If, by showing himself, Larsan’s object had been to strike a fearful blow at a happiness which was as yet all in the future, he had fully succeeded. Perhaps it is only fair to emphasise this fact, which does great honour to Mathilde. The reappearance of Larsan forced upon her, and upon Darzac too, the need to make a grave decision. In the eyes of God, they were still not yet man and wife!
As I have already said, Mathilde Stangerson had been brought up very religiously, not by her father – who was indifferent to such matters – but by the women amongst whom she had spent her childhood, and by her aunt in Cincinnati.
The studies she had pursued later, under the guidance of her father, had not shattered her faith, and the Professor had been careful not to influence his daughter in any way.
Even in the midst of her father’s theories concerning the creation of matter out of nothing and the Dissociation of Matter, she had preserved the faith that had been basic to both Pasteur and Newton. She always said that even if it were proved that everything sprang from nothing and returned to nothing, to issue thence again eternally, it still remained to be proved that this nothing, the origin of everything, had not been created by God.
It followed naturally that, being a good Catholic, she believed this God to be hers. I would not have mentioned Mathilde’s religious ideas if they had not had so strong an influence upon the attitude she assumed towards her new husband in the eyes of men, when it was revealed to her that her husband in the eyes of God was still alive.
When the death of Larsan had appeared certain she had, with the consent of her confessor, as a widow, decided to marry again. And now she was no longer a widow, but a bigamist. However, such a disaster was not irreparable, and she held out to the unfortunate Darzac the hope of a better fate which would be arranged according to the will of the Vatican Court, to which, without undue delay, the matter would be submitted.
Briefly, then, forty-eight hours after their wedding at St Nicholas du Chardonnet, M. and Madame Robert Darzac had agreed to be man and wife in name only, and to occupy separate rooms in the Square Tower. No wonder they were so melancholy! Mathilde’s tenderness towards him and his anxiety on her account are easily explained.
Although I did not know all this then, I nevertheless suspected a good deal of it. From M. and Madame Darzac, my glance wandered to their neighbour, Arthur William Rance, and my thoughts were already pondering a new subject when the butler announced that the porter, Bernier, would like to speak to Rouletabille immediately. The young man rose, made his excuses, and went out.
‘Aren’t the Berniers at Glandier any more?’ I asked.
The reader will remember that Bernier and his wife had worked as lodge-keepers for M. Stangerson at Sainte-Geneviéve-des-Bois. In The Mystery of the Yellow Room, I told how Rouletabille succeeded in freeing them when they were accused of complicity in the attack in the pavilion. They were enormously grateful to the young reporter and, ever since, Rouletabille had been able to count upon their absolute devotion.
In answer to my questions, M. Stangerson replied that all the servants had left Glandier, which he had given up entirely. As the Rances had been looking for lodge-keepers for the Chateau d’Hercule, the Professor had been very glad to let them have the Berniers, with whom he had never found fault, apart from the little matter of poaching which could have turned out very badly for them. They were now lodged in one of the towers by the entrance gate, and from that observation post, they were able to watch the comings and goings of all who entered and left the fort.
Rouletabille had not appeared in the least surprised when he was told that Bernier wished to speak to him, and I took it for granted that he was, therefore, already aware of the man’s presence at Rochers Rouges. I discovered, without much surprise, that Rouletabille had made good use of the few minutes when I thought he was in his room, and which I had spent in dressing and in idle talk with M. Darzac.
Rouetabille’s unexpected withdrawal cast a chill over the company. We wondered whether the young man’s absence was related to some important news relative to Larsan’s return. Madame Darzac seemed worried, and I noticed that Arthur Rance therefore felt that he too must look upset.
I should point out that Rance and his wife were not aware of all of Madame Darzac’s misfortunes. It had, naturally, not been considered necessary to tell them of Mathilde’s secret marriage to Jean Roussel, alias Larsan. That was a family secret. But they knew better than anyone else – Rance because he had been mixed up in the Glandier affair, and his wife because he had told her of it – how persistently the famous detective had pursued the woman who was later to become Madame Darzac. Larsan’s crimes appeared to Rance the outcome of an ungovernable passion, and when one bears in mind how long Rance had himself nursed an unrequited affection for Mathilde, it is not surprising that Rance should have sought no other explanation for Larsan’s deeds than the despair of a hopeless lover.
As for Mrs Rance, I was not long in discovering that, to her mind, the reason for the attacks at Glandier was not as simple as her husband had made out. In order to think as he did, she would have had to feel the same unbounded admiration for Mathilde that her husband felt, but that was not the case, and her whole attitude seemed to say: ‘Honestly! What is it about this woman that has inspired respectively such chivalrous and such criminal feelings in the hearts of two men for so many years? Who is this woman for whose sake a detective would kill, a sober man become a drunkard, and an innocent man allow himself to be imprisoned? Is she any more attractive than I, who have done nothing more than find a husband I wouldn’t have found if she hadn’t refused him? What has she got? Not even youth! And yet my husband neglects me to gaze upon her!’ That is what I read in the eyes of Mrs Rance as she watched her husband watching Mathilde. Ah, the soft, dark eyes of the languorous Mrs Rance!
It is as well that the reader should know the feelings which dwelt in all our hearts at a time when each of us was poised on the brink of the incredible drama about to unfold beneath the shadow hanging over the Chateau d’Hercule. I have not mentioned Old Bob or Prince Galitch, but their turn will come, for, in an affair of such importance, it is my rule to depict events and people only as they occur or appear upon the scene. Thus the reader will pass like the rest of us through anguish and peace, mystery and light, incomprehension and understanding. If the reader succeeds in reaching a clear conclusion before I do, so much the better.
We finished our first meal without seeing our young friend again, and left the table without disclosing to one another our troubled feelings. As soon as Mathilde left La Louve, she went in search of Rouletabille, and I accompanied her as far as the entrance to the fort. M. Darzac and Mrs Rance followed. Professor Stangerson had left us. Arthur Rance, who had disappeared for a moment, joined us just as we reached the arch. It was a bright, moonlit night. Nevertheless, the lanterns had been lit and, under the arch, which echoed to the sound of hammering, we could hear Rouletabille’s voice encouraging those about him: ‘Now then, all together!’ And other voices replied, panting, like sailors hauling boats alongside a pier. Finally, there was a deafening noise. It was caused by the clanging of the two sides of the great iron doors which had been brought together for the first time in more than a hundred years.
Mrs Rance was surprised by these proceedings and asked what had become of the grating which had until then served as a gate. Rance caught her by the arm, and she understood that she had best keep silent, but that did not prevent her murmuring: ‘Really, anyone would think we were about to be besieged!’
Rouletabille led us all into the courtyard and announced with a laugh that if we had intended going into town that evening, we were out of luck, as he had given his orders for the night, and no one was to be allowed in or out of the castle. He added, still pretending to joke, that Old Jacques had been placed on guard at the entrance, and we all knew that no one could bribe that faithful servant. This is how I learned that Old Jacques, whom I had first met at Glandier, had accompanied Professor
Stangerson and acted as his valet. The night before, he had slept in La Louve in a little room just off his master’s room, but Rouletabille had changed the order of things, and it was now Old Jacques who had taken the place of the lodge-keepers in Tower A.
‘But what’s become of the Berniers?’ asked Mrs Rance, much mystified.
‘They are already settled in the Square Tower in the room to the left of the entrance and will act as doorkeepers to that tower,’ replied Rouletabille.
‘But the Square Tower doesn’t need a doorkeeper!’ exclaimed Mrs Rance, whose astonishment knew no bounds.
‘We cannot be sure of that, Madame,’ replied Rouletabille without further explanation. However, he drew Mr Rance aside, and told him that he had better tell his wife of Larsan’s reappearance. If they meant to keep the truth from Professor Stangerson, they could hardly hope to do so without Mrs Rance’s help. It was as well that everybody at the Chateau d’Hercule should henceforth be prepared for every emergency, that is, they should not be surprised by anything.
Thereupon we followed the young man across the courtyard and came to the gardener’s gatehouse. As I said, this overlooked the entrance to the second court, but the moat here had long since been filled in. Formerly there had been a drawbridge. To our astonishment, Rouletabille announced that the following day he would have the moat dug up and the drawbridge restored. At that very moment, the servants were busy barring the gate with a sort of temporary gate made of iron posts and old furniture which had been found in the gardener’s hut.
Thus the barricading of the castle proceeded, and Rouletabille was the only one now to laugh out loud at these preparations, for Mrs Rance, whose husband had rapidly explained the situation to her, no longer made any mumbled remarks, she merely smiling inwardly at these guests who had transformed her castle into an impregnable fortress, because they feared the approach of one man. Mrs Rance did not know that man and had had nothing to do with the mystery of the Yellow Room. As for the others (and Rance himself was among their number), they thought it the most natural thing in the world that Rouletabille should fortify them against that unknown, mysterious, invisible, incomprehensible force that prowled the night surrounding the Chateau d’Hercule.
Rouletabille had not placed anyone on guard at the gatehouse, as he intended to occupy that post himself. From there he could see everything that was going on in the first and second courtyards. It constituted a strategic point that commanded the entire castle. It was impossible to reach the Darzacs without passing first by Old Jacques at A, Rouletabille at H and the Berniers who stood guard at door K in the Square Tower.
The young man had decided that the watchers would not sleep that night. As we passed by the well in the courtyard of Charles the Bold, I could see by the light of the moon that a circular board, which had served as a cover to the well, had been moved. On the edge of the well I noticed a bucket to which a rope was tied. Rouletabille explained to me that he wanted to find out if this old well communicated in any way with the sea, and had drawn up a pail of perfectly sweet water, which had satisfied his mind on that score.
He walked a little way with Madame Darzac, who bade us goodnight, and went into the Square Tower. M. Darzac and Arthur Rance, at Rouletabille’s request, remained with us. Mrs Rance was given politely to understand that her absence would be appreciated. She withdrew with nonchalant grace, saluting Rouletabille ironically with a ‘Goodnight, Captain!’
When we men were alone, Rouletabille led us into what had been the gardener’s gatehouse. It was dark and had a low ceiling, and was a perfect place for someone to be able to watch without being seen. Here, in pitch darkness, without even lighting a candle, we held our first council.
‘We can talk undisturbed here,’ began Rouletabille. ‘Nobody can see us, and we cannot be taken by surprise. If anyone succeeded in getting by Old Jacques without his noticing them, we should be immediately warned by the out-post stationed in the ruins of the chapel. Just so, Mr Rance! That is where I have placed your gardener, Mattoni. I believe, from what I have been told, that this man can be depended upon. Tell me your own opinion concerning him.’
I was filled with admiration as I listened to Rouletabille. Mrs Rance was right. He really had appointed himself captain over us all and had taken every measure necessary for our protection. I fancy he had no intention of giving up the castle, and would have been quite willing to blow it up, and himself and the rest of us with it, rather than surrender to the enemy. What a brave little chap he was! The fact is that bravery was what was needed to defend the castle against Larsan, greater bravery than if the besiegers had been numbered in their thousands, as was once the case, when all a Count of Mortola had to do in order to sweep the enemy out of existence was to turn upon them the fire of his primitive artillery and then launch an attack on the few who had withstood the bombardment.
But, now, what were we warring against? Shadows! Where was the enemy? Everywhere and nowhere! We could not aim, for no target was visible, we could not assume the offensive, for we did not know where we should direct our attack. There was nothing for us to do but shut ourselves in, place ourselves on guard, and watch and wait.
Once Rance had assured Rouletabille that Mattoni was to be relied upon, Rouletabille began explaining the situation to us in general terms.
He puffed at his pipe for a while, then said:
‘Are we to suppose that Larsan, after having shown himself to us in that insolent fashion right under our very walls, is going to stop at that? Will he be satisfied with a moral victory, which will have sown terror and gloom throughout the garrison, and then just disappear? I do not think so. In the first place, because to do so would not be in accord with his character, which would not be satisfied with only half a success, and, secondly, because there is no reason why he should disappear. Remember that he is all-powerful, and that we can do nothing but defend ourselves and strike out when he chooses! He knows that we cannot look for relief from the outside and that is what makes him so calm and daring. Whom can we call upon for help?’
‘The Public Prosecutor!’ exclaimed Rance, but with some hesitancy, for it struck him that if this theory had not already been advanced by Rouletabille, there must be some good reason for it.
Rouletabille gazed at his host with an air of pity not altogether devoid of reproach, and he said, in an icy tone, which showed to Rance that he was wrong:
‘I would have you understand, sir, that I did not save Larsan from French justice at Versailles in order to give him up to the Italian authorities at Rochers Rouges.’
Mr Rance was unaware of Madame Darzac’s first marriage, and was thus unable, as we were, to realise how utterly impossible it was for us to reveal Larsan’s existence to any outsider – especially since the wedding ceremony at St Nicholas du Chardonnet – without giving rise to the most terrible scandal and inviting the most dreadful catastrophe. However, certain unexplained incidents at the Versailles trial had sufficed to make him suspect that the one thing we wanted to avoid was reawakening public interest in what had become known as: ‘The Mystery of Mlle Stangerson’.
He understood better than ever that evening that Larsan held over us one of those terrible secrets which, notwithstanding earthly justice, have the power to bring dishonour or death. Rance bowed to Darzac, without speaking, but the apparent meaning of that bow was that he was ready to fight in defence of Mathilde’s cause like a noble knight who seeks not the reason of the battle so long as he may die for his lady.
Such, at least, was the interpretation I placed upon his attitude, persuaded as I was that, despite his recent marriage, the American was far from having forgotten his former love.
Darzac said:
‘The man must be got rid of without any fuss. He must either be brought to book or killed. I beg of you all, in the name of Madame Darzac, to do everything in your power to prevent M. Stangerson suspecting that we are again threatened by that scoundrel.’
‘Madame Darzac’s wishes are our comm
ands,’ replied Rouletabille ‘M. Stangerson shall know nothing.’
We next discussed the servants, and what we could expect of them. Fortunately, Old Jacques and the Berniers were half in on the secret, and were ready for anything. Mattoni was sufficiently devoted to ensure his unquestioning obedience to Mrs Rance. The others did not count. There was Walter, to be sure, Old Bob’s man, but he had accompanied his master to Paris, and would only return when he did.
Rouletabille rose, made a sign through the window to Bernier, who was standing in the doorway of the Square Tower, and came back to us.
‘Larsan can’t be far off,’ he said. ‘During dinner I reconnoitred the place. We have at our disposal, beyond the northern gate, a marvellous natural defence. Not fifty paces to the west stand the two frontier posts of the Italian and French Customs authorities, and we know that the inexorable vigilance of the guards can be of the greatest help to us.
Bernier is on the best of terms with these fellows, and I have been to see them with him. The Italian Customs House officer speaks only his own language, but the Frenchman speaks both, as well as the local argot, and it is he who served as our interpreter. We learned through him that both officers were very interested in the unusual comings and goings around the Hercules Peninsula of the boat belonging to Tullio, nicknamed the Scourge of the Sea.
Tullio is an old acquaintance of the guards. He is the ablest smuggler on the coast. This evening he had in his boat a man whom the Customs House officers had never seen before. The boat, with its occupant, disappeared around Point Garibaldi. I went there with Bernier, but we saw no more than did M. Darzac, who went there before us. Nevertheless, Larsan must have gone ashore. In any case, I am certain that Tullio’s boat came ashore near the point.’
The Perfume of the Lady in Black Page 8