The Nyctalope vs Lucifer 1: Enter Lucifer!

by Jean de La Hire

  Very well! For the present, nothing can prevail against it. But if the material body cannot pass through, the immaterial gaze can, so light passes through. Air also passes through, since I can smell perfume–her unforgettable favorite perfume, a mixture of fern and iris. Will sound pass through it, then?

  Saint-Clair did not wait any longer to try the experiment. He mustered the most serene calmness, and whispered, in an interrogative fashion: “Laurence?” Immediately, he thought: She heard me. Sound passes through. We can talk to one another. Wait! Someone might come at any minute. We must pronounce none but useful and effective words.

  In response to the appeal of her adored lover, arrived by virtue of some prodigy and stopped, like herself, by some other prodigy, the young woman had stood up, all her terror abruptly banished by the victorious invasion of hope.

  “Leo!” she replied. “Leo!”

  He heard her, and understood that she loved him every bit as much as before. He was glad of that, but he restrained his happiness so as not to distress her. Clearly, unhurriedly, and in a voice that was low but whose least inflexions were audible, he said: “Laure, I shall free you, perhaps tomorrow, during the day, and perhaps the following night. Be happy, but do not let your happiness show. Make sure that nothing is modified in you or your surroundings. Do you understand? Answer me.”

  “Yes, yes–everything! Oh, Leo...”

  “I must hurry. Danger might surge forth at any second, and I suspect that it would be mortal. No wasted words–reply to my questions quickly and briefly. In Paris, you were subject to suggestion, irresistibly drawn away from your home, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “A red-haired man, thin?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “Twice every day, at midday and 6 p.m., he makes me sit down at his table.”

  “What does he want from you?”

  “Everything!” The young woman blushed violently.

  “He doesn’t force you?”

  “No, he wants me to make the decision myself.”

  “He has told you that you’ll never leave the castle?”

  “Yes, and he has proved that, even if all the doors before me were to open, I still would not be able to leave. The same invisible thing that stops me, and has stopped you, here...”

  “Good. I understand. He horrifies you?”

  “Oh, Leo, do I need to...”

  “But no physical violence?”

  “None–not yet.”

  “Why not yet?” Saint-Clair demanded, shivering.

  “He has forced me to witness incomprehensible tortures... Several young women... Oh, the poor things!” Laurence, her face martyrized, closed her eyes–but she opened them again, attentively, in response to Saint-Clair’s voice.

  “He has threatened you, if you do not yield?”

  “Yes.”

  “What deadline?”

  “May 31.”

  “Today is May 14. We have more than enough time. Do you know the red-haired man’s name?”

  “He has told me that his name is Glô von Warteck, a German Baron, although he was born to a cosmopolitan Hindu and a Russian of Mongol extraction. Sometimes, mockingly, he calls himself Lucifer, sometimes he claims to be the Antichrist.” 14

  “What do you know about the castle? Enumerate, in order, what lies outside this room.”

  “This room, a corridor, a large staircase, a dining-room, a library, then a little corridor, perfectly straight, and a narrow spiral staircase, and, finally, a vast round room with five windows, from which one can see the whole of a circle of mountains. In the middle of that room there is a bizarre machine, concerning which he said to me: With that, and before long, I shall set the entire universe beneath my feet. He added, while looking at me: But you, I only wish to hold of your own free will–and then you shall see me, with the entire universe, at your feet.”

  Saint-Clair suppressed a surge of anger. Calmly, he went on: “What else do you know about Lucifer and the castle?”

  “Only this: the servants never speak and he never speaks to them. He commands them by the power of his thought and his will, and he reads their thoughts. This is a Castle of Silence–an abominable silence! I have heard no other voice but his and that of a young woman who, shortly before you arrived, he consented to give me as a servant–and whom he will torture for hours in order that she can describe her suffering to me. Oh, the monster! But that’s all I know, alas. Nothing more.”

  “One more question. Has he spoken to you about people he has tortured at a distance?”

  “No, never. He only talks to me about personal matters–nothing, save for the sentence regarding the universe at his feet, but gallantries and atrocious threats...”

  “That’s good!” Saint-Clair concluded. He added: “Is the invisible wall still there?” He struck it. “Yes.” Then he went on, smiling: “Laure, my beloved, my life... wait and hope. Some time during the day, or the following night, I’ll come back–and I’ll take you away! I’ll go back now–it’s imperative.”

  He put his ten fingers to his lips, in a bunch, and blew a kiss to Laure, who smiled at him divinely and replicated his gesture. Immediately, he turned round. “Follow me, Pilou!” he said. “Replace the window.”

  During this dialogue, the Provençal had had plenty of time to recover his composure. He did not understand the miracle of the barrier preventing any forward movement into the room, but, since the boss accepted the “miracle,” what could he do? He had accepted it, calmed himself, listened and devoted himself to reflection, ready to do anything as soon as it became possible–and when Saint-Clair gave his order, he obeyed immediately.

  When the Nyctalope was outside, his feet on the sill and his hands gripping the sculptures, Pilou went out, braced himself against the Saint-Clair’s legs, closed the window again, took up the pane that he had left on the ledge, and worked rapidly to replace it. He was ingenious and skillful. He had cut out the pane by cutting through a line of old mastic. New mastic, carefully applied, covered the old mastic, overlapping it slightly to hide the rectangular cut and to hold the glass in place, so well that one would have had to inspect the pane at very close range to suspect that a section had been removed and replaced. The light coming from the interior provided sufficient illumination for the work.

  In the meantime, Leo and Laurence continued looking at one another, smiling at one another, penetrating one another with their love, which they had recovered in an intoxicating fashion, even more profoundly than when they had separated voluntarily.

  “It’s done, boss,” Pilou murmured.

  “Good,” he replied. “I’ll go back first. Then detach the rope and make your way back in the same manner that you came.”

  A quarter of an hour later, the Nyctalope and Pilou went back into the sentry post, where Corsat was waiting for them quietly, guarding Wolf.

  IV. The Nyctalope’s Plan

  As was his habit when he did not think secrecy necessary, Saint-Clair immediately brought Corsat up to date with the relevant facts–but he talked in Castilian, because the Burgundian and the Provençal knew the language of Alphonse XIII, while Wolf undoubtedly did not understand a word of it.

  “Pilou, too,” he concluded, “was stopped by the invisible wall erected by the incomprehensible power of Baron Glô von Warteck, alias Lucifer. Explanations, I can’t provide–I don’t know anything, although everything will doubtless be explained eventually–but actions, we can take, and must. I have a plan. This is it.”

  While Corsat and Pilou listened gravely, and Wolf, seated on the bed, watched them avidly, Saint-Clair outlined his plan. Again, he concluded: “It’s risky. To anyone who told me what I’ve just told you, I’d say it’s mad! and it is; but to leave without trying to impede Lucifer, or saving Mademoiselle Païli and the others–after having killed Ragh, cut and extracted the bars of the peep-hole in the round corrido
r–taking Wolf with us, as I promised him explicitly to do, would put Warteck on his guard and render it impossible for us to get into the castle again. It would condemn Mademoiselle Païli and many others to...”

  He paused, put his hands to his head and groaned–but he continued almost immediately: “I thought of getting Monsieur Prillant to pressure the government of Baden into ordering an invasion of Schwarzrock, Warteck’s arrest and the liberation of his victims... but there are two alternatives, either of which would be worthless. The government of Baden might be sincerely resolute in prosecuting the monstrous crimes that are being committed here, or it might only be resolute in appearance. In the former case, there is the uncertainty and risk of a operation of war, inevitably publicized before the decisive attack, against an enemy whose weapons and resources are unknown. In the second case, the enemy would be warned by the very people who were preparing to attack him. In either case, Warteck would have time to disappear; he only needs an aircraft to take off from some terrace of the castle or some subterranean opening out in the mountain. At the very least, he would take his revenge on the victims who are in his power. No! No official intervention! We must act alone–and quickly. This time, though, it really will be a matter of success or death. Strictly speaking, I could, by modifying my plan slightly, execute it alone. Corsat, Pilou, you could...”

  “Not a chance, boss!” the Burgundian cut in curtly, while Pilou, more peremptory still, contented himself with a shrug of the shoulders and a smile.

  “Good!” said the Nyctalope. “I understand–and I expected no less of you. Thank you, my good, brave fellows. Since everything’s been said, let’s not lose another minute. To work!”

  The rope that had earlier been drawn forth by Pilou’s weight was fixed to a hand-cranked windlass riveted to the stone floor, and passed over a pulley suspended from the plastered ceiling. The windlass and pulley were so well-oiled that their functioning only produced the slightest sound. While Corsat turned the windlass and rolled up the rope, Pilou extracted Ragh’s body from under the bed. When the rope was fully wound, the body was set within the slipknot. It was almost nude, because Corsat had put Ragh’s uniform on over his black leotard.

  “Wolf,” Saint-Clair said to the captive, “you must choose. Would you rather be attached with the corpse, lowered into the valley, accompanied by Corsat halfway up the mountain, and then left to your own resources, assured of death if you return to the castle in order to betray me–or would you rather enter my service, to work with me and these two men against the infamous criminal who reigns over this castle, to obey me as these men do, and to leave here with the guarantee of an official position with a suitable salary, and more than one property producing an annual income. Choose!”

  “Ach! At your service, Monsieur!” said Wolf, enthusiastically, when his gag was removed.

  “Take note of the fact that the slightest indication of treason on your part will immediately be rewarded by a dagger in your heart or a bullet in your brain.”

  “I’ll serve you faithfully,” Wolf promised. Solemnly, with his right arm raised–for Saint-Clair had untied him as he was speaking–he added: “I swear it on my blood and on my life, in the name of God. I don’t know the master of Schwarzrock; I never promised him fidelity; I haven’t touched this month’s pay yet; I don’t...”

  “Enough, Wolf,” said the Nyctalope, dryly cutting him off. “You’ve chosen; you’ve sworn; your life will answer for your fidelity. Excuses are futile and I don’t judge you. You’re an instrument that God has put into my hands, that’s all. If the instrument is sound, I’ll use it; if it’s false, I’ll break it. The rest is between God and your conscience; it’s none of my business.” Turning to the Burgundian, he added: “Go on, Corsat!”

  Then, while Corsat attached himself to the rope, running it under his armpits and placing his feet on the cadaver’s shoulders, Saint-Clair said: “Wolf, help Pilou to pass the corpse through the window. Corsat will follow. I’ll take the windlass.”

  The corpse and Corsat disappeared. Saint-Clair slowly let out the rope. When the rope was fully extended, he sat down on the bed, sat Wolf and Pilou down on stools and said: “Silence and rest, until Corsat gets back.”

  Corsat was gone for an hour. His return to the foot of the rock on which Schwarzrock stood was signaled by a slight vibration of the rope extended from the pulley to the window.

  “Pilou, Wolf, pull him up!” Saint-Clair commanded.

  A few minutes later, when the rope was almost completely coiled around the windlass, Corsat leapt from the window into the guard-post. “It’s done, boss,” he said. “The corpse is in a fissure in the rock, hidden beneath brush and stones.”

  “Good.” Addressing the ex-sentry, Saint-Clair said: “Wolf, tell us every last detail of what you did in the 24 hours preceding your present tour of duty, minute by minute, and every aspect of the orders in force here. Listen hard, Corsat, for this is of particular concern to you and me.”

  Wolf talked. Saint-Clair interrupted frequently, to obtain precise details of places, facts, persons, times and words. When Wolf had finished, Saint-Clair looked at his watch.

  “Twenty-five past midnight,” he said. “Still nearly nine hours before we take action. Pilou, you and I will sleep, if possible. Corsat and Wolf will stay on watch until 6 a.m., then we’ll take over until 9 a.m. Then, the execution of my plan will begin in earnest.”

  The hours passed without incident. Everyone within the mysterious castle seemed to be asleep. Saint-Clair and Pilou dozed, lying side by side on the bed, while Corsat, speaking in a whisper, tirelessly extracted from Wolf everything that he knew or suspected about life in the castle. He obtained no more than a fragmentary repetition of the account already given.

  At 6 a.m., the four men divided up the food that Wolf had brought the previous evening. As Saint-Clair, who was completely absorbed, remained silent, the others did not say a word. When the frugal meal was finished, Saint-Clair said: “Corsat and Wolf, three hours of sleep for you now.”

  “Honestly, I’d rather not, boss,” Corsat replied. “It’s impossible for me to rest lying down, immobile. Let me sit here, and get up from time to time to walk from one side of the room to the other.”

  “Monsieur,” said Wolf in his turn, “Let me stay on watch. If anything happens–a telephone call or visit, it’s better that...”

  The Nyctalope cut him off. “So be it,” he said. “I wasn’t giving you an order. If anything does happen, it’s unlikely that you’ll have to do anything but keep quiet, at least until I judge it opportune to tell you what to do.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to obey.”

  “I’m counting on it, Monsieur Wolf.”

  Silence fell again.

  Sitting at the foot of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, Saint-Clair was lost in thought, with his eyes closed. Pilou, squatting on the windlass with his back to the wall, was smoking blissfully–for he always found a means, even when dressed in a leotard, to carry his pipe, tobacco and lighter. Corsat walked back and forth at the back of the room. Wolf, seated on a stool with his back against the table, watched Saint-Clair relentlessly.

  Two hours passed. The electricity cut off automatically as soon as the light of day rendered artificial lighting unnecessary. No sound was heard, inside or outside the castle.

  At 8 a.m., Saint-Clair–who had consulted his watch periodically–raised his head, his eyes attentively open. Fifteen minutes passed, then 15 more, then another 15. Then the Nyctalope got up and, with a slow movement that made his powerful muscles stand out beneath his leotard, he stretched himself. Pilou quickly emptied his pipe, which disappeared, and stood up next to Corsat, who was already immobile.

  Understanding that the moment for serious action was imminent, Wolf got up and stood where he was with similar rigidity. Saint-Clair looked at him then, with eyes stranger than any he had ever seen before: deep grey eyes, unsustainably penetrating, calm and terrible. “If I
’m not mistaken, Wolf,” Saint-Clair said, in a faint voice as calm and terrible as his eyes, “you told me that you possess a certain password which is only used once every 24 hours in the castle, and is not used again for a month, which the captain of the castle guard communicates secretly to the two sentries when they are relieved?”

  “Yes, Monsieur,” said Wolf, emotionally.

  “You also told me that after a particular ring, this password, given on the telephone, has the effect of causing the master of Schwarzrock to come here immediately, alone.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Finally, you told me that if the master of Schwarzrock considers the use of the password to be justified, the two sentries who have sent the summons receive a reward of 10,000 marks each–but that, on the contrary, if the summons does not seem to the master to be justified, the two sentries are punished by spending six months in the dungeon with their feet in irons. That is to ensure that the master is not disturbed, except by reason of an occurrence of the utmost seriousness–which must be one of those specified by a numbered list on the notice-board on which the guards’ orders are posted.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “You stated, too, that the unique password must be immediately followed by the order number of the occurrence promoting the extraordinary summons.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Now, Wolf, recite the list of occurrences, in numerical order. Go on–I’m listening.”

  Very pale, in a slightly tremulous voice, with his eyes lowered before the Nyctalope’s unsustainable gaze, Wolf recited: “One: the death or insanity of one of the sentries. Two: a danger of insanity or death to both of them. Three: the capture of some individual. Four: the sounding of the horn. Five...”