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[from THE MAN IN GREY,
George H. Doran, New York (1919)]
CHAPTER III
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE VAILLANT
I
AFTER the capture
of the Spaniard at Chéron's farm on that dark
night, M. Lefèvre realised that when M. le Duc
d'Otrante sent down that insignificant- Henceforward M. Lefèvre became
the faithful panegyrist and henchman of the Minister's
anonymous agent. He haunted the latter's apartments in
the Rue de France, he was significantly silent when the
Man in Grey was sneered and jeered at in the higher
official circles, and, what is more, when M. Leblanc,
sous-préfet of Bourg-le-Roi, had such grave
misgivings about his children's governess, it was the
commissary who advised him to go for counsel and
assistance to the mysterious personage who enjoyed the
special confidence and favour of M. le Due d'Otrante
himself.
M. Leblanc, who had an inordinate belief
in his own perspicacity, fought for some time against
the suggestion; but, after a while, the mystery which
surrounded Mademoiselle Vaillant reached such a
bewildering stage, whilst remaining outside the scope
of police interference, that he finally decided to take
his friend's advice, and, one morning, about the end of
November, he presented himself at the lodgings in
Alençon occupied by the accredited agent of His
Majesty's Minister of Police.
Of a truth M. Leblanc was singularly
agitated. His usually correct, official attitude had
given place to a kind of febrile excitement which he
was at great pains to conceal. He had just left Madame
Leblanc in a state of grave anxiety, and he himself,
though he would not have owned to it for the world, did
not know what to make of the whole affair. But he did
not intend that his own agitation should betray him
into a loss of dignity in the presence of the little
upstart from Paris; so, after the formal greetings, he
sat down and plunged into a maze of conversational
subjects -- books, the theatres, the war, the victories
of the Emperor and the rumoured alliance with the
Austrian Archduchess -- until the Man in Grey's quiet
monotone broke in on the flow of his eloquence with a
perfectly polite query:
"Has Monsieur le Sous-Préfet,
then, honoured me with a visit at this early hour for
the purpose of discussing the politics of the day?"
"Partly, my good Monsieur Fernand,
partly," replied the sous-préfet airily. "I
desired that we should become more closely acquainted
-- and," he added, as if with an after-thought, "I
desired to put before you a small domestic matter which
has greatly perturbed Madame Leblanc, and which, I
confess, does appear even to me as something of a
mystery."
"I am entirely at Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet's service," rejoined the Man in Grey
without the ghost of a smile.
"Oh! I dare say," continued M. Leblanc
in that offhand manner which had become the rule among
the officials of the district when dealing with the
secret agent, "I dare say that when I think the matter
over, I shall be quite able to deal with it myself. At
the same time, the facts are certainly mysterious, and
I doubt not but that they will interest you, even if
they do not come absolutely within the sphere of your
province."
This time the Man in Grey offered no
remark. He waited for M. le Sous-Préfet to
proceed.
"As no doubt you know, Monsieur
Fernand," resumed M. Leblanc after a slight pause, "I
own a small house and property near Bourg-le-Roi, some
eight kilomètres from this city, where my wife
and children live all the year round and where I spend
as much of my leisure as I can spare from my onerous
duties here. The house is called Les Colombiers. It is
an old Manor, which belonged to the Comtes de Mamers, a
Royalist family who emigrated at the outset of the
Revolution and whose properties were sold for the
benefit of the State. The Mamers have remained -- as
perhaps you know -- among the irreconcilables. His
Majesty the Emperor's clemency did not succeed in
luring them away from England, where they have settled;
and I, on the other hand, have continued in undisputed
possession of a charming domain. The old moated house
is of great archæological and historical
interest. It stands in the midst of a well-timbered
park, is well secluded from the road by several acres
of dense coppice, and it is said that, during the
religious persecutions instituted by Charles IX at the
instigation of his abominable mother, Les Colombiers
was often the refuge of Huguenots, and the
rallying-point for the followers of the proscribed
faith. As I myself," continued M. Leblanc with
conscious pride, "belong to an old Huguenot family, you
will readily understand, my good Monsieur Fernand, that
I feel an additional interest in Les Colombiers."
Pausing for a moment, the,
sous-préfet readjusted the set of his neckcloth,
crossed one shapely leg over the other and added with
an affable air of condescension:
"I trust that I am not trespassing upon
your valuable time, my dear friend, by recounting these
seemingly irrelevant, but quite necessary details."
"On the contrary, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," rejoined the Man in Grey quietly,
"I am vastly and, I may say, respectfully interested."
Thus encouraged, M. Leblanc boldly
continued his narrative.
"My household," he said, "consists, I
must tell you, of my wife and myself and my two
children -- a boy and a girl -- Adèle, aged
fourteen, and Ernest, just over twelve. I keep a couple
of men and two maids indoors, and three or four men in
the garden. Finally, there is my children's governess,
Marie Vaillant. She came to us last summer warmly
recommended by Monseigneur the Constitutional Bishop of
Alençon, and it is her conduct which of late has
so gravely disquieted Madame Leblanc and myself.
"But you shall judge.
"At first my wife and I had every reason
to congratulate ourselves on having secured such a
competent, refined and charming woman to preside over
the education of our children. Marie Vaillant was gay,
pretty and full of spirits. The children loved her,
especially Ernest, who set his entire childish
affections upon his young and attractive governess.
During the summer lessons were done out of doors, and
long expeditions were undertaken in the woods, whence
Ernest and Adèle would return, hot, tired and
happy. They had played at being explorers in virgin
forests, so they told their mother.
"It was only when the evenings waxed
longer," continued the sous-préfet, in a tone of
growing embarrassment, now that he was nearing the
climax of his story, "that Mademoiselle Vaillant
suddenly changed. She developed a curious proclivity
for promiscuous coquetry."
"Coquetry?" broke in the secret agent
with a smile.
"Yes! Marie began to flirt --
shamelessly, openly, with every man she came across,
visitors, shop-keepers, friends and gardeners. She
exercised an almost weird fascination over them; one
and all would anticipate her slightest wish; in fact,
the men about the house and grounds of Les Colombiers
appeared to be more her servants than ours. Moreover,
she made an absolute fool of our butler, Lavernay -- a
middle-aged man who ought to have known better. He has
not only pursued Mademoiselle Vaillant with his
attentions but also with his jealousy, until Madame
Leblanc felt that her whole household was becoming the
laughing-stock of the neighbourhood."
"And have you or Madame Leblanc done
anything in the matter?" asked the Man in Grey, while
M. le Sous-Préfet paused to draw breath.
"Oh,yes! Madame spoke to the girl and I
trounced Lavernay. Marie was humble and apologetic and
Lavernay very contrite. Both promised to be discreet
and sensible in future. At the same time I confess that
I was not at all reassured. Within a fortnight we heard
through the gossip of a busybody that Marie Vaillant
was in the habit of stealing out of the house in the
evenings, at an hour when respectable people should be
in bed, and after five minutes' start she was usually
followed on these peregrinations by the butler. There
was no doubt about the whole thing: even our sergeant
of police had witnessed these clandestine meetings and
bad reported the matter to the local commissary.
"There was nothing for it now but to
dismiss the flirtatious governess as quickly as
possible. I may say that Madame Leblanc, who had been
genuinely fond of the girl, acquitted herself of the
task with remarkable tact and gentleness. Marie
Vaillant, indeed, belied her name when she received the
news of her dismissal. She begged and implored my
wife's forgiveness, swore by all she could think of
that she had only erred from ignorance; she had no
thought of doing wrong; she was innocent of anything
but the merest flirtation. Fond of breathing the
midnight air which was so balmy and sweet in the woods,
she had lately got into the habit of strolling out when
she could not sleep and sitting for an hour or so
dreaming among the trees. She admitted that once or
twice she had been followed by Lavernay, had been very
angry with him, and bad seriously rebuked him; but it
should never, never happen again -- she vowed and swore
it should not -- if only Madame would forgive her and
not send her away from Les Colombiers which was like a
home to her, and from Ernest and Adèle whom she loved
as if they were her brother and sister.
"But Madame Leblanc was inexorable.
Perhaps she felt that quite so much ignorance of the
ways of the world and the decorum prescribed to every
well educated woman was not altogether credible;
perhaps she thought that the lady did protest too much.
Certain it is that though she went back on her original
pronouncement that the girl must leave the house within
twenty-four hours, she refused to consider the question
of allowing her to remain permanently.
"It was finally agreed that Marie
Vaillant should leave Les Colombiers at the end of the
month; but that at the slightest transgression or
repetition of the old offence she would be dismissed
with contumely and turned out of the house at an hour's
notice.
"This happened exactly a fortnight ago,"
went on M. Leblanc, who was at last drawing to the end
of what had proved a lengthy soliloquy; "and I may tell
you that since then Mademoiselle Vaillant has grown the
model of all the proprieties. Sober, demure,
well-conducted, she has fulfilled her duties with a
conscientiousness which is beyond praise. When those
heavy rains set in a week ago, outdoor life at once
became impossible. Adèle and Ernest took seriously to
their books and Mademoiselle devoted herself to them in
a manner which has been absolutely exemplary. She has
literally given up her whole time to their welfare, not
only -- so Madame Leblanc tells me -- by helping with
their clothes, but she has even taken certain menial
tasks upon herself which are altogether outside her
province as a governess. She has relieved the servants
by attending to the children's bedroom; she had been
making their beds and even washing their stockings and
pocket handkerchiefs. She asked to be allowed to do
these things in order to distract her mind from the
sorrow caused by Madame's displeasure.
"Of course, I gave Lavernay a stern
scolding; but he swore to me that though he had
followed Mademoiselle during her evening walks, he had
done it mostly without her knowledge and always without
her consent; a fit of his former jealousy had seized
him, but she had reprimanded him very severely and
forbidden him ever to dog her footsteps again. After
that he, too, appeared to turn over a new leaf. It
seemed as if his passion for Marie was beginning to
burn itself out, and that we could look forward once
again to the happy and peaceful days of the summer."
II
M. le Sous-Préfet had talked
uninterruptedly for a quarter of an hour; his pompous,
somewhat laboured diction and his loud voice had put a
severe strain upon him. The Man in Grey had been an
ideal listener. With his eyes fixed on M. Leblanc, he
had sat almost motionless, not losing a single word of
the prolix recital, and even now when the
sous-préfet paused -- obviously somewhat
exhausted -- he did not show the slightest sign of
flagging interest.
"Now, my good Monsieur Fernand," resumed
M. Leblanc, with something of his habitual,
condescending manner, "will you tell me if there is
anything in what I have just told you -- I fear me at
great length -- that is not perfectly simple and even
stereotyped? A young and pretty girl coming into a
somewhat old-fashioned and dull household and finding a
not altogether commendable pleasure in turning the
heads of every susceptible man she meets! Indiscretions
follow and the gossips of the neighbourhood are set
talking. Admonished by her mistress, the girl is almost
broken-hearted; she begs for forgiveness and at once
sets to work to re-establish herself in the good graces
of her employers. I dare say you are surprised that I
should have been at such pains to recount to you a
series of commonplace occurrences. But what to an
ordinary person would appear in the natural order of
things, strikes me as not altogether normal. I mistrust
the girl. I do not believe in her contrition, still
less in her reformation. Moreover, what worries me, and
worries Madame Leblanc still more, is the amazing
ascendency which Marie Vaillant exercises over our boy
Ernest. She seems to be putting forth her fullest
powers of fascination -- I own that they are great --
to cementing the child's affection for her. For the
last few weeks the boy has become strangely nervy,
irritable and jealous. He follows Marie wherever she
goes, and hangs upon her lips when she speaks. So much
so that my wife and I look forward now with dread to
the day of parting. When Marie goes I do verily believe
that Ernest, who is a very highly-strung child, will
fall seriously ill with grief."
Again M. Leblanc paused. A look of
genuine alarm had overspread his otherwise vapid face.
Clearly he was a man deeply attached to his children
and, despite his fatuous officiousness, was not
prepared to take any risks where their welfare was
concerned. He mopped his face with his handkerchief,
and for the first time since the beginning of the
interview he threw a look of almost pathetic appeal on
the agent of the Minister of Police.
"Otherwise, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," said the latter, meeting that look
of appeal with a quiet smile, "has nothing occurred to
justify your mistrust of Mademoiselle Vaillant's good
intentions?"
"Nothing at all," replied M. Leblanc
with a nervous hesitation which belied his emphatic
words, "except a vague sense of uneasiness -- the
unnatural quiet which came so quickly in the wake of
the storm of a fortnight ago; and, as I say, the
extraordinary pains which the girl has taken to
captivate the boy: so much so in fact that, thinking
perhaps Marie still entertained hopes of our complete
forgiveness and thought of using the child as an
intermediary with us to allow her to remain, Madame
Leblanc at my suggestion spoke yesterday very firmly to
the girl, and told her that whatever happened our
determination was irrevocable. We felt that we could
trust her no longer and go she must."
"And how did Mademoiselle Vaillant take
this final decision?" asked the police agent.
"With extraordinary self-possession.
Beyond a humble 'Very well, Madame,' she never spoke a
word during the brief interview. But in the evening,
long after the children should have been in bed, Anne
-- my wife's confidential maid -- happened to be in the
passage outside Mademoiselle's room, the door of which
was ajar. She distinctly heard Marie's voice raised in
almost passionate supplication: 'Ernest, my darling
little Ernest!' she was saying, 'will you always love
me as you do now?' And the child answered fervently: 'I
will always love you, my darling Marie. I would do
anything for you -- I would gladly die for you ----'
and so on -- just the sort of exalté
nonsense which a highly-strung, irresponsible child
would talk. Anne did not hear any more then, but
remained on the watch in a dark corner of the passage.
Quite half an hour later, if not more, she saw Ernest
slipping out of the governess's room clad only in his
little nightgown and slippers and going back to his own
room. This incident, which Anne reported faithfully to
her mistress and to me, has caused my wife such anxiety
that I determined to consult someone whom I could
trust, and see whether the whole affair struck an
impartial mind with the same ominous significance which
it bears for me. My choice fell upon you, my dear
Monsieur Fernand," concluded the sous-préfet
with a return to his former lofty condescension. "I
don't like to introduce gossiping neighbours into my
private affairs and I know enough about you to be
convinced of your absolute discretion, as well as of
your undoubted merits."
The Man in Grey accepted M. Leblanc's
careless affability with the same unconcern that he had
displayed under the latter's somewhat contemptuous
patronage. He said nothing for a moment or two,
remaining apparently absorbed in his own thoughts.
Then he turned to his visitor and in a quiet,
professional manner, which nevertheless carried with it
an unmistakable air of authority, intimated to him, by
rising from his chair, that the interview was now at an
end.
"I thank you, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," he said, "both for the confidence
which you have reposed in me, and for your clear
exposé of the present situation in your
household. For the moment I should advise you to leave
all your work in the city, which is not of national
importance, and go straight back to Les Colombiers.
Madame Leblanc should not be left to face alone any
difficulties which may arise. At the same time, should
any fresh development occur, I beg that you will either
send for me or come to me at once. I place myself
entirely at your disposal."
He did not hold out his hand, only stood
quietly beside his desk; but there was no mistaking the
attitude, or the almost imperceptible inclination of
the head. M. Leblanc was dismissed, and he was not
accustomed to seeing himself and his affairs set aside
so summarily. A sharp retort almost escaped him; but a
glance from those enigmatic eyes checked the haughty
words upon his lips. He became suddenly and
unaccountably embarrassed, seeking for a phrase which
would disguise the confusion he felt.
"My good Monsieur Fernand ----" he began
haltingly.
"My time is valuable, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," interposed the Man in Grey; "and
at Les Colombiers your son's welfare is perhaps even
now at stake."
M. Leblanc -- awed and subdued despite
himself -- had no choice but to make as dignified an
exit as was possible in the circumstances.
III
It was barely eight o'clock the next
morning when M. Leblanc made an excited and noisy
irruption into the apartments of the secret agent of
the Minister of Police. The Man in Grey had risen
betimes; had brewed himself a cup of coffee and
partaken of breakfast. The tray stood on a table beside
him, and he was at the moment engaged in the perusal of
the newest copy of the Moniteur.
At sight of his visitor he quietly
folded and put down his paper. M. Leblanc had literally
staggered into the room. He wore riding breeches and
boots and his clothes were covered with mud; he had
ridden hard and fast, and though his face was deathly
pale it was covered with perspiration. His lips were
quivering and his eyes had a look of horror and fear
which almost resembled madness.
The Man in Grey led him, firmly and
gently, to a seat. Without a word he went to a
cupboard, took out a flask and a mug and forced a few
drops of brandy down the sous-préfet's throat.
The latter's teeth were chattering and, through his
trembling lips, there came a few hoarsely whispered
words:
"My son -- my child -- he has gone --
Oh, my God!"
After he had drunk the brandy, he became
a little more composed. He lay back in his chair, with
eyes closed, and for a moment it seemed as if he had
lost consciousness, for his lips were bloodless and his
face was the colour of dead ashes. Presently he opened
his eyes and rested them on the small grey figure which
stood, quietly expectant, before him.
"My son," he murmured more distinctly.
"Ernest -- he has gone!"
"Try to tell me coherently what has
happened," said the Man in Grey in a quiet tone, which
had the effect of further soothing M. Leblanc's
overstrung nerves.
After a great effort of will the
unfortunate man was able to pull himself together. He
was half demented with grief, and it was blind,
unreasoning instinct that had led him to seek out the
one man who might help him in his trouble. With
exemplary patience, the police agent dragged from the
unfortunate man, bit by bit, a more or less
intelligible account of the extraordinary sequence of
events which had culminated a few hours ago in such a
mysterious and appalling tragedy.
Matters, it seemed, had been brought to
a climax through the agency of feminine gossip, and it
was Ma'ame Margot, the wife of one of the labourers,
who did the washing for the household at Les
Colombiers, who precipitated the catastrophe.
Ma'ame Margot had brought the washing
home on the previous afternoon and stopped to have a
cup of coffee and a chat in the kitchen of the house.
In the course of conversation she drew the attention of
Anne, Madame Leblanc's maid, to the condition of
Monsieur Ernest's underclothes.
"I have done my best with it," she said,
"but I told Mademoiselle Vaillant that I was afraid the
stains would never come out. She had tried to wash the
things herself before she thought of sending them to
me. Whoever heard," added the worthy soul indignantly,
"of letting a child of Monsieur Ernest's age go running
about like that in the wet and the mud? Why, he must
have been soaked through to his waist to get his things
in that state."
Later Anne spoke to Mme. Leblanc of what
the laundrywoman had said. Madame frowned, greatly
puzzled. She had positively forbidden the children to
go out while the heavy rains lasted. She sent for
Ma'ame Margot, who was bold enough to laugh outright
when Madame told her that she did not understand about
Monsieur Ernest's things being so stained with wet and
mud, as the children had not been out since the heavy
rains had started.
"Not been out?" ejaculated Ma'ame
Margot, quite as puzzled as her lady. "Why! my man,
when he was looking after the sick cow the other night,
saw Monsieur Ernest out with the governess. It was past
midnight then and the rain coming down in torrents, and
my man, he says to me ----"
"Thank you, Ma'ame Margot," broke in
Madame Leblanc, "that will do."
She waited quietly until the
laundrywoman was out of the house, then she sent for
Mademoiselle Vaillant. This time no prayers, no
protestations would avail. The girl must leave the
house not later than the following morning. What her
object could have been in dragging her young pupil with
her on her nocturnal expeditions Madame Leblanc could
not of course conjecture; did she take the child with
her as a chaperon on her meetings with Lavernay, or
what? Well, whatever her motive, the girl was not a fit
person to be in charge of young children and go she
must, decided Madame definitely.
This occurred late yesterday afternoon.
Strangely enough, Marie Vaillant took her dismissal
perfectly calmly. She offered neither explanation nor
protest. Beyond a humble "Very well, Madame!" she never
said a word during this final interview with her
employer, who, outraged and offended at the girl's
obstinacy and ingratitude, ordered her to pack up her
things and leave the house early next morning, when a
carriage would be ready to take her and her effects to
Alençon.
Early this morning, not two hours ago in
fact, Anne had come running into Madame Leblanc's room
with a scared white face, saying that Monsieur Ernest
was not in his room and was nowhere to be found. He
appeared to have slipped on the clothes which he had
worn the previous night, as these were missing from
their usual place.
Terribly alarmed, M. Leblanc had sent
Anne to bring Mademoiselle Vaillant to him immediately;
but Anne returned within a couple of minutes with the
news that Mademoiselle had also disappeared. The house
was scoured from attic to cellar, the gardens were
searched, and the outdoor labourers started to drag the
moat. Madame Leblanc, beside herself with dread, had
collapsed, half fainting, in the hall, where Anne was
administering restoratives to her. Monsieur Leblanc had
ordered his horse, determined at once to inform the
police. He was standing at his dressing-room window,
putting on his riding clothes when he saw Marie
Vaillant running as fast as ever she could across the
garden towards the house. Her dress clung wet and muddy
round her legs, her hair was streaming down her back,
and she held out her arms in front of her as she ran.
Indeed, she looked more mad than sane, and there was
such a look of fear and horror in her face and about
her whole appearance, that the servants -- stupid and
scared -- stood by gaping like gabies, not attempting
to run after her. In a moment M. Leblanc -- his mind
full of horrible foreboding -- had flung out of his
dressing-room, determined to intercept the woman and to
wring from her an admission of what she had done with
the boy.
He ran down the main staircase, as he
had seen Marie make straight for the chief entrance
hall, but, presumably checked in her wild career, the
girl had suddenly turned off after she had crossed the
bridge over the moat, and must have dashed into the
house by one of the side doors, for at the moment that
M. Leblanc reached the hall he could hear her tearing
helter-skelter up the uncarpeted service stairs. No one
so far had attempted to stop her. M. Leblanc now called
loudly to the servants to arrest this mad woman in her
flight; there was a general scrimmage, but before
anyone could reach the top landing, Marie had darted
straight into her employers' bedroom and had locked and
bolted the heavy door.
"You may imagine," concluded the
unfortunate sous-préfet, who had been at great
pains to give his narrative some semblance of
coherence, "that I was the first to bang against the
bedroom door and to demand admittance of the wretched
creature. At first there was no reply, but through the
solid panelling we could hear a distinct and steady
hammering which seemed to come from the farther end of
the room. All the doors in the old house are
extraordinarily heavy, but the one that gives on my
wife's and my bedroom is of unusually massive oak with
enormous locks and bars of iron and huge iron hinges. I
felt that it would be futile to try to break it open,
and, frankly, I was not a little doubtful as to what
the wretched woman might do if brought to bay. The
windows of the bedroom as well as those of the
dressing-room adjoining give directly on the moat,
which at this point is over three métres deep.
Placing two of the men-servants on guard outside the
door, with strict orders not to allow the woman to
escape, I made my way into the garden and took my stand
opposite the bedroom windows. I had the width of the
moat between me and the house. The waters lapped the
solid grey walls and for the first time since I have
lived at Les Colombiers, the thought of the old Manor,
with its lurking holes for unfortunate Huguenots,
struck my heart with a sense of coldness and gloom. Up
above Marie Vaillant had already taken the precaution
of fastening the shutters; it was impossible to imagine
what she could be doing, locked up in that room, or why
she should refuse to come out, unless ----"
The stricken father closed his eyes as
he hinted at this awful possibility; a shiver went
through him.
"A ladder ----" suggested the Man in
Grey.
"Impossible!" replied M. Leblanc. "The
moat on that side is over eight mètres wide. I
had thought of that. I thought of everything; I racked
my brains. Think of it, sir! My boy Ernest gone, and
his whereabouts probably only known to that mad woman
up there!"
"Your butler Lavernay?" queried the Man
in Grey.
"It was when I realised my helplessness
that I suddenly thought of him," replied the
sous-préfet; "but no one had seen
him. He too had disappeared."
Then suddenly the full force of his
misery rushed upon him. He jumped to his feet and
seized the police agent by the coat sleeve.
"I entreat you, Monsieur Fernand," he
exclaimed in tones of pitiable entreaty, "do not let us
waste any more time. We'll call at the commissariat of
police first and get Lefèvre to follow hard on
our heels with a posse of police. I beg of you to come
at once!"
Gently the Man in Grey disengaged his
arm from the convulsive grasp of the other. "By your
leave," he said, "we will not call in a posse of police
just yet. Remember your own fears! Brought to bay,
Marie Vaillant, if indeed she has some desperate deed
to conceal, might jump into the moat and take the
secret of your boy's whereabouts with her to her
grave."
"My God, you are right!" moaned the
unfortunate man. "What can I do? In Heaven's name tell
me what to do."
"For the moment we'll just go quietly to
Les Colombiers together. I always keep a horse ready
saddled for emergencies at the 'Trois Rois' inn close
by. Do you get to horse and accompany me thither."
"But ----"
"I pray you, sir, do not argue," broke
in the police agent curtly. "Every minute has become
precious."
And silently M. Leblanc obeyed. He had a
at once grown as tractable as a child. The dominating
personality of that little Man in Grey had entire
possession of him now, of his will and understanding.
IV
The first part of the cross-country ride
was accomplished in silence. M. Leblanc was in a
desperate hurry to get on; he pushed his horse along
with the eagerness of intense anxiety. For awhile the
police agent kept up with him in silence, then suddenly
he called a peremptory "Halt!"
"Your horse will give out, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," he said. "Allow him to walk for
awhile. There are two or three questions I must put to
you before we arrive at Les Colombiers."
M. Leblanc obeyed and set his horse to a
walk. Of a truth he was more worn-out that his steed.
"Firstly, tell me what kind of fireplace
you have in your bedroom," said the other abruptly, and
with such strange irrelevance that the
sous-préfet stared at him.
"Why," he replied submissively, "there
is a fine old chimney, as there is in every room in the
house."
"You have had a fire in it lately?"
"Oh, every day. The weather has been
very cold."
"And what sort of bed do you sleep in?"
"An old-fashioned fourpost bedstead,"
replied M. Leblanc, more and more puzzled at these
extraordinary questions, "which I believe has been in
the house for two or three hundred years. It is the
only piece of the original furniture left; everything
else was sold by Monsieur de Mamers' agent before the
State confiscated the house. I don't know why the
bedstead was allowed to remain; probably because it is
so uncommonly heavy and is also screwed to the floor."
"Thank you. That is interesting,"
rejoined the police agent drily. "And now, tell me,
what is the nearest house to yours that is of similar
historical interest?"
"An old sixteenth-century house, you
mean?"
"Yes."
"There is none at Bourg-le-Roi. If you
remember, the town itself is comparatively modern, and
every traveller will tell you that Les Colombiers is
the only interesting piece of mediæval
architecture in the neighbourhood. Of course, there are
the ruins at Saut-de-Biche."
"The ruins at Saut-de-Biche?"
"Yes. In the woods, about half a
kilomètre from Les Colombiers. They are supposed
to be the remains of the old farmhouse belonging to the
Manor; but only two or three walls are left standing. A
devastating fire razed the place to the ground some ten
years ago; since then the roof has fallen in, and the
town council of Bourg-le-Roi has been using some of the
stone for building the new town hall. The whole thing
is just a mass of débris and charred wood."
While the two men were talking the time
had gone by swiftly enough. Alençon was soon
left far behind; ahead, close by, lay the coppice which
sheltered Les Colombiers. Some twenty minutes later the
two men drew rein in the fine old courtyard of the
ancient Manor. At a call from M. Leblanc one of his men
rushed out of the house to hold the horses and to aid
his master to dismount. The Man in Grey was already on
his feet
"What news?" he asked of the man.
The latter shrugged his shoulders. There
was no change at Les Colombiers. The two labourers were
still on sentry guard outside the bedroom door, whilst
the indoor servant, with the head gardener, had
remained down below by the side of the moat, staring up
at the shuttered windows, and revelling in all the
horrors which the aspect of the dark waters and of the
windows above, behind which no doubt the mad woman was
crouching, helped to conjure up before their sluggish
minds.
Madame Leblanc was still lying on a
couch in the hall, prostrate with grief. No one had
caught sight of Marie Vaillant within her stronghold,
and there was no sign either of M. Ernest or of the
butler Lavernay.
Without protest or opposition on the
part of the master of the house, the Man in Grey had
taken command of the small army of scared domestics.
"Monsieur le Sous-Préfet," he
said, "before I can help you in this matter, I must
make a hurried inspection of your domain, I shall
require three of your men to come with me. They must
come armed with a stout joist, with pickaxes and a few
heavy tools. You yourself and your women servants must
remain on guard outside the bedroom door. Should Marie
Vaillant attempt a sortie, seize her and, above all,
see she does not do herself an injury. Your head
gardener and indoor man must remain by the moat. I
presume they can swim."
"Swim?" queried M. Leblanc vaguely.
"Why, yes! There is still the
possibility of the girl trying to drown herself and her
secret in the moat." M. Leblanc promised most earnestly
that he would obey the police agent's commands to the
letter, and the Man in Grey, followed by the three
labourers who carried their picks, a bag of tools and a
stout joist, started on his way. Swiftly crossing the
bridge over, the moat, he strode rapidly across the
park and plunged into the coppice. Then only did he ask
the men to precede him.
"Take me straight to the ruins at
Saut-de-Biche," he said.
The men obeyed, not pausing to reflect
what could be the object of this little man in the grey
coat in going to look at a pile of broken stone walls,
while M. le Sous-Préfet was half demented with
anxiety and a mad woman might either set fire to the
whole house or do herself some terrible injury. They
walked on in silence closely followed by the accredited
representative of His Imperial Majesty's Minister of
Police.
Within ten minutes the ruined farmhouse
came in sight. It stood in the midst of a wide
clearing; the woods which stretched all round it were
so dense that even in mid-winter they screened it from
the road. There was but little of the original
structure left; a piece of wall like a tall arm
stretching upwards to the skies, another forming an
angle, some loose pieces of stone lying about in the
midst of a medley of broken and charred wood, cracked
tiles and twisted pieces of metal. The whole place had
an aspect of unspeakable desolation. All round the
ruined walls a forest of brambles, dead gorse and broom
had sprung up, rendering access to the house very
difficult. For a moment or two the Man in Grey paused,
surveying the surroundings with a keen, experienced
eye. At a slight distance from him on the right, the
gorse and bramble had apparently been hacked away in
order to make a passage practicable to human feet.
Without hesitation Fernand, ordering the three men to
follow him, struck into this narrow track which, as he
surmised, led straight to the ruins. He skirted the
upstanding wall, until an opening in the midst of the
big masses of stone enabled him to reach what was once
the interior of the house. Here progress became very
difficult; the débris from the fallen roof
littered the ground and there was grave danger of a
hidden chasm below, where the cellars may have been.
The Man in Grey peered round him
anxiously. Presently an exclamation of satisfaction
rose to his lips. He called to the men. A few feet away
from where he was standing the whole débris
seemed to have been lately considerably augmented.
Right in the midst of a pile of burned wood, tiles and
metal, a large stone was embedded. It had evidently
been very recently detached from the high upstanding
wall, and had fallen down amidst a shower of the
decayed mortar, wet earth, and torn lichen and moss,
which littered the place.
In obedience to the commands of the Man
in Grey, the labourers took up their picks, and set to
work to clear the débris around the fallen
stone, the police agent standing dose by, watching
them. They had not done more than bury their tools once
in the litter of earth and mortar, when their picks
encountered something soft.
"Drop your tools," commanded the Man in
Grey.
"Your hands will suffice to unearth what
lies below." It was the body of a man crushed almost
past recognition by the weight of the fallen masonry.
The labourers extricated it from the fragments of wood
and metal and dragged it into the open.
"By his clothes," said one of the men,
in answer to a peremptory query from the Man in Grey,
"I guess he must be the butler, François
Lavernay."
The secret agent made no comment. Not a
line of his pale, colourless face betrayed the emotion
he felt -- the emotion of the sleuth-hound which knows
that it is on the track of its quarry. He ordered the
body to be decorously put on one side and took off his
own loose mantle to throw over it. Then he bade the men
resume their work. They picked up their tools again and
tried to clear the rubbish all round the fallen stone.
"We must move that stone from its
place," the man in the grey coat had said, and the
labourers, impelled by that air of assurance and
authority which emanated from the insignificant little
figure, set to with a will. Having cleared the
débris , they put their shoulders to the stone,
helped by the secret agent whose strength appeared out
of all proportion to his slender frame. By and by the
stone became dislodged and, with another effort, rolled
over an its flat side. After that it was easy to move
it some three or four feet farther on.
"That will do!" commanded the Man in
Grey.
Underneath the stone there now appeared
a square flat slab of granite embedded into the soil
with cement and concrete. One piece of this slab had
seemingly been cut or chiselled away and then removed,
displaying a cavity about a foot and a half square. In
the centre of the slab was an iron ring to which a rope
was attached, the other end being lost within the
cavity.
The labourers were staring at their find
open-mouthed; but the secret agent was already busy
hauling up the rope. The end of it was formed into a
loop not large enough to pass over a man's shoulders.
"Just as I thought," he muttered between his teeth.
Then he lay down on his stomach and with
his head just over the small cavity he shouted a loud
"Hallo!" From down below there came no answer save a
dull, resounding echo. Again and again the Man in Grey
shouted his loud "Hallo!" into the depths, but,
eliciting no reply, at last he struggled to his feet.
"Now then, my men," he said, "I am going
to leave you here to work away at this slab. It has got
to be removed within an hour."
The men examined the cement which held
the heavy stone in its place.
"It will take time," one of them said.
"This cement is terribly hard; we shall have to chip
every bit of it away."
"You must do your best," said the Man in
Grey earnestly. "A human life may depend on your toil.
You will have no cause to grumble at the reward when
your work is done. For reasons which I cannot explain,
I may not bring any strangers to help you. So work away
as hard as you can. I will return in about an hour with
Monsieur le Sous-Préfet." He waited to see the
men swing their picks, then turned on his heel and
started to walk back the way he came.
It was nearly two hours before the slab
of granite was finally removed from its place. M. le
Sous-Préfet was standing by with the Man in Grey
when the stone was hoisted up and turned over. It
disclosed a large cavity with, at one end of it, a
flight of stone steps leading downwards.
"Now then, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," said the police agent quietly,
"will you follow me?" M. Leblanc's face was ghastly in
its pallor. The sudden hope held out to him by the Man
in Grey had completely unnerved him. "Are you sure
----" he murmured.
"That we shall find Monsieur Ernest down
there?" broke in the other, as he pointed to the
hollow. "Well, Monsieur le Sous-Préfet, I wish I
were equally sure of a fortune!"
He had a lighted lantern in his hand and
began to descend the stone stairs, closely followed by
the sous-préfet. The labourers above were
resting after their heavy toil. They could not
understand all they had seen, and their slow wits would
probably never grasp the full significance of their
strange adventure. While in the depths below the Man in
Grey, holding M. le Sous-Préfet by the arm and
swinging the lantern in front, was exploring the
mediæval lurking-holes of the Huguenots, the
three labourers were calmly munching their bread and
cheese.
V
The searchers found the boy lying
unconscious not very far from the stairs. A dark
lantern had fallen from his hand and been extinguished.
A large heavy box with metal handles stood close behind
him; a long trail behind the box showed that the plucky
child had dragged it along by its handle for a
considerable distance. How he had managed to do so
remained a marvel. Love and enthusiasm had lent the
puny youngster remarkable strength. The broken-hearted
father lifted his unconscious child in his arms.
Obviously he had only fainted -- probably from fright
-- and together the little procession now worked its
way back into the open.
"Can you carry your boy home, Monsieur
le Sous-Préfet," asked the Man in Grey, "while
we attend to your unfortunate butler?"
But he had no need to ask. Already M.
Leblanc, closely hugging his precious burden, was
striding bravely and manfully through the coppice
beyond.
The Man in Grey arrived at Les
Colombiers a quarter of an hour after the
sous-préfet had seen his boy snugly laid in his
mother's arms. The child was far too weak and too
highly strung to give a clear account of the events
which had landed him alone and unconscious inside the
disused hiding-place, with his only means of exit cut
off. But the first words be spoke after he had returned
to consciousness were: "Tell my darling Marie that I
did my best."
Afterwards the Man in Grey graphically
recounted to the sous-préfet how he came to seek
for Ernest beneath the ruins of Saut-de-Biche.
"I followed Marie Vaillant's
machinations in my mind," he said, "from the moment
that she entered your service. Not a word of your
narrative escaped me, remember! Recommended by the
Bishop of Alençon, I guessed her to be a
Royalist who had been placed in your house for some
purpose connected with the Cause. What that purpose was
it became my business to learn. It was a case of
putting the proverbial two and two together. There was,
on the one hand, an old moated Manor, once the refuge
of persecuted Huguenots and therefore full of secret
comers and hiding-places, and, on the other, an
émigré Royalist family who had fled the
country, no doubt leaving hidden treasures which they
could not take away in their flight. Add to these facts
a young girl recommended by the Bishop of
Alençon, one of the most inveterate Royalist
intriguers in the land, and you have as fine a solution
of all that has puzzled you, Monsieur, as you could
wish. Marie Vaillant had been sent to your house by the
Royalist faction to secure the treasure hidden by the
Comte de Mamers in one of the lurking-holes of Les
Colombiers.
"With this certainty firmly fixed in my
mind, I was soon able to explain her every action. The
open-air life in the summer meant that she could not
gain access to the hiding-place inside the house and
she must seek an entrance outside. This manuvre
suggested to me that the secret place was perhaps a
subterranean passage which led from some distant
portion of the domain to the house itself. There are a
number of such passages in France, of mediæval
structure. Often they run under a moat.
"Then came the second phase: Marie
Vaillant's coquetry. She either could not find or could
not open the hiding-place; she needed a man's help.
Lavernay, your butler, appeared susceptible -- her
choice fell on him. Night after night they stole out
together in order to work away at the obstacle which
blocked the entrance to the secret passage. Then they
were discovered. Marie was threatened with dismissal,
even before she had found the hidden treasure. She
changed her tactics and inveigled your boy into her
service. Why? Because she and Lavernay were too weak
and clumsy. They had only succeeded in disclosing one
small portion of the entrance to the secret lair; a
portion not large enough to allow of the passage of an
adult. So your boy was cajoled, endeared, fascinated.
Highly strung and nervous, he was ready to dare all for
the sake of the girl whom he loved with the ardour of
unawakened manhood. He is dragged through the woods and
shown the place; he is gradually familiarised with the
task which lies before him. Then once more discovery
falls on Marie Vaillant like a thunderbolt.
"There is only one more night wherein
she can effect her purpose. Can you see them she and
Lavernay and your boy -- stealing out at dead of night
to the ruins; the boy primed in what he has to do,
lowered by a cord into the secret passage, dark lantern
in hand? Truly the heroism of so young a child passes
belief! Lavernay and Marie Vaillant wait above,
straining their ears to hear what is going on below.
The underground passage, remember, is over half a
kilomètre in length. I explored it as far as I
could. It goes under the moat and I imagine has its
other entrance in your bedroom at Les Colombiers.
Ernest had to go some way along it ere he discovered
the box which contained the treasure. With truly
superhuman strength he seizes the metal handle an
drags his burden wearily along. At last he has reached
the spot where the cord still dangles from above. He
gives the preconcerted signal but receives no reply.
Distracted and terror-stricken, he calls again and
again until the horror of his position causes him to
lose consciousness.
"Above the tragedy is being consummated.
Loosened by recent heavy rains, a large piece of
masonry comes crashing down, burying in its fall the
unfortunate Lavernay and hopelessly blocking the
entrance to the secret passage. Picture to yourself
Marie Vaillant pitting her feeble strength against the
relentless stone, half-crazed with the thought of the
child buried alive beneath her feet. An oath to her
party binds her to secrecy! She dares not call for
help. Almost demented, blind instinct drives her to the
one spot whence she might yet be able to render
assistance to the child -- your bedroom, where I'll
wager that either inside the chimney or behind the head
of the old-fashioned bedstead you will find the panel
which masks the other entrance to the secret passage."
The Man in Grey suspended his story and,
guided by his host, triade his way upstairs to the
landing outside the bedroom door.
"Call to the poor woman, Monsieur le
Sous-Préfet," he commanded. "Tell her that the
child is safe and well. Perhaps she will come out of
her own accord. It were a pity to break this
magnificent door."
Presently Marie Vaillant, summoned by
her employer, who assured her repeatedly that Ernest
was safe and well, was heard to unlock the door and to
draw the bolts. Next moment she stood under the heavy
oak lintel, her face as white as a shroud, her eyes
staring wildly before her, her gown stained, her hands
bleeding. She had bruised herself sorely in a vain
endeavour to move the massive bedstead which concealed
the secret entrance to the underground passage.
One glance at M. Leblanc's face assured
her that all was well with her valiant little helpmeet
and that the two men before her were moved more by pity
than by Wrath. She broke down completely, but the
violent fit of weeping eased her overburdened heart.
Soon she became comforted with the kindly assurance
that she would be allowed to depart in peace. Even the
sous-préfet felt that the wretched girl had
suffered enough through the tortuous intrigues of her
fanatic loyalty to the cause of her party, whilst the
Man in Grey saw to it that in the matter of the death
of Lavernay His Majesty's Police were fully satisfied.
(End.)
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