The Eight Strokes of the Clock, Maurice Leblanc [summer books TXT] 📗

snow, moving away. Why don’t we see him? He came and did not go away again. Where is he? There is not a trace of him⁠ ⁠… or rather.⁠ ⁠…”

The deputy lowered his voice:

“Or rather, yes, there are some traces on the way to the well and around the well⁠ ⁠… traces which prove that the last struggle of all took place there.⁠ ⁠… And after that there is nothing⁠ ⁠… not a thing.⁠ ⁠…”

Jérôme shrugged his shoulders:

“You have already mentioned this, Mr. Deputy, and it implies a charge of homicide against me. I have nothing to say to it.”

“Have you anything to say to the fact that your revolver was picked up within fifteen yards of the well?”

“No.”

“Or to the strange coincidence between the three shots heard in the night and the three cartridges missing from your revolver?”

“No, Mr. Deputy, there was not, as you believe, a last struggle by the well, because I left M. de Gorne tied up, in this room, and because I also left my revolver here. On the other hand, if shots were heard, they were not fired by me.”

“A casual coincidence, therefore?”

“That’s a matter for the police to explain. My only duty is to tell the truth and you are not entitled to ask more of me.”

“And if that truth conflicts with the facts observed?”

“It means that the facts are wrong, Mr. Deputy.”

“As you please. But, until the day when the police are able to make them agree with your statements, you will understand that I am obliged to keep you under arrest.”

“And Madame de Gorne?” asked Jérôme, greatly distressed.

The deputy did not reply. He exchanged a few words with the commissary of police and then, beckoning to a detective, ordered him to bring up one of the two motorcars. Then he turned to Natalie:

“Madame, you have heard M. Vignal’s evidence. It agrees word for word with your own. M. Vignal declares in particular that you had fainted when he carried you away. But did you remain unconscious all the way?”

It seemed as though Jérôme’s composure had increased Madame de Gorne’s assurance. She replied:

“I did not come to, monsieur, until I was at the château.”

“It’s most extraordinary. Didn’t you hear the three shots which were heard by almost everyone in the village?”

“I did not.”

“And did you see nothing of what happened beside the well?”

“Nothing did happen. M. Vignal has told you so.”

“Then what has become of your husband?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come, madame, you really must assist the officers of the law and at least tell us what you think. Do you believe that there may have been an accident and that possibly M. de Gorne, who had been to see his father and had more to drink than usual, lost his balance and fell into the well?”

“When my husband came back from seeing his father, he was not in the least intoxicated.”

“His father, however, has stated that he was. His father and he had drunk two or three bottles of wine.”

“His father is not telling the truth.”

“But the snow tells the truth, madame,” said the deputy, irritably. “And the line of his footprints wavers from side to side.”

“My husband came in at half-past-eight, monsieur, before the snow had begun to fall.”

The deputy struck the table with his fist:

“But, really, madame, you’re going right against the evidence!⁠ ⁠… That sheet of snow cannot speak false!⁠ ⁠… I may accept your denial of matters that cannot be verified. But these footprints in the snow⁠ ⁠… in the snow.⁠ ⁠…”

He controlled himself.

The motorcar drew up outside the windows. Forming a sudden resolve, he said to Natalie:

“You will be good enough to hold yourself at the disposal of the authorities, madame, and to remain here, in the manor-house.⁠ ⁠…”

And he made a sign to the sergeant to remove Jérôme Vignal in the car.

The game was lost for the two lovers. Barely united, they had to separate and to fight, far away from each other, against the most grievous accusations.

Jérôme took a step towards Natalie. They exchanged a long, sorrowful look. Then he bowed to her and walked to the door, in the wake of the sergeant of gendarmes.

“Halt!” cried a voice. “Sergeant, right about⁠ ⁠… turn!⁠ ⁠… Jérôme Vignal, stay where you are!”

The ruffled deputy raised his head, as did the other people present. The voice came from the ceiling. The bulls-eye window had opened and Rénine, leaning through it, was waving his arms:

“I wish to be heard!⁠ ⁠… I have several remarks to make⁠ ⁠… especially in respect of the zigzag footprints!⁠ ⁠… It all lies in that!⁠ ⁠… Mathias had not been drinking!⁠ ⁠…”

He had turned round and put his two legs through the opening, saying to Hortense, who tried to prevent him:

“Don’t move.⁠ ⁠… No one will disturb you.”

And, releasing his hold, he dropped into the room.

The deputy appeared dumbfounded:

“But, really, monsieur, who are you? Where do you come from?”

Rénine brushed the dust from his clothes and replied:

“Excuse me, Mr. Deputy. I ought to have come the same way as everybody else. But I was in a hurry. Besides, if I had come in by the door instead of falling from the ceiling, my words would not have made the same impression.”

The infuriated deputy advanced to meet him:

“Who are you?”

“Prince Rénine. I was with the sergeant this morning when he was pursuing his investigations, wasn’t I, sergeant? Since then I have been hunting about for information. That’s why, wishing to be present at the hearing, I found a corner in a little private room.⁠ ⁠…”

“You were there? You had the audacity?⁠ ⁠…”

“One must needs be audacious, when the truth’s at stake. If I had not been there, I should not have discovered just the one little clue which I missed. I should not have known that Mathias de Gorne was not the least bit drunk. Now that’s the key to the riddle. When we know that, we know the solution.”

The deputy found himself in a rather ridiculous position. Since he had failed to take the necessary precautions to ensure the secrecy of his enquiry, it was difficult for him to take any steps against this interloper. He growled:

“Let’s have done