Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “Yes, where did it come from?” he repeated, brandishing the chain which, since it was found in Odette’s room, so fully corroborated his suspicions and confirmed his investigations that he could now surely say to himself: “I see the hand of Callista in this!”

  “That was a present to Mademoiselle Odette.”

  “From whom?”

  “Monsieur de Lauriac.”

  Rouletabille gave a start. He was unable to conceal the dismay into which he was thrown by Estève’s answer.

  Under the same date the following entry appears in Rouletabille’s diary:

  “Estève was speaking the truth. She cannot lie to me. But her answer involving de Lauriac dashes to the ground the entire superstructure which I had built up. I am quite at a loss... unless... unless.

  But then, whither are we tending? Beware of the Octopus!”

  CHAPTER IX

  HUBERT DE LAURIAC

  A LUCKY CHANCE had willed that certain magistrates, who were proceeding to Les Saintes Maries to hold an inquiry, should be in the neighbourhood of the Viei-Castou-Nou when the murder was discovered. They were the first to be informed and at once retraced their steps.

  When Rouletabille went down again into the garden he found himself in the presence of men whose minds were made up. To use the language of the country, “the service was over.” Young de Santierne had strengthened the conviction of each one of them when he informed them of Odette’s abduction. The examining magistrate who had conducted a brief investigation and taken the depositions of the first witnesses, was holding Mademoiselle de Lavardens’ wrap in his hand.

  “We find, therefore,” he declared, “that neither Monsieur Hubert de Lauriac nor Mademoiselle Odette de Lavardens slept in their rooms last night. This wrap was picked up in Monsieur de Lauriac’s garden and establishes the feet that Mademoiselle Odette and he met. Everything goes to prove that Monsieur de Lauriac was guilty of abducting Mademoiselle Odette, just as everything goes to prove that he murdered Monsieur de Lavardens. All that remains to be done is to take steps to effect Monsieur de Lauriac’s arrest. What to you say, Monsieur Rouletabille?” ended the magistrate, glad to express so obvious a conclusion, grounded on such substantial reasoning, to the famous journalist, who was known to everybody in Arles and Les Saintes Maries.

  “Monsieur Rouletabille says,” returned the journalist, “that you may possibly arrest Monsieur Hubert de Lauriac, but that you will never arrest the murderer.”

  “What? We shall never arrest the murderer!”

  “No, you will never arrest him because you will never discover him.”

  “According to you, therefore, Monsieur de Lauriac is not the man?”

  “You assert that everything goes to prove it, while I say that nothing goes to prove it. The scrap of his tie found in the victim’s clenched hand no more proves him to be the murderer than the wrap in the garden proves him to have abducted Mademoiselle dette.”

  “Rouletabille is crazy,” cried Jean. “But, look here, why do you defend this scoundrel whom everybody else accuses?”

  “Precisely because everything seems to incriminate him.”

  “You will never allow yourself to agree with other people,” retorted Jean, beginning to lose his temper. “That method has sometimes stood you in good stead, but to-day your pride will have a fall, and you are making yourself the defender of a murderer.”

  “And you, Jean, are blinded by love and jealousy.”

  “But, after all, let’s have this out,” burst forth the examining magistrate. “Monsieur de Santierne is right. Explain yourself. Explain yourself.”

  “You must ask the man himself for an explanation,” returned the journalist. “Why, there he is! Come on, boys, come on!”

  And he started to rush towards the partition gate. The others quickly followed him into de Lauriac’s garden. They arrived to see Rouletabille come up to de Lauriac at the moment when the latter, looking like a thief, his clothes in disorder, without tie or collar, was stealthily entering his house. He had leapt the wall at the spot which Rouletabille a few minutes before had cleared, as he followed up the trail leading to the sunk road behind the house.

  Jean was the first to arrive and he heard Rouletabille say to de Lauriac in a muffled voice:

  “Monsieur de Lavardens has been murdered. There’s only one thing that can save you, and that is to tell the whole truth.”

  At the same time Rouletabille was the first to lay hands on him. Jean sprang forward next and, in spite of Rouletabille, seized de Lauriac by the throat. The gendarmes had much ado to separate the two.

  “You villain, where is Odette?” he shouted in his face. “What have you done with Odette? Where have you hidden her?”

  The magistrates ordered everyone to stand back and prepared to open a preliminary examination. Rouletabille strove once more to calm Jean who, after his first contact with the enemy, was shedding bitter tears, the tension from which he was suffering being suddenly relaxed.

  “Why did you have him arrested? If you think he is innocent why did you arrest him yourself?” he cried.

  “So that he might clear himself,” returned Rouletabille.

  The examining magistrate had by this time come to grips with de Lauriac.

  “The fact of your return here, monsieur, in this condition, considering you had every reason to fear that Monsieur de Lavardens’ body had been discovered, shows that you must have been impelled by very powerful motives. I do not ask what they were. We already know them. They form the evidence of your guilt which, in the aberration of the moment, you left behind, and you came back to look for them. They consist of this whip, which was Monsieur de Lavardens’ property, and this letter addressed to Mademoiselle Odette...., We also have Mademoiselle Odette’s wrap. These things were found at your place with other evidence of your guilt. Confess that you were carried away by a fit of passion.”

  The prisoner, who wore the hunted look of an animal at bay, stammered:

  “Odette kidnapped!”

  “You know nothing about it?” went on the examining magistrate, shrugging his shoulders. “Perhaps you are equally ignorant of the murder of Monsieur de Lavardens?”

  “This gentleman told me,” gasped de Lauriac, indicating by a motion of his head Rouletabille, who was avidly watching him.

  “So you deny everything?”

  “Yes, I do. I deny everything,” he cried, foaming with rage.

  “Let him be confronted with the body of his victim,” ordered the magistrate.

  “I entreat you, monsieur, to concern yourself first with Odette,” cried Jean. “Where has the villain taken her? That is the most urgent question.”

  De Lauriac cast a look of deadly hatred at Jean.

  “I don’t know where she is,” he shouted in a hoarse voice, “but wherever she is I’m glad she’s not with you. And if I am to be condemned for a crime which I did not commit, may she never be found again!”

  It was the sort of invective that was well in keeping with de Lauriac’s character in all its uncouth violence, such as Jean had depicted it in a few words when he represented him as typical, mentally and physically, of the herdsman whose main interest in life lay in the saddle, armed with a pitchfork, galloping after his herds, or playing the hero on those festal occasions when, as was the custom, the country folk celebrated the branding of the cattle.

  The de Lauriacs, men of family who had fallen on evil days, had settled some considerable time before in Camargue, where they maintained themselves by breeding horses and cattle; and these latter provided the Sunday tournaments throughout the country as far as Languedoc.

  Hubert’s father had at length acquired a small fortune and retired to the “old shanty,” as Alari called it, in Lavardens, near Arles, leaving to his son the management of his “farm,” whose white walls stood out on the edge of the pasture land and marshes and could be descried from afar, like an imaginary picture, a delusive mirage in the transparent air.

  Thus the de L
auriacs and de Lavardens became on visiting terms. The lord of the manor was a great hunter and angler and had at once taken a liking to young de Lauriac, who invariably came to fetch him when a good opportunity for sport presented itself.

  Odette, who as a little girl was brought up somewhat unconventionally — Madame de Lavardens died when her daughter was a baby — had also yielded to the influence of this big, rough, country fellow, who taught her how to ride. On Sundays in the tournament season she frantically clapped her hands when de Lauriac seized the bull by the horns with his immense hands, turned the beast round, and by a mighty effort made him bite the dust.

  Hubert had at once fallen in love with the little girl.

  There was no one like her at Camargue. “Oh, she is but a child,” he would say, “but she is all the more beautiful on that account.” She seemed extremely frail and yet no one was more fearless. This inconsistency was reflected in her home life and general behaviour. At one time she was haughty and proud like a young queen, at another free and unconstrained, seeming to delight only in the company of the young peasants whose games she led. She was fair as ripe com, with eyes the colour of the sea, which she alone in the district was known to have, not to mention that her eyelids, when she smiled or “blinked,” lengthened and gave her a strange resemblance to an Eastern idol.... But the child became a young girl and every year, every day, grew taller and prettier. De Lauriac could hold out no longer, and when his father died he boldly asked Monsieur de Lavardens for Odette’s hand.

  Monsieur de Lavardens so little expected such a proposal that at first he was at a loss for an answer. He treated the matter lightly while dwelling on Odette’s extreme youth. She was then fourteen.

  “If you tell me to wait ten years for her I will wait ten years and even longer,” de Lauriac rejoined. “The main thing for me is to know that she belongs to me.”

  “That’s plain speaking, my boy, and I will be equally plain with you. I don’t believe that you would suit Odette or that she thinks of you in that way.”

  “Ask her,” suggested de Lauriac.

  Monsieur de Lavardens left him with a shrug of the shoulders, muttering:

  “At the most he would suit her as a servant.”

  But he lowered his tone after acquainting Odette with the strange story. Without displaying the least concern she made answer.

  “I shall have to get married one day and Hubert is the bravest man in Camargue. No herdsman is a match for him in the branding fêtes, and no bull can withstand him.”

  When Monsieur de Lavardens met de Lauriac again he said:

  “You have done nothing to deserve Odette, and you are a poor man.”

  “Must I become rich?” asked Hubert.

  “You won’t make a fortune at Camargue,” returned Monsieur de Lavardens. “After what has passed between us, you would be better to try your luck elsewhere.”

  “Suppose I come back a rich man, will you give me Odette?”

  “If you come back a rich man and Odette consents, you shall marry her.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t ask for anything more. Will you allow me to wish Odette good-bye?”

  “Yes, my boy.”

  On the day of de Lauriac’s departure Monsieur de Lavardens left them together. Odette shed tears. Hubert asked her to pledge her word to him.

  “Father has made me swear by the saints not to pledge you my word, but you can see that I am crying because you are going away. Wait until you return.”

  De Lauriac left Camargue with a light heart, resolved to get rich quick by any and every means. Odette did not nor could she love him. The fastidious side of her nature which lay dormant, the strange young soul whose existence de Lauriac had not even suspected, began to manifest itself, that is to say, after de Lauriac’s departure; and it was at this juncture that Jean de Santierne appeared upon the scene.

  Jean belonged to an old Provençal family and had succeeded to a considerable estate on the banks of the Little Rhone and also near Les Saintes Maries. He thenceforward frequently appeared at Les Saintes Maries attracted by Odette’s beauty. Rouletabille was in his confidence and he too became an habitual guest at Monsieur de Lavardens’ table. The latter observed with satisfaction the tender feeling which was springing up between Jean and his daughter.

  Jean was an artist and poet and soon succeeded in showing Odette her true self. She was swept off her feet by him. Hubert de Lauriac had given her an insight only into the life of action. Jean provided the inspiration which transforms a being, and helps it to discover a world beyond the world of visible things. And then he spoke to her as to a new Mireille as he cast a fond look upon her: “The bright sunlight had nurtured her, two dimples lay on her rosy cheek, and the glance of her eyes was like the dew which dispelled sorrow — and playful and joyous — and a little wild — if you beheld so much charm in a glass of water you would drink it in a breath!”

  The full weight of disappointment fell upon de Lauriac when he returned a rich man. Moreover, it came as a thunderbolt to Monsieur de Lavardens, who, knowing the young man’s nature, was prepared for the worst. Odette, on the other hand, was in no way perturbed. She had very nearly forgotten him during the last four years, and then she idolized Jean, to whom she had become engaged.

  Monsieur de Lavardens entreated the young people to keep the engagement secret for the time being, but the country round about had by this time informed de Lauriac. He, too, resorted to subterfuge. He paid the usual visits of ceremony, resumed apparently, without ulterior motive, the friendly life of years ago, and even invited the young people and Rouletabille to his “farm.”

  It was not until de Santierne and Rouletabille returned to Paris that he opened the attack. It was direct as usual. Wealth seemed to have made no change in him. Even as he had displayed his cunning during Jean’s visit, so he revealed himself after Jean’s departure. He had made inquiries about Jean. He spoke of him to Odette with contempt, as a youth of easy morals who was living in Paris with a dancer called Callista. Odette left him distraught. She told her father that the sight of him had become unendurable, and begged him to allow her to go with an old servant and stay with an aunt in Avignon. Monsieur de Lavardens welcomed the suggestion with relief, and Odette took the train that morning. To her father’s intense surprise she returned two days later upbraiding herself for having acted very foolishly. She had been thinking things over, she explained, and she refused to allow de Lauriac to assume that She was afraid of him.

  That evening, after Monsieur de Lavardens had questioned the old servant who accompanied Odette, the servant was discharged, and she returned to her native Beaux. The incident was so unforeseen that no one at Viei-Castou-Nou could understand why she was sent away, and a perplexing mystery began to hover round this strange journey.

  A few days later de Lauriac indulged in wild excesses. He took to drink, and in a company of herdsmen, to whom he was standing treat at the Saintes Inn, he declared that Odette de Lavardens would be his wife or else before long “they might look out for something in Camargue.” His words reached Odette’s ears and hence her distracted letters and messages to Jean.

  De Lauriac had resolved to bring matters to a crisis and called upon Monsieur de Lavardens two days before the murder, but since we enter at this stage directly into the conflict, we will leave the accused to speak for himself. It may be mentioned that when he was confronted with Monsieur de Lavardens’ body, he in no sense changed his attitude. He threw an unfeeling and even hostile glance on the blood-stained corpse, admitted that the scrap of yellow-coloured material formed part of his tie, but declared that he was innocent. —

  “I will tell you what happened within my knowledge,” he said. “When I have finished you will know as much as I do. But I will not speak here. You can keep me before this body a thousand years and I will not say more than this: The murder was not done by me. I am, I repeat, innocent. Let that be understood once and for all!”

  A few minutes later he fold his stor
y to the examining magistrate in one of the rooms of the château to which he had been taken.

  “The day before yesterday I called at Viei-Castou-Nou. I saw Monsieur de Lavardens and Mademoiselle Odette. Mademoiselle Odette wanted to leave us. I begged her to remain because I had brought her a small gift. I asked her to be kind enough to accept it as a souvenir of my travels. It was a somewhat rare jewel — a gold chain bearing an oriental design, which Monsieur de Lavardens and his daughter greatly admired. But I had not come for a mere trifle of that sort.

  “‘Four years ago,’ I said to Monsieur de Lavardens, ‘when I asked for your daughter’s hand, you told me that she was too young and I too poor, but after talking it over with her you finally promised that if in four years I came back a rich man and Mademoiselle Odette was still willing to have me, she should be my wife. Those four years have elapsed, and I have come back a rich man. I am ready to prove to you that I am a rich man; and I am more in love with Odette than ever.’

  “When she heard me speak out so bluntly Mademoiselle de Lavardens did not even wait for a sign from her father, but rose and left the room; but she heard what I intended her to hear, which was the main thing, and I was left alone with her father, who gave me an evasive answer: ‘Your abrupt call upon us comes as a surprise,’ he said. ‘You understand that we shall require time for consideration,’ and other moonshine.

  “It was not the first time since my return that he had put me off with these lame excuses; nor was I pleased either with the manner in which Mademoiselle de Lavardens had left us, considering the old understanding between us. I am not used to mincing matters. I admit that my patience was exhausted. I said to the old man plainly: ‘I left the country. I made my fortune. I claim my rights.’ Thereupon he rose from his chair with a black look on his face and declared: ‘There was no definite promise. I must tell you that, my daughter is engaged to Monsieur de Santierne.’