CHAPTER X. "We Shall Have to Eat Red Meat--Now"
The Donjon Inn was of no imposing appearance; but I like thesebuildings with their rafters blackened with age and the smoke of theirhearths--these inns of the coaching-days, crumbling erections that willsoon exist in the memory only. They belong to the bygone days, they arelinked with history. They make us think of the Road, of those days whenhighwaymen rode.
I saw at once that the Donjon Inn was at least two centuriesold--perhaps older. Under its sign-board, over the threshold, a man witha crabbed-looking face was standing, seemingly plunged in unpleasantthought, if the wrinkles on his forehead and the knitting of his browswere any indication.
When we were close to him, he deigned to see us and asked us, in a toneanything but engaging, whether we wanted anything. He was, no doubt,the not very amiable landlord of this charming dwelling-place. As weexpressed a hope that he would be good enough to furnish us with abreakfast, he assured us that he had no provisions, regarding us, as hesaid this, with a look that was unmistakably suspicious.
"You may take us in," Rouletabille said to him, "we are not policemen."
"I'm not afraid of the police--I'm not afraid of anyone!" replied theman.
I had made my friend understand by a sign that we should do better notto insist; but, being determined to enter the inn, he slipped by the manon the doorstep and was in the common room.
"Come on," he said, "it is very comfortable here."
A good fire was blazing in the chimney, and we held our hands to thewarmth it sent out; it was a morning in which the approach of winterwas unmistakable. The room was a tolerably large one, furnished with twoheavy tables, some stools, a counter decorated with rows of bottles ofsyrup and alcohol. Three windows looked out on to the road. A colouredadvertisement lauded the many merits of a new vermouth. On themantelpiece was arrayed the innkeeper's collection of figuredearthenware pots and stone jugs.
"That's a fine fire for roasting a chicken," said Rouletabille. "We haveno chicken--not even a wretched rabbit," said the landlord.
"I know," said my friend slowly; "I know--We shall have to eat redmeat--now."
I confess I did not in the least understand what Rouletabille meantby what he had said; but the landlord, as soon as he heard the words,uttered an oath, which he at once stifled, and placed himself at ourorders as obediently as Monsieur Robert Darzac had done, when he heardRouletabille's prophetic sentence--"The presbytery has lost nothing ofits charm, nor the garden its brightness." Certainly my friend knewhow to make people understand him by the use of wholly incomprehensiblephrases. I observed as much to him, but he merely smiled. I should haveproposed that he give me some explanation; but he put a finger to hislips, which evidently signified that he had not only determined not tospeak, but also enjoined silence on my part.
Meantime the man had pushed open a little side door and called tosomebody to bring him half a dozen eggs and a piece of beefsteak. Thecommission was quickly executed by a strongly-built young woman withbeautiful blonde hair and large, handsome eyes, who regarded us withcuriosity.
The innkeeper said to her roughly:
"Get out!--and if the Green Man comes, don't let me see him."
She disappeared. Rouletabille took the eggs, which had been brought tohim in a bowl, and the meat which was on a dish, placed all carefullybeside him in the chimney, unhooked a frying-pan and a gridiron, andbegan to beat up our omelette before proceeding to grill our beefsteak.He then ordered two bottles of cider, and seemed to take as littlenotice of our host as our host did of him. The landlord let us do ourown cooking and set our table near one of the windows.
Suddenly I heard him mutter:
"Ah!--there he is."
His face had changed, expressing fierce hatred. He went and gluedhimself to one of the windows, watching the road. There was no need forme to draw Rouletabille's attention; he had already left our omeletteand had joined the landlord at the window. I went with him.
A man dressed entirely in green velvet, his head covered with ahuntsman's cap of the same colour, was advancing leisurely, lightinga pipe as he walked. He carried a fowling-piece slung at his back. Hismovements displayed an almost aristocratic ease. He wore eye-glasses andappeared to be about five and forty years of age. His hair as well ashis moustache were salt grey. He was remarkably handsome. As he passednear the inn, he hesitated, as if asking himself whether or no he shouldenter it; gave a glance towards us, took a few whiffs at his pipe, andthen resumed his walk at the same nonchalant pace.
Rouletabille and I looked at our host. His flashing eyes, his clenchedhands, his trembling lips, told us of the tumultuous feelings by whichhe was being agitated.
"He has done well not to come in here to-day!" he hissed.
"Who is that man?" asked Rouletabille, returning to his omelette.
"The Green Man," growled the innkeeper. "Don't you know him? Then allthe better for you. He is not an acquaintance to make.--Well, he isMonsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper."
"You don't appear to like him very much?" asked the reporter, pouringhis omelette into the frying-pan.
"Nobody likes him, monsieur. He's an upstart who must once have had afortune of his own; and he forgives nobody because, in order to live, hehas been compelled to become a servant. A keeper is as much a servant asany other, isn't he? Upon my word, one would say that he is the masterof the Glandier, and that all the land and woods belong to him. He'llnot let a poor creature eat a morsel of bread on the grass his grass!"
"Does he often come here?"
"Too often. But I've made him understand that his face doesn't pleaseme, and, for a month past, he hasn't been here. The Donjon Inn has neverexisted for him!--he hasn't had time!--been too much engaged in payingcourt to the landlady of the Three Lilies at Saint-Michel. A badfellow!--There isn't an honest man who can bear him. Why, the conciergesof the chateau would turn their eyes away from a picture of him!"
"The concierges of the chateau are honest people, then?"
"Yes, they are, as true as my name's Mathieu, monsieur. I believe themto be honest."
"Yet they've been arrested?"
"What does that prove?--But I don't want to mix myself up in otherpeople's affairs."
"And what do you think of the murder?"
"Of the murder of poor Mademoiselle Stangerson?--A good girl much lovedeverywhere in the country. That's what I think of it--and many thingsbesides; but that's nobody's business."
"Not even mine?" insisted Rouletabille.
The innkeeper looked at him sideways and said gruffly:
"Not even yours."
The omelette ready, we sat down at table and were silently eating, whenthe door was pushed open and an old woman, dressed in rags, leaning ona stick, her head doddering, her white hair hanging loosely over herwrinkled forehead, appeared on the threshold.
"Ah!--there you are, Mother Angenoux!--It's long since we saw you last,"said our host.
"I have been very ill, very nearly dying," said the old woman. "If everyou should have any scraps for the Bete du Bon Dieu--?"
And she entered, followed by a cat, larger than any I had ever believedcould exist. The beast looked at us and gave so hopeless a miau that Ishuddered. I had never heard so lugubrious a cry.
As if drawn by the cat's cry a man followed the old woman in. It was theGreen Man. He saluted by raising his hand to his cap and seated himselfat a table near to ours.
"A glass of cider, Daddy Mathieu," he said.
As the Green Man entered, Daddy Mathieu had started violently; butvisibly mastering himself he said:
"I've no more cider; I served the last bottles to these gentlemen."
"Then give me a glass of white wine," said the Green Man, withoutshowing the least surprise.
"I've no more white wine--no more anything," said Daddy Mathieu,surlily.
"How is Madame Mathieu?"
"Quite well, thank you."
So the young Woman with the large, tender eyes, whom we had just seen,was th
e wife of this repugnant and brutal rustic, whose jealousy seemedto emphasise his physical ugliness.
Slamming the door behind him, the innkeeper left the room. MotherAngenoux was still standing, leaning on her stick, the cat at her feet.
"You've been ill, Mother Angenoux?--Is that why we have not seen you forthe last week?" asked the Green Man.
"Yes, Monsieur keeper. I have been able to get up but three times, togo to pray to Sainte-Genevieve, our good patroness, and the rest of thetime I have been lying on my bed. There was no one to care for me butthe Bete du bon Dieu!"
"Did she not leave you?"
"Neither by day nor by night."
"Are you sure of that?"
"As I am of Paradise."
"Then how was it, Madame Angenoux, that all through the night of themurder nothing but the cry of the Bete du bon Dieu was heard?"
Mother Angenoux planted herself in front of the forest-keeper and struckthe floor with her stick.
"I don't know anything about it," she said. "But shall I tell yousomething? There are no two cats in the world that cry like that. Well,on the night of the murder I also heard the cry of the Bete du bon Dieuoutside; and yet she was on my knees, and did not mew once, I swear. Icrossed myself when I heard that, as if I had heard the devil."
I looked at the keeper when he put the last question, and I am muchmistaken if I did not detect an evil smile on his lips. At that moment,the noise of loud quarrelling reached us. We even thought we heard adull sound of blows, as if some one was being beaten. The Green Manquickly rose and hurried to the door by the side of the fireplace; butit was opened by the landlord who appeared, and said to the keeper:
"Don't alarm yourself, Monsieur--it is my wife; she has the toothache."And he laughed. "Here, Mother Angenoux, here are some scraps for yourcat."
He held out a packet to the old woman, who took it eagerly and went outby the door, closely followed by her cat.
"Then you won't serve me?" asked the Green Man.
Daddy Mathieu's face was placid and no longer retained its expression ofhatred.
"I've nothing for you--nothing for you. Take yourself off."
The Green Man quietly refilled his pipe, lit it, bowed to us, and wentout. No sooner was he over the threshold than Daddy Mathieu slammedthe door after him and, turning towards us, with eyes bloodshot, andfrothing at the mouth, he hissed to us, shaking his clenched fist at thedoor he had just shut on the man he evidently hated:
"I don't know who you are who tell me 'We shall have to eat redmeat--now'; but if it will interest you to know it--that man is themurderer!"
With which words Daddy Mathieu immediately left us. Rouletabillereturned towards the fireplace and said:
"Now we'll grill our steak. How do you like the cider?--It's a littletart, but I like it."
We saw no more of Daddy Mathieu that day, and absolute silence reignedin the inn when we left it, after placing five francs on the table inpayment for our feast.
Rouletabille at once set off on a three mile walk round ProfessorStangerson's estate. He halted for some ten minutes at the corner of anarrow road black with soot, near to some charcoal-burners' huts in theforest of Sainte-Genevieve, which touches on the road from Epinay toCorbeil, to tell me that the murderer had certainly passed that way,before entering the grounds and concealing himself in the little clumpof trees.
"You don't think, then, that the keeper knows anything of it?" I asked.
"We shall see that, later," he replied. "For the present I'm notinterested in what the landlord said about the man. The landlord hateshim. I didn't take you to breakfast at the Donjon Inn for the sake ofthe Green Man."
Then Rouletabille, with great precaution glided, followed by me, towardsthe little building which, standing near the park gate, served for thehome of the concierges, who had been arrested that morning. With theskill of an acrobat, he got into the lodge by an upper window which hadbeen left open, and returned ten minutes later. He said only, "Ah!"--aword which, in his mouth, signified many things.
We were about to take the road leading to the chateau, when aconsiderable stir at the park gate attracted our attention. A carriagehad arrived and some people had come from the chateau to meet it.Rouletabille pointed out to me a gentleman who descended from it.
"That's the Chief of the Surete" he said. "Now we shall see whatFrederic Larsan has up his sleeve, and whether he is so much clevererthan anybody else."
The carriage of the Chief of the Surete was followed by three othervehicles containing reporters, who were also desirous of entering thepark. But two gendarmes stationed at the gate had evidently receivedorders to refuse admission to anybody. The Chief of the Surete calmedtheir impatience by undertaking to furnish to the press, that evening,all the information he could give that would not interfere with thejudicial inquiry.
Le mystère de la chambre jaune. English Page 11