Jacob beaming happily, with all my debt notices in his chubby little hand. He said he’d done a deal with his brother, and now it was up to me.”

  ‘“I think I understand,” I muttered, my fists clenching.

  ‘“Yes, gentlemen, I’m sure you do. The condition—the only condition—was that I let him have my daughter’s hand in marriage,” said the innkeeper, burying his head in his hands. “I was so stunned that I dodged the issue and told him it wasn’t up to me. And just at that moment, as if she’d anticipated the question, Victorine came in to the room. Jacob repeated his demand without a trace of shame, as complacent as a cat that’s swallowed the cream; as if it was just a simple business transaction with the only remaining question being the price. And dear, sweet, brave Victorine said “Yes” as she tore the documents into a thousand pieces.”

  ‘After a second, he added: “If her poor mother had been alive today, she would never have forgiven me. I should have acted like a man and sent him away with a fist in his face. The really strange part was his utter confidence that his vision would come to pass. After he left, I tried to talk Victorine out of her sacrifice, but she would have none of it. She was betrothed to Jacob and would no longer be a free woman. When Julien learned the news, he flew into a terrible rage. He wanted to go to the farm and break all their heads, and if Victorine had not talked him out of it, I’m sure he would have done so.”

  ‘“I suspect the lad has a soft spot for the girl,” said the inspector.

  ‘“Yes, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for not putting a stop to Jacob’s game right away, as I should have done.”

  ‘After an embarrassed silence, I asked Auriol if he could verify the time of Henri’s departure.

  ‘“Yes. He paid his bill at around nine o’clock. I saw him leave with his sports bag.”

  ‘“What did you do then?”

  ‘“Nothing much,” replied Maurice, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. “A bit of cleaning, then around ten o’clock some workmen came.”

  ‘“Right. We’d like to talk to your daughter now. That is, if she’s in a fit state.”

  ‘“I think it’ll be all right,” replied Maurice, nodding his head. “She’s in her room. I’ll let her know.”

  ‘Shortly thereafter, we interviewed the lovely Victorine. Her pale blue eyes were devoid of all expression, but even that fact couldn’t diminish her elegant beauty framed in an opulent cascade of black curls.

  ‘After we had explained the troubling details of our investigation, she wasted no time in telling us that she had rarely detested anyone as much as Jacob Amalric. His death, however tragic, was a deliverance for her, so much so that she had not yet fully recovered from the shock. She went on to say that, despite her decision, made on the spur of the moment, she probably would not have had the courage to go through with the wedding. Recently she had been joyfully imagining the discomfiture of her fiancé when she shouted “No!” in front of the altar.

  ‘To be frank, I was almost relieved to hear her talking like that. It seemed a normal healthy reaction to an unnatural situation. Nevertheless, we were left with the mystery at the heart of the matter. I asked her what she thought.

  ‘“Jacob’s ladder,” she said breaking into a smile for the first time. “Modesty forbids me from saying so, but I think he aimed too high when he decided to marry me. I was too inaccessible and he climbed too far to try and reach me— and he fell.”

  ‘“Like the fall of Icarus,” I observed.

  ‘“Exactly,” she replied, running her fingers through her jet black hair. “I believe it was divine intervention.”

  ‘The inspector reminded her gruffly that the justice of men required more substantial evidence, and he was the one charged with finding a rational explanation to the riddle. For that reason, he needed to know her whereabouts at the time of the crime.

  ‘There was a defiant light in her eyes, and she favoured us with an ironic smile.

  ‘You’ll have to look elsewhere, gentlemen. I have an alibi plated with the same metal as the famous ladder: that’s to say, in gold. From nine to ten o’clock I was running errands in the village. The butcher, the grocer, the green-grocer; I even went to church and offered up a prayer, and ran into the vicar. I spoke to him, as the good lord had obviously intended me to do.’

  Merle paused before concluding, a nostalgic gleam in his eye.

  ‘A beautiful child, young Victorine. I confess I was a little in love with her myself at the time. She had a lot of character—more, perhaps, than any of the men involved. From a psychological standpoint, she would have been the best equipped to have committed the murder, if that’s what it was. But, as she pointed out, she had a cast-iron—or, rather, gold-plated—alibi. We confirmed it, of course. So, gentlemen, what do you think? It’s not your everyday puzzle, I think you’ll agree.’

  ‘A great impossible crime,’ agreed Dr. Twist enthusiastically. ‘A divine problem, one might say.’

  After pensively lighting a cigar, Superintendent Cullen observed with a calm smi
le:

  ‘Only on the surface. An objective analysis of the facts will swiftly clear up the mystery.’

  ‘So you already have a solution?’ enquired Major Merle, obviously intrigued.

  ‘Yes. Or at least a rough idea. For obviously the “divine” aspects of the story all come from one source: the brothers Amalric. The three other suspects: the innkeeper, the barman and the girl all had good reason to want to kill the victim, but his brothers had an even stronger one: Jacob’s inheritance which, if I’ve understood correctly, was quite considerable.’

  ‘Quite right,’ agreed Merle. ‘His will was made out in their favour and represented quite a tidy sum.’

  ‘I imagine they took advantage of Jacob’s ravings to put in place their diabolical plan. It’s quite obvious that their account of the facts is a tissue of lies. There was no ladder reaching to the sky, no cry for help, no hideous scream, no sound of a fall. Just a simple fratricide, followed by some cock-and-bull story to cover their traces. The Amalric brothers were in it up to their necks—there’s no other explanation.’

  ‘You know, I reached the same conclusion myself,’ replied Merle. ‘The problem was I couldn’t explain the fall. I’m not going to go over the lie of the land again, I’ll simply say that in the two or three days following the incident, we scoured the countryside thoroughly. But all in vain. Not the slightest clue there. And, of course, before accusing the Amalric brothers, we had to have proof.’

  ‘Did you really think of everything?’ asked Cullen defiantly. ‘Couldn’t one envisage, say, an improvised catapult throwing the victim up in the air? You know, like the natives in the bush. They bend a tree into an arc, tie the victim on to it loosely, and let go. The whiplash of the tree can easily catapult someone sixty feet in the air.’

  ‘We thought of that,’ said Merle, ‘but you need trees twice as big as any we found in the area.’

  ‘Well, all right,’ growled Cullen. ‘But for my money, those two brothers were the ones, however they did it. But we’d have had to have been there to make any more sense of it. What do you think, Twist?’