Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  “You are wasting your breath here,” returned Callista coldly.

  Rouletabille stood up.

  “Monsieur,” he said to the examining magistrate, “you may have the prisoners taken down to their’ cell. Nothing more can be done with them to-day.” —

  Monsieur Crousillat was too eager to be alone with the journalist and to ask him certain questions to offer any objection. He motioned to La Finette to remove the prisoners.

  “Keep a good watch on them, counselled Rouletabille. —

  La Finette smiled and twirled his moustache, the thought that the prisoners might make their escape seemed distinctly humorous. Nevertheless, he took every precaution, so that whatever happened he might have nothing to reproach himself with.

  As soon as the door was closed the examining magistrate turned to Rouletabille.

  “What was it that this old Zina said to them?

  “Oh, that, monsieur, is not my secret.”

  “Do you mean to say that you don’t intend to tell me?” —

  “Neither you nor anyone else.

  “You respect the secrets of those ruffians?

  “It’s neither Andréa’s, nor Callista’s, nor even old Zina’s secret,” returned Rouletabille, plunged in thought.

  “Then might I be allowed to know whose secret it is?”

  “Yes, monsieur, it is a dead man’s secret.”

  “Monsieur de Lavardens’ secret! That being so, the secret died with him.”

  “No; it is from the secret that...”

  “All the evil comes.”

  “All the good, monsieur, all the good. Just think! If Zina had not spoken Mademoiselle de Lavardens would be dead now.”

  “They would have murdered her as they murdered her father.”

  “They did not murder her father.”

  “They kidnapped the daughter, but did not murder the father. Bless my soul, since you say so, we must believe you.”

  “You look as if the thought distresses you,” said Rouletabille with a smile.

  “What distresses me,” returned Monsieur Crousillat, not unreasonably, “is that you have the appearance of knowing everything, but tell me nothing. Well, for my part, I shall make less mystery of things than you do. Granted that Andréa did not commit the murder, we are forced to turn our attention to de Lauriac, and that being so what I have to say is not without importance. It appears that de Lauriac had on his desk a sort of sharp-pointed paper-knife, which cannot be found anywhere.”

  “That is because you’ve looked in the wrong place for it. But, T say again, it was not de Lauriac who struck the blow.”

  “Then if it was neither Andréa nor de Lauriac, will you tell me who it was?”

  “You shall know to-morrow morning. Meet me at de Lauriac’s Lou Cabanou. Have him brought there and arrange for the divisional surgeons to be present.”

  “And you promise me?...”

  “The name of Monsieur de Lavardens’ murderer.”

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE MURDERER

  NEXT MORNING THE authorities were once more at Lou Cabanou with de Lauriac as desired by Rouletabille. While they were waiting for him, Monsieur Crousillat subjected the prisoner to a fresh and Vigorous examination. He had the satisfaction of seeing him turn pale when he spoke to him of the dagger-knife, but as soon as de Lauriac felt certain that this weapon, with which he might have murdered Monsieur de Lavardens, had not been found, his agitation vanished. His change of demeanour was so obvious that the examining magistrate bit his lip and regretted not having begun by declaring to the accused that the weapon had been found. “I made a gross blunder which Rouletabille would not have made, he said to himself. In any case, he was sorry that the journalist was not present to behold de Lauriac’s first display of confusion.

  At length he was informed that Rouletabille had come with the divisional surgeons, and was waiting for him in Viei-Castou-Nou park at the spot where Monsieur de Lavardens’ body was discovered.

  Monsieur Crousillat hastened towards them, followed some way behind by Monsieur Bartholasse, who continued to grumble about Rouletabille’s unreasonable requests and the easy-going nature of examining magistrates. The gendarmes could be seen bringing along their prisoner.

  “Well?” questioned Monsieur Crousillat, as soon as he was within speaking distance of the journalist.

  “Well, these gentlemen have brought their report...” —

  “We need not trouble about any report from them, as they cannot tell us anything fresh. No report of theirs will do away with the fact that Monsieur de Lavardens was murdered.”

  “I beg your pardon, monsieur. These gentlemen have come to the conclusion that Monsieur de Lavardens died from a heart attack.”

  “A heart attack!” exclaimed the examining magistrate, looking in turn at the doctors and Rouletabille. “But how do you account for the wound on the temple?” —

  “The wound on the temple does not do away with the fact that Monsieur de Lavardens died from a heart attack,” returned one of the doctors.

  “I’ve got it this time,” said Monsieur Crousillat, who was making great intellectual efforts to reconcile the fact of murder with the doctor’s conclusion. ‘I understand.... The person who kidnapped Mademoiselle Odette attacked and wounded Monsieur de Lavardens. The excitement killed him, and the assailant removed the body to this place.” And turning to de Lauriac he went on: “The man must have had very good reasons for not leaving Monsieur de Lavardens’ body in Monsieur de Lauriac’s grounds.”

  “No, monsieur, you are wide of the mark,” interposed Rouletabille, “and I am here to explain to you what really did happen.”

  Rouletabille was bare-headed and spoke as though from some inner impulse. And yet his deliberate language, in which there was no trace of hesitation, did not convey the impression that he was telling a story on the spur of the moment, but rather that he was describing something which he had actually witnessed. The entire tragedy was unfolded by him as though he had seen it.

  “When the accused,” he began, “threw Monsieur de Lavardens out of his house after the violent scene which the former has described to us, Monsieur de Lavardens came up against the balustrade of de Lauriac’s front steps. Then he went down and walked a few paces....

  “By this time he must have felt somewhat ill, for he stopped and leant against the wall before entering the partition gate to his own place. At last, collecting his strength, he made his way towards Viei-Castou-Nou. He did not allow himself to call for assistance. His anxiety, obviously, was to avoid a scandal. Nevertheless, as he crossed his park it occurred to him that he had omitted to close the partition gate, in which he had left the key. Though he was conscious of his growing weakness, he had the pluck to retrace his steps.” Rouletabille, with a gesture, pointed out the path traversed by Monsieur de Lavardens. “On reaching this tree his heart stopped beating... he fell forward... and it was then that the ‘murderer intervened... —

  “I told you, monsieur, that the murderer was as thin as a spike.... Here you are!”

  Rouletabille removed his cap from a nail in the tree upon which he had hung it and revealed the ‘culprit.’

  “In his fall Monsieur de Lavardens temple was cruelly pierced by this nail. That is how Monsieur de Lavardens was killed.” —

  Monsieur Crousillat and the divisional surgeons were by this time at the foot of the tree examining the incriminating weapon. Rouletabille pointed to the bloodstains on the trunk near the nail.

  “A close inspection will show you what sort of a rust is on it.” —

  Old Tavan, who was passing that way, taking stock of everything out of the tail of his eye, was called. The police borrowed his pincers, and the inquiry was amplified by a most material piece of evidence, From that moment, moreover — and the divisional surgeons expressed their assent — no one could entertain the least doubt but that Monsieur de Lavardens death was brought about in the manner related by Rouletabille.

  “I say, he’s b
een making fools of us, exclaimed Monsieur Bartholasse.

  “Who has?” asked Monsieur Crousillat, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “Why your Rouletabille,” returned the cleric. “Considering he knew that the nail did it, why didn’t he tell us so before?”

  “Yes that’s true,” agreed Monsieur Crousillat, turning to the journalist. “You are incorrigible. It was not worth while to persuade me to arrest this gentleman” — indicating de Lauriac—” seeing that you knew he was innocent.” —

  “If you make yourself useful to the police this is how you are rewarded!” retorted Rouletabille with a laugh. “Why, my dear Monsieur Crousillat, you forget one thing; while Monsieur de Lavardens was at Monsieur de Lauriac’s place, Mademoiselle Odette was being kidnapped. I was determined to find out whether Monsieur de Lauriac, even if he were innocent of Monsieur de Lavardens’ death, was or was not a party to Mademoiselle Odette’s abduction. In allowing the charge of murder to hang over him, I compelled him, in a sense, to confess the less-important assault in order to prove his innocence of murder. It was well to hold over the heads of everybody — that is to say, of all persons who might be concerned in carrying off Mademoiselle Odette — the menace which Monsieur de Lavardens’ murder-constituted; and not only over de Lauriac, but over the gipsies and Andréa and Callista, and even over old Tavan, who is here, and, I suspect, knows a great deal more about the matter than the length of his face would suggest though he pulls a pretty long face!”

  De Lauriac, who had watched the entire scene in silence, interrupted the laughter which greeted Rouletabille’s last sally:

  “Now, gentlemen, what are you going to do with me?”

  “Why, my dear Monsieur de Lauriac, you will be set at liberty,” returned Rouletabille.

  Monsieur Bartholasse gave a start.

  “You don’t say so!”

  Monsieur Crousillat cast a black look at him.

  “What else is possible now, Monsieur Bartholasse? The man called Rouletabille, in spite of being a journalist, has this time expressed an opinion which to my thinking is fair.”

  “In any case,” returned the clerk, beside himself “whether the accused is discharged or not is no business of his. If you were to ask my opinion, monsieur, I should say at once:— ‘Don’t release Monsieur de Lauriac until his dagger-paper-knife is found.’”

  “If that is the only thing that will please you,” interposed Rouletabille, “I will tell you myself where the paper-knife is.”

  De Lauriac was not the last to follow Rouletabille, who, with a gesture, led the company to Lou Cabanou, and the former’s eagerness did not escape his attention. When the entire party was assembled in the study in which the opening scene of the tragedy was enacted, Rouletabille turned to the examining magistrate:

  “You see the disadvantage, Monsieur Crousillat, of failing to rely on the right end of one’s judgment in any and every circumstance. What did you do? Starting from a preconceived idea, the idea of murder, you hunted for this dagger-like paper-cutter in every direction where Monsieur de Lauriac might have thrown it after the crime was committed, and consequently your investigations were fruitless. On the other hand, if you had let yourself be guided by ‘the right end of your judgment’ you would have at once been led to the place where the knife in ordinary circumstances was to be found. For, after all, what is a paper-knife used for? To cut paper and the pages of a book! And where is its proper place? is proper place, if it is not on the desk, is in some book. Monsieur Bartholasse, you may be quite satisfied, for here is the precious paper-knife.” Rouletabille opened a large tome which, in spite of the spoilation to which it had been subjected, was indubitably the finest gem in de Lauriac’s library. He let the knife slip out of it.

  “As you perceive,” he said, handing the knife to the examining magistrate, “there’s no blood on it — neither blood nor ink on it. Come, monsieur, sign the order for Monsieur de Lauriac’s release. He is innocent. Moreover, you cannot bring forward any charge against him, and it would be an entirely arbitrary action to keep him in custody.”

  There was no need for Rouletabille to labour the point. A few minutes later Monsieur de Lauriac was free.

  “It was a piece of luck for you that I found the paper-knife, Monsieur de Lauriac,” said Rouletabille. “You must admit that it was a great relief to you. For, when all is said, had you known where that knife was you would have told us, seeing that it had not been used.... But were you certain that it had not been used?”

  De Lauriac glared at him.

  “Monsieur, I owe my discharge to you,” he returned in a hoarse voice, “but as I also owe my arrest to you, you will permit me to refrain from offering you my thanks. That is all I have to say to you to-day,’ but we shall meet again, be sure of that.”

  “Until we meet again!” rapped out Rouletabille. But the other had already taken himself off.

  CHAPTER XX

  THE BOOK OF ANCESTORS CONTINUES TO DIVULGE ITS SECRET

  EXTRACT FROM ROULETABILLE’S diary at this date:

  “Met Jean. He had just learnt that as a result of my efforts de Lauriac was discharged. I did not expect to receive congratulations from him, but it was as much as he could do to refrain from striking me.

  “‘You look after that brute and meantime you don’t even ask yourself what has become of Odette.’

  “‘By the way,’ I said, ‘are you certain that she bore no mark on her shoulder?’

  “He showed the same astonishment at this question as Estève, and as I could not just then explain why I wanted to know, he reproached me with the utmost bitterness for my way of doing things since I came to Camargue. Strange suspicions are still springing up in his mind.

  “‘Don’t you want her to be found?’ he exclaimed.

  “I was so greatly amazed by this ‘outburst’ that at first I was at a loss for an answer. I feel sure that it is going to be very difficult to work with this youngster. He spends his time either cursing or praising me, which doesn’t advance matters. I asked him to put his thoughts into words and tell me once and for all what was in his mind, but he evaded the question:

  “‘As you are absolutely certain that she was abducted by gipsies, ought you not to give the authorities a description of her? I quite understand why you avoided asking that bungler Crousillat’s help to trace her, but still there are persons in France who might be able to help us to discover her.’

  “‘Why, of course, the custom-house people,’ I said.

  “‘The custom-house people?’

  “‘Yes. I feel convinced that the gipsies will make every effort to take Odette over the frontier.’

  “‘What then?’

  “‘Well, as I am on very friendly terms with a high official at the chief office, I asked him to telephone instructions accordingly. I suggested that those instructions should be carried out with great discretion, in order as far as possible not to arouse their suspicions.’

  “‘That’s the first comforting word that I have yet heard.’

  “‘Consequently, for the last four days, every caravan which has attempted to cross the frontier has been stopped.’

  “‘Have they not discovered anything?’

  “‘They will not discover anything.’

  “‘That’s just like you. You are so aggravating.... Then why did you give the orders?’

  “‘To please you. To have some answer to you when you accuse me of doing nothing to find Odette; in short, to make sure that silly asses should have nothing to reproach me with.’

  “‘Thank you,’ returned Jean.

  “‘Don’t mention it. But, mark me, the reason why they cannot find Odette is simply because the gipsies make no attempt to hide her. They may not have read Edgar Allen Poe, but they are as clever as the author of “The Stolen Letter “ — the letter for which everyone was looking and which was purposely displayed for everyone to see. Dressed in tatters, with a fillet of ornaments round her forehead, and wearing big
ear-rings, Odette would look so much the gipsy that she would excite no attention from anyone.’ “‘But still she has only to cry out or make some movement.’

  “‘She will not cry out or make any movement. She will be asleep, or at least she will be drowsing. She will be dreaming — perhaps of you, Jean, for, take it from me, those people have at their command every sort of nostrum by which they can numb the will, and every sort of sedative which can allay grief. Neither custom-house officers nor gendarmes will spot Odette de Lavardens. They will see a gipsy girl who may be smiling at them.’

  “‘But what you tell me is worse than anything I could imagine.... So I shall never see Odette again?’

  “‘Yes, you will see her again. But, you understand, you must let me do things my own way.’”

  Late in the day, however, Jean had not left Rouletabille, for they were still at Arles, shadowing de Lauriac, whose every step and movement they watched after his release from custody. De Lauriac first met Lou Rousso Fiamo, who seemed to be expecting him, and they had a long talk together in a public-house near the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre. Rouletabille was able to catch the last sentence which fell from de Lauriac as he left his old herdsman: “I am relying on you,” and the herdsman nodded in a manner which signified that he could rely on him. De Lauriac then called on several newspaper shops and obtained copies of the principal papers which had appeared since his arrest.

  He at once turned his steps towards Lavardens with his bundle of papers, and reaching Lou Cabanou, leapt over the low wall in his eagerness to get home and shut himself up in his study.

  Rouletabille by this time had given up following him.

  “Come,” he said to Jean, “we needn’t disturb him while he’s reading the newspapers.”

  “It is obvious that they must have an immediate interest for him,” returned Jean.

  “We’ll give him a good mark for that.”

  “Why a good mark?”

  “Well, granted that he is eager to learn what has been happening to Odette while he was in prison, I assume that he knows nothing about her, and if he knows nothing about her, depend upon it he had no hand in her abduction.”