Chương Chương 2 · Chapter II

If there had been no crime, at least something extraordinary had taken

place at the chateau; the impassible justice might have been convinced

of it, as soon as he had stepped into the vestibule. The glass door

leading to the garden was wide open, and three of the panes were

shattered into a thousand pieces. The carpeting of waxed canvas between

the doors had been torn up, and on the white marble slabs large drops of

blood were visible. At the foot of the staircase was a stain larger than

the rest, and upon the lowest step a splash hideous to behold.

Unfitted for such spectacles, or for the mission he had now to perform,

M. Courtois became faint. Luckily, he borrowed from the idea of his

official importance, an energy foreign to his character. The more

difficult the preliminary examination of this affair seemed, the more

determined he was to carry it on with dignity.

"Conduct us to the place where you saw the body," said he to Bertaud.

But Papa Plantat intervened.

"It would be wiser, I think," he objected, "and more methodical, to

begin by going through the house."

"Perhaps--yes--true, that's my own view," said the mayor, grasping at

the other's counsel, as a drowning man clings to a plank. And he made

all retire excepting the brigadier and the valet de chambre, the latter

remaining to serve as guide. "Gendarmes," cried he to the men guarding

the gate, "see to it that no one goes out; prevent anybody from entering

the house, and above all, let no one go into the garden."

Then they ascended the staircase. Drops of blood were sprinkled all

along the stairs. There was also blood on the baluster, and M. Courtois

perceived, with horror, that his hands were stained.

When they had reached the first landing-stage, the mayor said to the

valet de chambre:

"Tell me, my friend, did your master and mistress occupy the same

chamber?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where is their chamber?"

"There, sir."

As he spoke, the valet de chambre staggered back terrified, and pointed

to a door, the upper panel of which betrayed the imprint of a bloody

hand. Drops of perspiration overspread the poor mayor's forehead. He too

was terrified, and could hardly keep on his feet. Alas, authority brings

with it terrible obligations! The brigadier, an old soldier of the

Crimea, visibly moved, hesitated.

M. Plantat alone, as tranquil as if he were in his garden, retained his

coolness, and looked around upon the others.

"We must decide," said he.

He entered the room; the rest followed.

There was nothing unusual in the apartment; it was a boudoir hung in

blue satin, furnished with a couch and four arm-chairs, covered also

with blue satin. One of the chairs was overturned.

They passed on to the bed-chamber.

A frightful disorder appeared in this room. There was not an article of

furniture, not an ornament, which did not betray that a terrible,

enraged and merciless struggle had taken place between the assassins and

their victims. In the middle of the chamber a small table was

overturned, and all about it were scattered lumps of sugar, vermilion

cups, and pieces of porcelain.

"Ah!" said the valet de chambre, "Monsieur and Madame were taking tea

when the wretches came in!"

The mantel ornaments had been thrown upon the floor; the clock, in

falling, had stopped at twenty minutes past three. Near the clock were

the lamps; the globes were in pieces, the oil had been spilled.

The canopy of the bed had been torn down, and covered the bed. Someone

must have clutched desperately at the draperies. All the furniture was

overturned. The coverings of the chairs had been hacked by strokes of a

knife, and in places the stuffing protruded. The secretary had been

broken open; the writing-slide, dislocated, hung by its hinges; the

drawers were open and empty, and everywhere, blood--blood upon the

carpet, the furniture, the curtains--above all, upon the bed-curtains.

"Poor wretches!" stammered the mayor. "They were murdered here."

Every one for a moment was appalled. But meanwhile, the justice of the

peace devoted himself to a minute scrutiny, taking notes upon his

tablets, and looking into every corner. When he had finished:

"Come," said he, "let us go into the other rooms."

Everywhere there was the same disorder. A band of furious maniacs, or

criminals seized with a frenzy, had certainly passed the night in the

house.

The count's library, especially, had been turned topsy-turvy. The

assassins had not taken the trouble to force the locks; they had gone to

work with a hatchet. Surely they were confident of not being overheard;

for they must have struck tremendous blows to make the massive oaken

bureau fly in pieces.

Neither parlor nor smoking-room had been respected. Couches, chairs,

canopies were cut and torn as if they had been lunged at with swords.

Two spare chambers for guests were all in confusion.

They then ascended to the second story.

There, in the first room which they penetrated, they found, beside a

trunk which had been assaulted, but which was not opened, a hatchet for

splitting wood which the valet de chambre recognized as belonging to the

house.

"Do you understand now?" said the mayor to M. Plantat. "The assassins

were in force, that's clear. The murder accomplished, they scattered

through the chateau, seeking everywhere the money they knew they would

find here. One of them was engaged in breaking open this trunk, when the

others, below, found the money; they called him; he hastened down, and

thinking all further search useless, he left the hatchet here."

"I see it," said the brigadier, "just as if I had been here."

The ground-floor, which they next visited, had been respected. Only,

after the crime had been committed, and the money secured, the murderers

had felt the necessity of refreshing themselves. They found the remains

of their supper in the dining-room. They had eaten up all the cold meats

left in the cupboard. On the table, beside eight empty bottles of wine

and liqueurs, were ranged five glasses.

"There were five of them," said the mayor.

By force of will, M. Courtois had recovered his self-possession.

"Before going to view the bodies," said he, "I will send word to the

procureur of Corbeil. In an hour, we will have a judge of instruction,

who will finish our painful task."

A gendarme was instructed to harness the count's buggy, and to hasten to

the procureur. Then the mayor and the justice, followed by the

brigadier, the valet de chambre, and the two Bertauds, took their way

toward the river.

The park of Valfeuillu was very wide from right to left. From the house

to the Seine it was almost two hundred steps. Before the house was a

grassy lawn, interspersed with flower-beds. Two paths led across the

lawn to the river-bank.

But the murderers had not followed the paths. Making a short cut, they

had gone straight across the lawn. Their traces were perfectly visible.

The grass was trampled and stamped down as if a heavy load had been

dragged over it. In the midst of the lawn they perceived something red;

M. Plantat went and picked it up. It was a slipper, which the valet de

chambre recognized as the count's. Farther on, they found a white silk

handkerchief, which the valet declared he had often seen around the

count's neck. This handkerchief was stained with blood.

At last they arrived at the river-bank, under the willows from which

Philippe had intended to cut off a branch; there they saw the body. The

sand at this place was much indented by feet seeking a firm support.

Everything indicated that here had been the supreme struggle.

M. Courtois understood all the importance of these traces.

"Let no one advance," said he, and, followed by the justice of the

peace, he approached the corpse. Although the face could not be

distinguished, both recognized the countess. Both had seen her in this

gray robe, adorned with blue trimmings.

Now, how came she there?

The mayor thought that having succeeded in escaping from the hands of

the murderers, she had fled wildly. They had pursued her, had caught up

with her there, and she had fallen to rise no more. This version

explained the traces of the struggle. It must have been the count's body

that they had dragged across the lawn.

M. Courtois talked excitedly, trying to impose his ideas on the justice.

But M. Plantat hardly listened; you might have thought him a hundred

leagues from Valfeuillu; he only responded by monosyllables--yes, no,

perhaps. And the worthy mayor gave himself great pains; he went and

came, measured steps, minutely scrutinized the ground.

There was not at this place more than a foot of water. A mud-bank, upon

which grew some clumps of flags and some water-lilies, descended by a

gentle decline from the bank to the middle of the river. The water was

very clear, and there was no current; the slippery and slimy mire could

be distinctly seen.

M. Courtois had gone thus far in his investigations, when he was struck

by a sudden idea.

"Bertaud," said he, "come here."

The old poacher obeyed.

"You say that you saw the body from your boat?"

"Yes, Monsieur Mayor."

"Where is your boat?"

"There, hauled up to that field."

"Well, lead us to it."

It was clear to all that this order had a great effect upon the man. He

trembled and turned pale under his rough skin, tanned as it was by sun

and storm. He was even seen to cast a menacing look toward his son.

"Let us go," said he at last.

They were returning to the house when the valet proposed to pass over

the ditch. "That will be the quickest way," said he, "I will go for a

ladder which we will put across."

He went off, and quickly reappeared with his improvised foot-bridge. But

at the moment he was adjusting it, the mayor cried out to him:

"Stop!"

The imprints left by the Bertauds on both sides of the ditch had just

caught his eye.

"What is this?" said he; "evidently someone has crossed here, and not

long ago; for the traces of the steps are quite fresh."

After an examination of some minutes he ordered that the ladder should

be placed farther off. When they had reached the boat, he said to Jean,

"Is this the boat with which you went to take up your nets this

morning?"

"Yes."

"Then," resumed M. Courtois, "what implements did you use? your cast net

is perfectly dry; this boat-hook and these oars have not been wet for

twenty-four hours."

The distress of the father and son became more and more evident.

"Do you persist in what you say, Bertaud?" said the mayor.

"Certainly."

"And you, Philippe?"

"Monsieur," stammered the young man, "we have told the truth."

"Really!" said M. Courtois, in an ironical tone. "Then you will explain

to the proper authorities how it was that you could see anything from a

boat which you had not entered. It will be proved to you, also, that the

body is in a position where it is impossible to see it from the middle

of the river. Then you will still have to tell what these foot-prints on

the grass are, which go from your boat to the place where the ditch has

been crossed several times and by several persons."

The two Bertauds hung their heads.

"Brigadier," ordered the mayor, "arrest these two men in the name of the

law, and prevent all communication between them."

Philippe seemed to be ill. As for old Jean, he contented himself with

shrugging his shoulders and saying to his son:

"Well, you would have it so, wouldn't you?"

While the brigadier led the two poachers away, and shut them up

separately, and under the guard of his men, the justice and the mayor

returned to the park. "With all this," muttered M. Courtois, "no traces

of the count."

They proceeded to take up the body of the countess. The mayor sent for

two planks, which, with a thousand precautions, they placed on the

ground, being able thus to move the countess without effacing the

imprints necessary for the legal examination. Alas! it was indeed she

who had been the beautiful, the charming Countess de Tremorel! Here were

her smiling face, her lovely, speaking eyes, her fine, sensitive mouth.

There remained nothing of her former self. The face was unrecognizable,

so soiled and wounded was it. Her clothes were in tatters. Surely a

furious frenzy had moved the monsters who had slain the poor lady! She

had received more than twenty knife-wounds, and must have been struck

with a stick, or rather with a hammer; she had been dragged by her feet

and by her hair!

In her left hand she grasped a strip of common cloth, torn, doubtless,

from the clothes of one of the assassins. The mayor, in viewing the

spectacle, felt his legs fail him, and supported himself on the arm of

the impassible Plantat.

"Let us carry her to the house," said the justice, "and then we will

search for the count."

The valet and brigadier (who had now returned) called on the domestics

for assistance. The women rushed into the garden. There was then a

terrible concert of cries, lamentations, and imprecations.

"The wretches! So noble a mistress! So good a lady!"

M. and Mme. de Tremorel, one could see, were adored by their people.

The countess had just been laid upon the billiard-table, on the

ground-floor, when the judge of instruction and a physician were

announced.

"At last!" sighed the worthy mayor; and in a lower tone he added, "the

finest medals have their reverse."

For the first time in his life, he seriously cursed his ambition, and

regretted being the most important personage in Orcival.