Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  As for me, I had thus far only had the time to gaze out of the window, rooted to my place by the horror of that cry. I was still there when the door of the Square Tower opened, and in its frame of light, there appeared the form of the Lady in Black. She was standing upright, living and unharmed, in spite of that cry of death, but her pale and ghastly visage reflected a terror like that of death itself. She stretched out her arms toward the night and the darkness cast Rouletabille into them, and the arms of the Lady in Black closed around him and I heard no more only sobs and moans and again the two syllables which the night repeated over and over, “Mother! Mother!”

  I descended from my tower into the court, my temples throbbing, my heart beating so fast that it almost stifled me. What I had seen on the threshold of the Square Tower had not by any means assured me that nothing terrible had taken place. It was in vain that I attempted to reason with myself and to say: “Nonsense! At the very moment when we believed that all was lost, is not, on the contrary, everything found? Are not the mother and son united?”

  But why, then, this cry of death when she was alive and well? Why that scream of agony before she had appeared standing on the threshold of the tower?

  Strange to say, I found no one in the Court of the Bold when I crossed it. No one then had heard the pistol shot! No one had heard the cries! Where was M. Darzac? Where was Old Bob? Was he still working in the lower basement of the Round Tower? I might have believed so, for I perceived a light in the window of the tower. But Mattoni — Mattoni — had he heard nothing, either? — Mattoni, who kept watch at the postern of the gardener? And the Berniers? I saw neither of them. And the door of the Square Tower still stood open. Ah, the soft murmur, “Mother! Mother! Mother!” And I heard her voice answer back, tenderly, though choked with sobs. “My boy! My little one!” They had not even taken the precaution to close the door of Old Bob’s parlor. It was into that room where I had talked with her a little while before that she had led her child.

  And they were there alone, clasped in each other’s arms, repeating over and over again, “Mother!” and “My little one!” And then they murmured broken sentences, phrases without end — with the divine foolishness of a mother and her child. “Then, you were not dead!” That was sufficient to make them both fall to sobbing. And then, how they embraced each other, as though to make up for all the years they had lost. I heard him murmur, “You know, mamma, it was not true that I stole!” And one would have thought from the sound of his voice that he was still the little lad of nine years — my poor Rouletabille. “No, my darling — you never stole! My little boy! my little boy!” Ah, it was not my fault that I heard — but my heart was torn in two as I listened.

  But where was Bernier? I entered the lodge from the left, for I wished to know the meaning of the cry and of the shot which I had heard.

  Mere Bernier was at the back of the room which was lighted only by a tiny taper. She was like a black bundle on a sofa. She must have been in bed when the shot was heard and she had hastily donned some clothing. I picked up the taper and brought it near. Her features were distorted with fear.

  “Where is Bernier?” I asked.

  “He is there,” she replied, trembling.

  “There. Where is that?”

  But she made no answer.

  I took a few steps toward the interior of the lodge and I stumbled. I bent down to know what I had stepped upon and found out that it was Mere Bernier’s potatoes. I lowered the light and looked at the floor; it was strewn with potatoes; they had rolled everywhere. Could it be that Mme. Bernier had not gathered them up after Rouletabille had emptied out the bag?

  I arose and turned to Mere Bernier.

  “Someone fired off a pistol!” I said. “What has happened?”

  “I do not know,” she responded.

  And, at that moment, I heard someone open the door of the tower and Pere Bernier stood on the threshold.

  “Ah! it is you, M. Sainclair?”

  “Bernier! What has happened?”

  “Oh, nothing very serious, M. Sainclair, I am glad to say.” (But his voice was too palpably endeavoring to sound strong and brave for me to feel as reassured as he was trying to make me!) “An accident without any importance whatever. M. Darzac, while placing his revolver on the stand beside his bed, accidentally fired it off. Madame, naturally, was frightened, and screamed; and, as the window of their room was open, she thought that you and M. Rouletabille might have heard something and started out to tell you that it was nothing.”

  “M. Darzac has come in, then?”

  “He got here almost as soon as you had left the tower, M. Sainclair. And the shot was fired almost immediately after he entered his bedroom. You can guess that I had a pretty fright! I rushed to the door! M. Darzac opened it, himself. Happily, no one was injured!”

  “Did Mme. Darzac go to her own room as soon as I left the tower?”

  “At once. She heard M. Darzac when he came in and followed him directly to their apartments. They went in almost at the same moment.”

  “And M. Darzac? Is he still in his room?”

  “Here he is now.”

  I turned and saw Robert Darzac; despite the gloom of the place, I saw that his face was ghastly pale. He made me a sign and then said very calmly and quietly:

  “Listen, Sainclair! Bernier told you about our little accident. It is not worth mentioning to anyone, unless someone should speak of it to you. The others, perhaps, have not heard the shot. It would be useless to frighten all these good people; don’t you think so? Now I have a little favor to ask of you.”

  “Speak, my friend,” I bade him. “Whatever it is, I will do it: you know that without my saying so. Make any use of me that you like.”

  “Thanks; but it is only to persuade Rouletabille to go to bed; when he is gone, my wife will calm herself and will try to get the rest that she needs. Every one of us has need of rest — and of calmness, Sainclair. We all need repose — and silence.”

  “Surely, my friend, you may count upon me.”

  I pressed his hand with a touch which attested my sentiments toward him. I was persuaded that both he and Bernier were concealing something from us — something very grave!

  Darzac retired to his room and I went to find Rouletabille in the sitting room of Old Bob.

  But upon the threshold of the apartment, I jostled against the Lady in Black and her son, who were passing out. They were both so silent and wore an expression so unexpected to me, who had overheard their exclamations of love and joy only a few moments before that I stood before them without saying a word or making a movement. The extremity which induced Mme. Darzac to leave Rouletabille so soon under such extraordinary circumstances as those which had attended their reunion, puzzled me so greatly that I could not find words to say what I thought and the submission of Rouletabille in taking leave of her so quickly amazed me. Mathilde pressed a kiss upon the lad’s forehead and murmured: “Good-night, my darling,” in a voice so soft, so sweet and at the same time so solemn that it seemed to me that it must resemble the leave-taking of one who was about to die. Rouletabille, without answering his mother, took my arm and led me out of the tower. He was trembling like a leaf.

  It was the Lady in Black herself who closed the door of the Square Tower. I was sure that something strange was passing within those walls. The account of the pistol shot which had been given me satisfied me not at all; and it is not to be doubted that Rouletabille would have agreed with me if his reasoning powers and his heart had not been giddy from the scene which had taken place between the Lady in Black and himself. And then, after all, how did I know that Rouletabille did not agree with me? We had scarcely gotten outside the Square Tower before I demanded of Rouletabille the meaning of his strange manner. I drew him into that corner of the parapet which joins the Square Tower to the Round Tower in the angle formed by the jutting out of the Square Tower upon the court.

  The reporter, who had allowed me as docilely as a little child to lead him w
herever I would, spoke to me in a low tone:

  “Sainclair, I have sworn to my mother that I will see nothing or hear nothing of that which may pass this night in the Square Tower. It is the first promise that I have made to my mother, Sainclair; but I will break it for her sake just as I would give up my hope of heaven for her. I must see and I must hear!”

  We were at that moment not far from a window in which a light was still burning and which opened upon the sitting room of Old Bob and sloped out upon the sea. This window was not closed, and it was this, doubtless, which had permitted us to hear so distinctly in spite of the thickness of the walls of the tower, the pistol shot and the cry of agony that had followed it. From the spot where we were now stationed, we could see nothing through this window, but was it not something to be able to hear? The storm was past, but the waters were not yet appeased and the waves broke on the rocks of the peninsula with a violence that would have rendered the approach of any vessel impossible. The thought of a vessel crossed my mind because I believed for an instant that I could see the shadow of a vessel of some sort appearing or disappearing in the gloom. But what could it be? Evidently a delusion of my mind which beheld hostile shades everywhere — an illusion of a mind which was assuredly more agitated than the waters themselves.

  We stood there, motionless, for more than five minutes, before we heard a sigh — ah, how long it was, that mournful sound! — a groan, deep as an expiration, like a moan of agony, a heavy sob, like the last breath of a departing soul — which reached our ears from that window, and brought the sweat of terror to our brows. And then, nothing more — nothing except the intermittent sobbings of the sea.

  And suddenly the light in the window went out. The outline of the Square Tower blended with the blackness of the night.

  My friend and I grasped each other’s hand as if instinctively, commanding each other, by this mute communication, to remain motionless and silent. Someone was dying, there, in that tower! Someone whom they had hidden. Why? And who? Someone who was neither M. Darzac nor Mme. Darzac, nor Pere Bernier, nor Mere Bernier, nor — almost beyond the shadow of a doubt, Old Bob; someone who could not have been in the tower.

  Leaning against the parapet to support ourselves, our necks stretched toward that window through which there had come to us that sigh of agony, we listened. A quarter of an hour passed thus — it might have been a century! Rouletabille pointed out to me the window of his own room in the New Castle which was still illuminated. I understood: it was necessary to extinguish this light and return. I took a thousand precautions. Five minutes later, I was back again with Rouletabille. There was now no other light in the Court of the Bold than the feeble ray which told of the late vigil of Old Bob in the lower basement of the Round Tower and the light at the gardener’s postern where Mattoni was standing sentinel. In truth, considering the positions which they occupied, one might easily understand how it was that neither Old Bob nor Mattoni had heard anything that had passed in the Square Tower, nor even, in the heart of the storm, could the clamors of Rouletabille have reached their ears. The walls of the postern were heavy and Old Bob was entombed in a veritable subterranean cavern.

  I had scarcely time to steal back to Rouletabille in the corner of the parapet, the post of observation which he had not quitted, before we distinctly heard the door of the Square Tower moving softly upon its hinges. As I attempted to lean further out of my corner, and see further down into the court, Rouletabille pushed me back and allowed only his own head to look over the wall; but as he was leaning far over, I allowed myself to violate his command and looked over his head; and this is what I saw.

  First, Pere Bernier, perfectly recognizable, in spite of the darkness, who came out of the tower and directed his steps noiselessly to the gardener’s postern. In the middle of the court, he paused, looked up at the side where our windows were, and then returned to the side of the court and made a signal which we interpreted as a sign that all was well. To whom was this signal addressed? Rouletabille leaned still further over; but he quickly retreated, pushing me back with him.

  When we dared to look out in the court again, no one was there. But in a few moments, we again beheld Pere Bernier (or, rather, we heard him first, for there ensued between him and Mattoni a brief conversation the echoes of which were carried to us). And then we heard something which climbed under the arch of the gardener’s postern and Pere Bernier reappeared with the black and softly rolling form of a carriage beside him. We could see that it was the little English cart, drawn by Toby, Arthur Rance’s pony. The Court of the Bold was of beaten earth and the little equipage made no more sound than as if it were gliding over a carpet. Toby was so intelligent and so quiet that one would have said that he had received his instructions from Pere Bernier. The latter, reaching, at length, the “oubliette,” raised again his face toward our windows, and then, still holding Toby by the bridle, came to the door of the Square Tower. Leaving the little equipage before the door, he entered the tower. A few moments passed by which seemed to us like hours, particularly to Rouletabille, who was seized with a fit of trembling which shook his frame like an aspen leaf.

  Pere Bernier reappeared. He crossed the court alone and returned to the postern. It was then that we were obliged to lean further out and, certainly, the persons who were now upon the threshold of the Square Tower might have perceived us, if they had looked up at our side, but they were not thinking of us. The night had become clear and a beautiful moon had arisen which threw its rays over the sea and stretched its radiance across the Court of the Bold. The two persons who came out of the tower and approached the carriage appeared so surprised that they almost recoiled at what they saw. But we could hear the Lady in Black repeating again and again in low, firm tones: “Courage, Robert, courage! You must be brave now!”

  And Robert Darzac replied in a voice which froze my blood: “It is not courage which I lack!” He was bending over something which he dragged before him and then raised in his arms as though it were a heavy burden and tried to slip under the long seat of the English cart. Rouletabille had taken off his cap. His teeth were chattering. As well as we could distinguish, the thing was in a sack. To move this sack M. Darzac was making the greatest efforts and we heard him breathe a sigh of exhaustion. Leaning against the wall of the tower, the Lady in Black watched him without offering any assistance. And, suddenly, at the moment that M. Darzac had succeeded in loading the sack into the cart, Mathilde pronounced these words in a voice shaken with horror:

  “It is moving.”

  “It is the end!” said M. Darzac, wiping his forehead with his pocket handkerchief. Then he took Toby by the bridle and started off, making a sign to the Lady in Black, but she, still leaning against the wall, as though she had been placed there for some punishment, made no signal in reply. M. Darzac seemed to us to be quite calm. His figure straightened up: his step grew firm — one might almost say that his manner was that of an honest man who has done his duty. Still with the greatest precaution, he disappeared with his carriage beneath the postern of the gardener and the Lady in Black went back into the Square Tower.

  After this, I wished to emerge from our corner, but Rouletabille restrained me. It was well that he did so, for Bernier came up to the postern and crossed the court, directing his way again toward the Square Tower. When he was not more than two meters from the door, which was closed, Rouletabille glided softly from the corner of the parapet, stepped between the door and the figure of Bernier, who was struck with terror. He put his hands upon the shoulders of the concierge.

  “Come with me!” he commanded.

  Bernier seemed absolutely powerless. I, too, came out of my hiding place. The old man looked at us both standing there in the moonlight: his face was sorrowful and he murmured sadly:

  “This is a great misfortune!”

  CHAPTER XII

  THE IMPOSSIBLE BODY

  “IT WILL BE a great misfortune if you don’t tell the truth,” muttered Rouletabille, in smothered tones
. “But if you conceal nothing, the trouble may not be so great. Come this way.”

  And he drew him, clasping him by the fist, toward the New Château, I following. I saw that a great change had come over Rouletabille. He was completely his old self again. Now that he was so happily relieved of the sorrow of separation from his mother which had pressed on his mind ever since his early childhood, now that he had again found the perfume of the Lady in Black, he seemed to have reconquered all the forces of his spirit and was ready to enter eagerly into the strife against the mysteries which surrounded us. And, until the day when all was ended — until the last supreme moment — the most dramatic that I have ever lived through in the whole course of my existence — the moment in which life and death spoke out and were explained by his lips — he never again made a sign of hesitation in the forward march: he never spoke another word which could have been taken as an attempt to warn us against the dreadful situation which arose from the siege of the Square Tower by the attack of that night between the twelfth and thirteenth of April.

  Bernier resisted him no further. When others tried to do so, he held them in his grasp until they cried for mercy.