“The family consisted of Monsieur and Madame Bourrelier, a daughter and a son. The son was enjoying himself in Paris. During the summer months they lived on their big estate at Puys, a mile at most from Dieppe, on the main road. The daughter was called Cécile, but everyone called her by the sweet name of Cecily and everyone loved her. For that matter, it was impossible to see her and not to love her. I was only fifteen at that time and she was seventeen, and I was very struck on her. Oh, in the most innocent and respectful manner in the world, for I was then as good as gold, and I had a level mind which enabled me to see things in their proper proportion; and the position that Cecily occupied was so much above my humble station that I did not allow myself to indulge in any ridiculous hopes. I loved her, that was all.
“My only happiness consisted in watching Cecily. I never lost an opportunity. I gave up my calling, which was, it seems, to be a surveyor, in order to see her every day. Yes, my schoolmaster had discovered that I had an inclination for geometry. Then my father, a simple soul who did not make difficulties where there were none, said:
“‘Very well, we’ll make a surveyor of him.’
“But I should have had to go to a boarding school in Rouen. I should never have agreed to that. Leave Cecily! Why, I would rather die. Nevertheless I had reached an age when I had to make up my mind. Something had to be done. So one day I said to my father: ‘Dad, do you know what I should like to be? I should like to be a butcher. Yes, I feel that I have a taste for the slaughter-house!’
“I was not talking at random. More than once I had stopped outside butchers’ shops with no sort of intention of buying anything, but simply to look on and to understand. The sight of all that red meat, quite fresh, attracted me. I envied one of my young friends who was a butcher’s boy and could handle it every day.
“Sometimes he took me to the slaughter-house, and it was a joy to see how he cut a calf’s throat with a single stroke of his knife called ‘the bleeder.’ I felt a shudder, which was not wholly unpleasant, when he manipulated this big knife, which was double the size of a carver, and when he explained to me how to unsinew the animal. The knife must not, he said, be used with a ‘double movement’; in other words, you had to avoid working backwards in the cut, as was done by persons who did not understand their job. Otherwise the meat would be hacked, and it was work that should be neatly done!
“Afterwards he showed me how to ‘decorate’ the skin of the calf’s stomach with a small sharp knife. I, who had an inclination for geometry, would have liked to draw on the calf’s skin, circles, squares, parallelograms, just as he drew hearts, arrows, flowers. Let it not be said that the butcher is a materialist, for, after all, nothing compels him — does it? — to draw flowers on the stomachs of calves.
“And so I acquired the taste for this very safe and respectable business which, in most cases, brings in considerable profits. My father did not stand in my way, and indeed he was at once satisfied when I told him that I was about to become an apprentice to a butcher in Le Pollet, a suburb of Dieppe near Puys; a butcher who, as it happened, supplied the Bourreliers with their meat.
“I had thought out the whole scheme. I knew that I should have to take the meat to Puys, and I was certain to see Cecily every day, because her mother had made a good housewife of her, and it was she who nearly always interviewed the tradesmen. Matters turned out as I expected, and, believe me, I did not rob her in any transaction. I always managed things in such a way as to supply her with the best cuts, and I was not the one to try to palm off on her an upper-cut as an under-cut, or a cut from the leg as rump steak. Moreover, I took good care when I delivered veal, to do the ‘decorations’ myself, and I assure you that Monsieur Bouguereau, the famous painter, could not have shown off a calf more beautifully with his brush than I did with my small knife.
“I am entering into these particulars, Monsieur, because I’m very glad to spread myself a little over a time which was the most delightful in my life. I can see myself now, my spotlessly clean apron tucked up carefully above the knee and taken in at the waist, my steel at my side, the veal in my basket, hastening on my bicycle to meet Cecily. I left my machine at the door of the cottage in which my parents lived, and after kissing my dear mother and my charming sister who, in those days, was called Jacqueline, like anybody else, I turned my steps with a beating heart to the park. If sometimes I stopped out of breath, gasping, it was because I had heard Cecily’s fairy footsteps gliding over the grassy slope. How beautiful she was! What grace of movement! What simplicity of manner!
“And then she was as fresh as a daisy and as gay as a lark on a summer’s day. To see her was all I asked. To die for her was all I wanted. And no one ever knew the secret of my heart. You see, Monsieur, my voice trembles now when I recall those exquisite moments. She had a way of asking: ‘Well, young man, is the meat really spotty today?’ Was it really spotty indeed!... I used to blush, and when she observed it, she would smile and say:
“‘You are still a little bit of a muff, my poor boy.’
“And she took the joints from me with her own beautiful fragrant hands.
“And now, Monsieur, this is how the crime was committed, and how I was arrested and convicted. Believe it if you can. True, I committed the murder, but I was not to blame. Even now, after the lapse of so many years, I haven’t got over it. I must tell you at once that Cecily’s father, an immensely wealthy shipowner, was an old rake. He had been taking notice of my sister. Poor Jacqueline, who was as pious as a child’s prayer, was certainly the most virtuous girl in the district. Mothers held her up as an example to their daughters, and the rector would have chosen her as the winner of the rose if the custom of crowning the best girl in the parish had survived, in our country, the destruction of ancient custom’s.
“I have nothing to keep secret in this doleful story, which is known throughout Dieppe, where my sister lived again quite recently amid universal respect and the devoted friendship of the nuns in the hospital, who welcomed her with open arms.
“How and by what piece of trickery did Jacqueline fall a victim to the old ruffian Bourrelier? For my part, I’ve always believed the youngster’s story. She declared that Bourrelier enticed her into his office in Dieppe and drugged her one Sunday, after evening service, when no one was there. The result was that my sister nearly died, and there were terrible scenes between my father and Bourrelier, who, of course, got, rid of us. Even I was sacked by my master, who was anxious to keep his customer. But I found a place elsewhere, and my sister became a nun.
“Meanwhile, I continued to see Cecily because I delivered meat for my new firm to the Château des Roches-Blanches, in Puys, where the Marquis du Touchais and his family, friends of the Bourreliers, lived during the season. The Marchioness was a very fine lady who, when she went out, was invariably escorted by old Rose, her lady-companion. I know that both of them are still living, for, as you may readily believe, although the case was tried fifteen years ago, the affair will never be finished with as long as my head is on my shoulders.
“The Marquis had a son, Count Maxime, a young man who was gadding about in Paris with Bourrelier’s son. Both of them used to return to their families in the season, and they often brought a friend with them who stayed at Bourrelier’s house. This friend was the Viscount Georges de Pont-Marie. The sons continued to visit each other in Puys, and very close relations existed between the château and the villa. Cecily often went with her mother to the chateau, and, therefore, I was able to behold her as the fancy took me.
“I no longer recognized her. She had a wistful expression which was painful for me to see, even if I assumed that this air of sadness had its origin in the terrible accident which had befallen my sister whom she loved so well. The three young men endeavored to cheer her up. Her father himself, the rascally Bourrelier, did not succeed in rousing her from her dejection even when he resorted to threats.
“One day I heard him bullying her rather severely. I walked away at once for I felt t
hat I might not be able to control myself. Moreover, I always got out of the way of old Bourrelier, lest I should do something rash. And this was the one thing, above everything else, which I tried to avoid because of my love for his daughter. Now I learnt, some time after, the cause of these scenes. Old Bourrelier wanted his daughter to become a Countess and one day a Marchioness.... Yes, in spite of her opposition, he wanted her to marry Maxime du Touchais.
“The old Marquis du Touchais, of course, backed him up, for he was a poor man, and the Roches-Blanches estate, as well as everything that remained to the du Touchais’s of their old Norman property, was mortgaged up to the hilt and beyond. All their schemes for my poor Cecily were nicely faked! I felt sick at heart, especially as I knew that the poor girl always hoped to marry one of her cousins, young Marcel Garacan, who was then making a trial trip prior to attaining Captain’s rank in the merchant service.
“I saw Cecily every day for a fortnight, and every day she was in tears. It made me quite ill. She told her father, moreover, that she would rather die than marry Maxime du Touchais; and all the countryside was aware of it. The people pitied her, for they knew Bourrelier, and were quite sure that he would never allow her to have her own way.
“One evening, in mid-September, I was coming back from Roches-Blanches, on my bicycle, when I caught sight of two men fighting on the top of the cliff. They held each other round the body, and their struggles were such that I marveled how it was that they hadn’t fallen into the sea.
“I got off my bicycle, for in order to reach them I had to run across country, and then I distinctly heard one of them shouting in a choking voice: ‘Help!... Help!... Murder!’ I recognized the voice. It was Bourrelier’s.
“Notwithstanding that it was nightfall and growing dark, I was at once able to grasp the position. Bourrelier had his back to the sea, and was nearing the edge of the cliff; the other man, who had managed to release himself, gave him a push while clutching, with one hand, a telegraph pole. Consequently, this man had his back turned to me, and I could not see his face.
“It was not the moment to hesitate. I rushed forward and seized my man, shouting: ‘Let go, murderer!’ For answer he gave me a tremendous kick on the calf without turning round. I uttered a cry of pain, and grasping the knife which was hanging from my belt that evening, I aimed a terrible blow at his back. Monsieur, I must tell you that I had come from the slaughterhouse, and had on me the ‘bleeder’ which I was taking to Le Pollet to be sharpened. You may imagine the sort of blow that I dealt him with that knife.
“Unfortunately, at that very moment old Bourrelier, who had succeeded in again seizing his opponent by the body, whisked him round in a flash towards the edge of the cliff, compelling him to leave go his hold of the telegraph pole, with the result... with the result, listen to this carefully, that it was now old Bourrelier whose back was turned to me, and my knife went through old Bourrelier’s back as if it were butter, my dear Monsieur.
“He did not give even a groan. He sank to the ground at my feet. He was dead.
“I had killed the man whom I wanted to save.
“What do you say to that? Don’t you think that it was a stroke of ill-luck? And when I declare that it was fatality, that fate was against me, am I lying? Am I claiming too much?
“I had killed Cecily’s father. I ran off like a madman towards Dieppe, while the other man ran off like a madman, too, towards Puys. The body lay on the cliff with the knife still plunged in its back.
“Before I reached the top of the hill at Le Pollet, I worked out in my mind that if I left the knife in his back, people would soon find out that it was I who struck the blow. So I wandered back again, but I could not find the body. It had already gone! Had some passer-by discovered it? Had the alarm been given? I did not think so, for in that case there would have been a crowd of people on the cliff and considerable excitement along the coast at Puys.
“So what was I to do? The other man must have returned and, doubtless, thrown the body over the rocks. But what had he done with the knife? The knife, like the body, had disappeared. It was a terrible position for me to be in.
“At that very moment I noticed that I had lost my apron.... But where had I lost it?... I hunted high and low for it without finding it. Night had fallen. I was clean off my head.
“Only one hope was left to me: to find the man with whom Bourrelier had been fighting. I went down to Puys, taking care to keep out of the way, drawing back into the fields, or hiding myself behind a hedge when I heard the sound of footsteps.
“I had noticed one thing only about the man: his large gray hat, which was rammed over his brow and the brim of which was turned down over his eyes. Moreover, the ups and downs of the struggle and the darkening night prevented me from seeing anything more. I might recognize him by his hat and perhaps, too, by his build. He was tall and slim of figure, and he had shown by running away that he was pretty wide awake.
“I wandered round the chateau, the taverns, the villas during the greater part of the night, on the watch for the occasional shadows that rose up before me. At length I reached Dieppe, a prey to despair, as may easily be understood, but I dared not return to the shop nor to my own home. I spent the night in the open near the railway. Early next morning I turned my steps towards Le Pollet. Outside my new employer’s shop a crowd was assembled, and I caught a glimpse of a couple of policemen in the doorway. I at once took to my heels, and hid myself in a cave in the cliff which had once served as hiding-place for Georges Cadoudal. He was a grave man if you like! Honor to his memory! I stayed there all day, convinced that the police were looking for me, and, worse luck, it was only too true.
“In the evening I left the cave, for I was ravenously hungry. I managed to steal, from a haberdasher’s shop-front in Beville, a piece of Gruyère cheese which lay there, wrapped up in a newspaper. An accident had made me a murderer, and the circumstances of my new life made me a thief. It was the finishing stroke; and I was under sixteen!
“It was a nice beginning, but wait a bit, the story is not yet over. I am keeping the tit-bit for the end.
“The newspaper in which the cheese was wrapped was a Dieppe paper of that very day. When I finished eating, I read it seated under a porch at the back of a poor, lonely farm up to which I had crept hoping to find something that might stay my hunger, for the Gruyère cheese had by no means satisfied it. A flickering light disclosed the headline of an article which I shall remember all my life:
TERRIBLE REVENGE BY A BOY OF
FIFTEEN.’
Now I knew all about it. It concerned me. There was no possible mistake!
“The story seemed obvious. The evening before, M. Bourrelier’s family had vainly waited dinner for him. As it was growing late Madame Bourrelier, in a state of great anxiety, sent her son Robert to make inquiries. He went to Roches-Blanches, where he was informed by the astonished Marquis that Bourrelier had left the place in good time to return home for dinner by way of the cliff. Fearing that some accident had happened, the Marquis, his son Maxime, their friend Georges de Pont-Marie and Bourrelier’s son, set out along the cliff, and there, with better luck than I had, they found a butcher-boy’s apron; but there was no Bourrelier.
“They returned to the spot with lanterns, and finally they discovered traces of a struggle on the ground and in the grass. Feeling convinced that Bourrelier had been thrown over the cliff, they went to the village and along the beach, and the tide, as it happened, was low and there was no difficulty. It was not long before they saw in front of them the shipowner’s body.
“They carried the dead man to his house after the Marquis, who went on ahead, had broken the dreadful news to the family. You can imagine Cecily and her mother’s grief. The young girl was taken ill there and then and had to be put to bed. Meanwhile they telephoned to Dieppe; and the Commissary of Police appeared, accompanied by his secretary. The investigation was soon made.... A stab in the back and a butcher-boy’s apron.... That very evening my apron was id
entified by my employer. Besides, the Marquis remembered having seen me start off from Roches-Blanches a few minutes after Bourrelier, and declared that I had taken the same road.
“In the eyes of everyone, my connection with the matter was as clear as spring water. I had determined to avenge my sister whom the shipowner had, to use the expression of the newspaper, ‘treated badly.’ Moreover, I had benefited personally by the act of vengeance inasmuch as I had plundered the man whom I had murdered. Bourrelier’s pocket-book was not found on him, and, it seems, it contained several thousand franc notes. I was rich!
“The thing that astonished me, however, was the fact that the knife was nowhere to be found. Oh, they knew exactly what it was like! In a special edition of the newspaper, which was issued at ten o’clock in the morning, the knife was fully described. How was it that at ten o’clock in the morning they had not found the knife, the ‘bleeder,’ with which such splendid cuts could be made that there was no need to strike a second blow! The newspaper explained furthermore that the stab could only have been inflicted by someone who was an adept at that sort of thing, by a young butcher.
“Now that very night I myself found the precious knife in circumstances which were by no means ordinary, I can tell you.
“I folded up the newspaper, which foretold my early arrest, and went back to my cave in a somewhat dispirited frame of mind, believing that it was all up with me. What, indeed, could I do? What could I say to get myself acquitted? Tell the story of the man in the gray hat? The judge would shrug his shoulders, and no one would believe me. I could do nothing and say nothing unless I brought the man in the gray hat before the judge.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 146