The Nyctalope and The Tower of Babel
Page 10
It was Basilie who again broke the silence. She stood up and said:
“That’s it! I’m done!”
She walked around the table and went to kiss her father’s foreheads, then her aunt’s and sister’s, quickly, like a rite that had become routine.
“I have an appointment with the gamekeepers at the Cross of Oaks. And it’s on your behalf, Monsieur le Nyctalope!”
“Ah?” asked Saint-Clair, once again surprised, without concealing it.
“Yes!” said the young girl, with a somewhat exaggerated disinterest. “But you don’t know the reason. At least, not yet. At noon, when I return, I will reveal my secret.”
She laughed, swirled around in a pretty gesture of goodbye, and left quickly.
Jacques d’Hermont rose, immediately followed by Saint-Clair. Before their bowls still half-filled with milky coffee, Laure and Madeleine remained motionless, prostrate, their lost gazes fixed straight ahead, their minds absent.
Then the Nyctalope said, with energy:
“Jacques, I must speak with you. I would like it to be in the presence of your sister and daughter.”
“Let’s go to the library?” suggested the Comte, softly.
“Wherever you like.”
And leaning over the table toward the two women, Saint-Clair said in a low and penetrating voice:
“Laure, Madeleine, I beg you, listen to me! Two new elements have appeared for consideration. First, the same mysterious evil came to me last night, and intensely! Second, it is possible that the pistol from the bullet cartridge found in the wake to the mysterious shadow belongs to a Monsieur Armand Logreux.”
“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed the Conte, suddenly sitting upright, his eyes bright.
At the first words of Saint-Clair, Laure and Madeleine had stood up. When the name of the owner of the Cross of Blood was spoken, they experienced a similar galvanizing effect.
“Good!” said Saint-Clair. “I see that you know something about this Armand Logreux. Let us move to the library.”
Two minutes later, all four were sitting in the comfortable leather armchairs arranged by Saint-Clair himself in a semi-circle around the fire. During the ritual morning aeration, carried out by Firmin, the outside humidity had entered this vast room. But the windows were closed, the radiators blasted heat, and the flames of a wood fire burned, crackling up the big chimney and beginning to dry and warm up the atmosphere. They felt well there. Saint-Clair sighed with ease. The day was not very lively, and in other circumstances, Jacques d’Hermont, who did not like the half-obscurity, would have lit the electric bulbs of the chandelier, adding bright artificial light to the wan light of the sun veiled by the enormous thicknesses of wet fog. Now, however, the mysterious conjectures of the hour were better adapted to a dim clarity. The Comte sat down without touching the light switch.
Immediately, Saint-Clair spoke in a calm and low voice:
“First I will say a few words. Yes, Basilie has glimpsed the truth: I had a very bad night.”
In detail, he described his successive states from evening to morning. With a terror that they did not conceal, and which turned their faces into tragic masks, Jacques, Laure and Madeleine recognized in this psycho-psychological account all the signs of their own state.
“And not from the beginning!” said the Comte with excitement, when the Nyctalope had finished. “No! For you, my dear Léo, the first attack of the evil manifested itself with an intensity that we only knew and suffered after many weeks of progression.”
“Indeed!” said Saint-Clair. “But let’s speak no more of me. A second experience is necessary. Perhaps I will be subjected to it tonight. I dare say, I hope for and desire it, for I no longer doubt the existence of this mysterious evil, and I’m all the more determined to get to its root... Now, let’s speak of Armand Logreux. Listen carefully. I will be brief and precise.”
He remained silent for a moment. Then, he spoke passionately as Jacques and the two women anxiously listened:
“In our region, the police know only of one 9mm Browning. It belongs to Armand Logreux. It is not through his declaration that its existence came to light, but thanks to the well-kept accounts of the gunsmith in Tours who sold him that gun. There is, therefore, a high probability that the cartridge, found at the foot of that beech tree from which the ‘human shadow vanished after the ‘luminous nimbus’ phenomenon, fell from the pistol belonging to Monsieur Logreux.”
“Well, well!” said Jacques d’Hermont.
“I said this to Firmin, in my room before breakfast, in the presence of Vitto and Soca. He opened a window and showed me, quite visible in front of the big poplars, even through the morning fog, the Manor of the Cross of Blood. He told me the name of the family that, for a length of time that he did not specify, has owned that manor and its surrounding estate. But Firmin did not say anything else, for he did not know anything more. I think that you three know something, so I will listen to you. Jacques, please speak first.”
The sight of Comte d’Hermont, his sister Laure and his older daughter Madeleine, confirmed for the Nyctalope that he would be told all he needed to know about Armand Logreux; but this look of fierce and passionate anticipation, against an obvious background of enormous astonishment, made him also think that, until the last quarter of an hour, the victims of the mystery of Beech Grove had never dreamed for a single minute that the owner of the Manor of the Cross of Blood could have had any connection with this enigma. For Jacques d’Hermont, Laure Dauzet and Madeleine, the intrusion of Armand Logreux into their life was as staggering and inexplicable as it was unexpected.
Saint-Clair had attempted to speak in a calm, easy tone that would put his friends at ease. Now it was Jacques d’Hermont’s turn to speak:
“My dear Léo, it is with pleasure that I add what I know to what you have already learned from Firmin, which is correct. At the time of the drama that ended with the raising of a cross on the piece of earth tainted with the blood of an unknown man, the owner of the Manor was Stanislas Logreux. He was a strange man, both a Republican and a very pious practicing Catholic. He was a widower, without children. He remarried very late and built his fortune from scratch. My father knew him, and it is from him that I have learned those details: the first Logreux appeared in Touraine, in Tours to be exact, in 1791, and, with a fistful of assignats,8 bought up a great many of the properties previously held by the Priory of Saint-Christophe, which, for centuries, under the Ancien Régime, had shared with my ancestors all the land between Tours and Château-du-Loir. During the Restoration, the Logreux revealed that their true name was Logreux d’Albury, a Scottish branch which had helped Louis XVIII with his fortune, when this prince was only the Comte de Provence, an émigré.9
“Despite this, or because of the authenticity of the name and the reality of the services rendered to Louis XVIII, the Comtes d’Hermont, legitimists and jealous of their prerogatives in the region, never associated with the Logreux, from whom they kept rigorously apart. My father continued as his father had, and like I have, to avoid any sort of relationship with the master of the Cross of Blood, even that which one might call “good neighborliness.” Our properties border one another for several kilometers. When an incident occurs as a result of this, our respective notaries deal with it without either I or the current Logreux, named Armand, entering into a relationship, even by mail.
“Besides, Armand Logreux d’Albury is never seen; all the ordinary life of the manor and the property of the Cross of Blood is directed toward the north and east—Dissay-sous-Courcillon, Château-du-Loir and Le Mans—while the whole existence of Beech Grove is focused toward the south and the east—Saint-Christophe, Saint-Paterne, Château-la-Vallière, Tours, etc. Our parks and hunting grounds luckily do not touch: vast fields of cultivation separate them. We live, the d’Hermonts and the Logreux, in mutual ignorance, except, if necessary, through our notaries. There has never been any conflict. Our honest and skillful lawyers have always amicably resolved the minor disputes
and other matters that spring up between people who own two vast, adjacent agricultural properties. That, my dear Léo, is all I know. But, it must be admitted, that the fact that the 9mm cartridge...”
“One moment, my dear Jacques, one moment,” said Saint-Clair, raising his right hand with authority. “Let us examine the new facts together. But I read in the eyes of your sister and daughter that they know more than you do about Monsieur Logreux, and I see that they are trembling from both the impatience to speak and the temptation to remain silent...”
He turned toward Laure and Madeleine, seated elbow-to-elbow on his other side, and continued:
“Isn’t that so? That you are impatient to speak, I understand. But that you are tempted to remain silent... Why is that? Are you afraid, Laure and Madeleine, that Jacques will hear you?”
Then, in a low voice filled with an ill-contained passion, her black eyes fixed on Saint-Clair, Laure Dauzet said:
“The day of frankness and truth has come. I will answer you. Brother, father of Madeleine, there is no harm in your hearing this truth, but as you are also the father of Basilie...”
These last word, her niece’s name, was spoken with great violence in a low but hoarse voice.
“My God!” moaned Madeleine, hiding her face in her clenched hands.
Jacques d’Hermont turned abruptly toward his sister, with a look of astonishment.
Extremely intrigued by the grave threat of everything that Laure might reveal, and well aware of the importance of this revelation, Saint-Clair did nothing to stop the outburst or lessen its brutality. On the contrary, hoping to precipitate it, he said firmly:
“All of it, Laure! Speak the whole truth!”
With a sharp gesture, Madeleine uncovered her face in tears, stretched out her arms toward her aunt and pleaded in a fiery voice:
“Yes, tell the truth! Perhaps it will help you to destroy the frightful suspicion that you and I have of the man mentioned here.”
Jacques, after a violent shudder, commanded:
“Laure, speak! I beg you to speak to the father of Basilie, to reveal everything… everything!”
Stiff, her face pale, her eyes fixed but clear, with a lucid reason and firm will, Laure said slowly:
“Basilie has been in contact with Armand Logreux.”
Saint-Clair had been expecting this, and it did not come as a surprise. But he wondered why Laure and Madeleine had not revealed this to him during their conversation the day before. Out loud, he asked them as much. Without hesitation, Laure replied:
“I did not think of it.”
“Nor did I!” said Madeleine.
“We didn’t think of it,” explained Laure spontaneously, “because the fact dates from several months ago, and to our knowledge, the contact has not been renewed. In reality, we forgot to tell you because it had no connection in our minds with the mysterious evil of Beech Grove... Even when, in our darkest hours, Madeleine and I could not help but envy and hate, and even vaguely suspect, Basilie, when comparing her life to ours, we did not establish any connection between these nightmarish events and the fact that Basilie and Armand Logreux were one day seen together by Madeleine and I, riding side-by-side, chatting and laughing... No, no connection, no link... As for Basilie, when questioned and warned by me, she promised not to permit Monsieur Logreux to approach her again. Then Madeleine and I thought no more of it... There... Now you know as much as we do...”
“No!” spat Jacques d’Hermont, with such violence that Saint-Clair took his hand, clasped it and said in a quiet voice:
“Jacques, be calm. Let me question Laure and Madeleine, who, as you can see, are sincere and well-intentioned. Everything must be made clear between you three, in front of me. And everything will be. First, I will give your sister and your daughter a few minutes to calm down. Let me tell you in full the conversation I had with them yesterday morning.”
The Comte, composing himself, said in a simple tone:
“My dear friend, you told me nothing of this conversation yesterday, except that Laure and Madeleine had confided to you their secret thoughts. You added that you needed to reflect, and that you would speak of it in your own time...”
“Yes!” said Saint-Clair, letting go of his friend’s hand. “And it is clear that the hour has come. Here is what Laure and Madeleine revealed to me. Do not expect concrete facts. Their revelation consists entirely of the expression of a thought, a secret thought that Laure and Madeleine had at the same minute and that they communicated as one; a thought they came to believe from two observations: the first, that the mysterious evil of Beech Grove in no way affected Basilie; the second, that Basilie has liberated herself completely from all duties of faith and religious exercise. This thought that was, and perhaps still is, in their mind can be formulated in these words: To make us die, Basilie gave her soul to the Devil.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jacques, taken aback once again.
“Jacques, my friend,” said Saint-Clair softly, “do not lose yourself in your surprise. Keep your mind lucid. Everything has just begun. We must go toward the truth with a sure step and brains that work well. Keep your calm, your cool. Do you understand?”
“I understand you, my dear friend, and I obey. As for you, Laure and Madeleine, do not be afraid, for I will take care not to judge your actions, your thoughts, your acts, your way of being toward Basilie. Yes, I will take care not to judge, until the moment when the truth becomes obvious, irrefutable...”
The Comte had spoken in his ordinary voice, his body composed but not rigid, his face now expressing nothing but gravity, attention and kindness.
“Very good!” said the Nyctalope.
And, in this atmosphere less burdened by surprises and potential storms, he went on with calm, as if pursuing a conversation that was merely of academic interest and devoid of any mysterious, dramatic atmosphere:
“Laure, I beg of you, remind me the exact date, the circumstances...”
“Oh! It was more than a year ago!” replied the young woman, without hesitation. “It was in October ’23, on a very beautiful day in autumn, at around 10 a.m. I had the idea of climbing to the very top of the south tower with my grandfather’s old telescope, to amuse myself by looking into the distance at the farmers working in the fields, or the cars on the road from Le Mans and Tours. It was a childish whim, one of many I had at the time. Basilie had left on horseback, as she did almost every day. I called Madeleine and, laughing, invited her to take part in my whim, and I offered her first use of the telescope. She accepted...”
With this, Laure fell silent and looked at her niece. Madeleine, blushing a bit at first, then suddenly becoming very pale, continued in a feverishly animated voice:
“Yes. And all at once, I saw Basilie on her half-blood chestnut. To my great shock, she was not alone. At the pace of her horse, Basilie was advancing boot-to-boot with another rider. They were facing me, on the road from Dissay-sous-Courcillon to Saint-Christophe, on the section that stretches on beside the hillside for a long way. I cried out:
“ ‘Oh! Auntie, I see Basilie! She has a companion. Who is it? I don’t know him!’
“I remember very well that Aunt replied, laughing:
“ ‘So, does your sister have a secret flirtation? In the countryside! Who might it be?’”
Turning toward her aunt, Madeleine fell silent in her turn. At once, Madame Dauzet went on, with an excited expression:
“I took the telescope. Now, a few days before in Saint-Christophe, while I was chatting with Doctor Luvier in the square, a man had passed us by and greeted us politely… A man of forty to fifty years, who nicely filled his well-cut suit. I asked the doctor:
“ ‘Who is that?’
“ ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘you don’t know him. He’s recently returned from a long journey to China and Tibet. That is Monsieur Armand Logreux d’Albury, the chatelain of the Cross of Blood.’
“I said no more, except for a sound of surprise... and antipathy. For I kn
ew that the Logreux had always been estranged from the d’Hermonts, and that no relationship had existed between our families.
“Five minutes later, I had forgotten this gentleman. Nor did I think of him once during the days that followed this chance encounter. But through the clear round of the telescope, I suddenly recognized the riding companion of my niece Basilie: it was Armand Logreux!
“I was all the more astonished to see him laughing, speaking animatedly and making gestures, and seeing that Basilie replied in the same tone, with the same free, amused ease. I forgot to tell Madeleine, who asked me:
“ ‘Do you see them?’
“ ‘What is she doing with that man?’ I asked myself, while continuing to observe Basilie and Monsieur Logreux. Suddenly, where the road sloped down toward the Nais, the two riders disappeared behind an unbroken curtain of trees.
“I adjusted the telescope. Very disturbed, as well as perplexed, I said to Madeleine:
“ ‘I will ask Basilie. No doubt she was joined by that rider, who came up with who knows what excuse to speak with her. She must not have known who he is. I will tell her. This will not continue. But we must not tell your father, who will be irritated.’”
Once again, Laure fell silent. The silence continued, this time, for a long while. Madeleine kept her head lowered. Neither Jacques d’Hermont nor Saint-Clair, said a word. At last, looking straight at her brother, Laure Dauzet went on, with a calm will in her tone of voice and the pronunciation of her words:
“When Basilie returned, I questioned her. She answered without any trouble. It was as I had supposed. As she was returning at a light trot from Dissay, a rider had joined her at a gallop. Surprised, she had mechanically stopped her horse to let the stranger pass—a surprise as she had never met a rider in the country. The latter halted his beast and saluted, saying: