The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Le Blanc

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"I think you're doing the right thing, sergeant," said Renine, "and I
congratulate you on the way in which you have carried out your
investigation."

They parted. Renine went back to the inn in the village and sent a note to
Hortense Daniel by hand:

"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,

"I seemed to gather from your letter that, touched as always by
anything that concerns the heart, you were anxious to protect the
love-affair of Jerome and Natalie. Now there is every reason to
suppose that these two, without consulting their fair protectress,
have run away, after throwing Mathias de Gorne down a well.

"Forgive me for not coming to see you. The whole thing is extremely
obscure; and, if I were with you, I should not have the detachment
of mind which is needed to think the case over."

It was then half-past ten. Renine went for a walk into the country, with
his hands clasped behind his back and without vouchsafing a glance at the
exquisite spectacle of the white meadows. He came back for lunch, still
absorbed in his thoughts and indifferent to the talk of the customers of
the inn, who on all sides were discussing recent events.

He went up to his room and had been asleep some time when he was awakened
by a tapping at the door. He got up and opened it:

"Is it you?... Is it you?" he whispered.

Hortense and he stood gazing at each other for some seconds in silence,
holding each other's hands, as though nothing, no irrelevant thought and no
utterance, must be allowed to interfere with the joy of their meeting. Then
he asked:

"Was I right in coming?"

"Yes," she said, gently, "I expected you."

"Perhaps it would have been better if you had sent for me sooner, instead
of waiting.... Events did not wait, you see, and I don't quite know what's
to become of Jerome Vignal and Natalie de Gorne."

"What, haven't you heard?" she said, quickly. "They've been arrested. They
were going to travel by the express."

"Arrested? No." Renine objected. "People are not arrested like that. They
have to be questioned first."

"That's what's being done now. The authorities are making a search."

"Where?"

"At the chateau. And, as they are innocent.... For they are innocent,
aren't they? You don't admit that they are guilty, any more than I do?"

He replied:

"I admit nothing, I can admit nothing, my dear. Nevertheless, I am bound
to say that everything is against them ... except one fact, which is that
everything is too much against them. It is not normal for so many proofs to
be heaped up one on top of the other and for the man who commits a murder
to tell his story so frankly. Apart from this, there's nothing but mystery
and discrepancy."

"Well?"

"Well, I am greatly puzzled."

"But you have a plan?"

"None at all, so far. Ah, if I could see him, Jerome Vignal, and her,
Natalie de Gorne, and hear them and know what they are saying in their own
defence! But you can understand that I sha'n't be permitted either to ask
them any questions or to be present at their examination. Besides, it must
be finished by this time."

"It's finished at the chateau," she said, "but it's going to be continued
at the manor-house."

"Are they taking them to the manor-house?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes ... at least, judging by what was said to the chauffeur of one of the
procurator's two cars."

"Oh, in that case," exclaimed Renine, "the thing's done! The manor-house!
Why, we shall be in the front row of the stalls! We shall see and hear
everything; and, as a word, a tone of the voice, a quiver of the eyelids
will be enough to give me the tiny clue I need, we may entertain some hope.
Come along."

He took her by the direct route which he had followed that morning, leading
to the gate which the locksmith had opened. The gendarmes on duty at
the manor-house had made a passage through the snow, beside the line of
footprints and around the house. Chance enabled Renine and Hortense to
approach unseen and through a side-window to enter a corridor near a
back-staircase. A few steps up was a little chamber which received its
only light through a sort of bull's-eye, from the large room on the
ground-floor. Renine, during the morning visit, had noticed the bull's-eye,
which was covered on the inside with a piece of cloth. He removed the cloth
and cut out one of the panes.

A few minutes later, a sound of voices rose from the other side of the
house, no doubt near the well. The sound grew more distinct. A number of
people flocked into the house. Some of them went up stairs to the first
floor, while the sergeant arrived with a young man of whom Renine and
Hortense were able to distinguish only the tall figure:

"Jerome Vignal," said she.

"Yes," said Renine. "They are examining Madame de Gorne first, upstairs,
in her bedroom."

A quarter of an hour passed. Then the persons on the first floor came
downstairs and went in. They were the procurator's deputy, his clerk, a
commissary of police and two detectives.

Madame de Gorne was shown in and the deputy asked Jerome Vignal to step
forward.

Jerome Vignal's face was certainly that of the strong man whom Hortense had
depicted in her letter. He displayed no uneasiness, but rather decision and
a resolute will. Natalie, who was short and very slight, with a feverish
light in her eyes, nevertheless produced the same impression of quiet
confidence.

The deputy, who was examining the disordered furniture and the traces of
the struggle, invited her to sit down and said to Jerome:

"Monsieur, I have not asked you many questions so far. This is a summary
enquiry which I am conducting in your presence and which will be continued
later by the examining-magistrate; and I wished above all to explain to you
the very serious reasons for which I asked you to interrupt your journey
and to come back here with Madame de Gorne. You are now in a position to
refute the truly distressing charges that are hanging over you. I therefore
ask you to tell me the exact truth."

"Mr. Deputy," replied Jerome, "the charges in question trouble me very
little. The truth for which you are asking will defeat all the lies which
chance has accumulated against me. It is this."

He reflected for an instant and then, in clear, frank tones, said:

"I love Madame de Gorne. The first time I met her, I conceived the greatest
sympathy and admiration for her. But my affection has always been directed
by the sole thought of her happiness. I love her, but I respect her even
more. Madame de Gorne must have told you and I tell you again that she and
I exchanged our first few words last night."

He continued, in a lower voice:

"I respect her the more inasmuch as she is exceedingly unhappy. All the
world knows that every minute of her life was a martyrdom. Her husband
persecuted her with ferocious hatred and frantic jealousy. Ask the
servants. They will tell you of the long suffering of Natalie de Gorne, of
the blows which she received and the insults which she had to endure. I
tried to stop this torture by restoring to the rights of appeal which the
merest stranger may claim when unhappiness and injustice pass a certain
limit. I went three times to old de Gorne and begged him to interfere; but
I found in him an almost equal hatred towards his daughter-in-law, the
hatred which many people feel for anything beautiful and noble. At last
I resolved on direct action and last night I took a step with regard to
Mathias de Gorne which was ... a little unusual, I admit, but which seemed
likely to succeed, considering the man's character. I swear, Mr. Deputy,
that I had no other intention than to talk to Mathias de Gorne. Knowing
certain particulars of his life which enabled me to bring effective
pressure to bear upon him, I wished to make use of this advantage in order
to achieve my purpose. If things turned out differently, I am not wholly
to blame.... So I went there a little before nine o'clock. The servants, I
knew, were out. He opened the door himself. He was alone."

"Monsieur," said the deputy, interrupting him, "you are saying
something--as Madame de Gorne, for that matter, did just now--which is
manifestly opposed to the truth. Mathias de Gorne did not come home last
night until eleven o'clock. We have two definite proofs of this: his
father's evidence and the prints of his feet in the snow, which fell from
a quarter past nine o'clock to eleven."

"Mr. Deputy," Jerome Vignal declared, without heeding the bad effect which
his obstinacy was producing, "I am relating things as they were and not as
they may be interpreted. But to continue. That clock marked ten minutes to
nine when I entered this room. M. de Gorne, believing that he was about to
be attacked, had taken down his gun. I placed my revolver on the table, out
of reach of my hand, and sat down: 'I want to speak to you, monsieur,' I
said. 'Please listen to me.' He did not stir and did not utter a single
syllable. So I spoke. And straightway, crudely, without any previous
explanations which might have softened the bluntness of my proposal, I
spoke the few words which I had prepared beforehand: 'I have spent some
months, monsieur,' I said, 'in making careful enquiries into your financial
position. You have mortgaged every foot of your land. You have signed
bills which will shortly be falling due and which it will be absolutely
impossible for you to honour. You have nothing to hope for from your
father, whose own affairs are in a very bad condition. So you are ruined. I
have come to save you.'... He watched me, still without speaking, and sat
down, which I took to mean that my suggestion was not entirely displeasing.
Then I took a sheaf of bank-notes from my pocket, placed it before him
and continued: 'Here is sixty thousand francs, monsieur. I will buy the
Manoir-au-Puits, its lands and dependencies and take over the mortgages.
The sum named is exactly twice what they are worth.'... I saw his eyes
glittering. He asked my conditions. 'Only one,' I said, 'that you go to
America.'... Mr. Deputy, we sat discussing for two hours. It was not that
my offer roused his indignation--I should not have risked it if I had not
known with whom I was dealing--but he wanted more and haggled greedily,
though he refrained from mentioning the name of Madame de Gorne, to whom I
myself had not once alluded. We might have been two men engaged in a
dispute and seeking an agreement on common ground, whereas it was the
happiness and the whole destiny of a woman that were at stake. At last,
weary of the discussion, I accepted a compromise and we came to terms,
which I resolved to make definite then and there. Two letters were
exchanged between us: one in which he made the Manoir-au-Puits over to me
for the sum which I had paid him; and one, which he pocketed immediately,
by which I was to send him as much more in America on the day on which the
decree of divorce was pronounced.... So the affair was settled. I am sure
that at that moment he was accepting in good faith. He looked upon me less
as an enemy and a rival than as a man who was doing him a service. He even
went so far as to give me the key of the little door which opens on the
fields, so that I might go home by the short cut. Unfortunately, while I
was picking up my cap and greatcoat, I made the mistake of leaving on the
table the letter of sale which he had signed. In a moment, Mathias de Gorne
had seen the advantage which he could take of my slip: he could keep his
property, keep his wife ... and keep the money. Quick as lightning, he
tucked away the paper, hit me over the head with the butt-end of his gun,
threw the gun on the floor and seized me by the throat with both hands. He
had reckoned without his host. I was the stronger of the two; and after a
sharp but short struggle, I mastered him and tied him up with a cord which
I found lying in a corner ... Mr. Deputy, if my enemy's resolve was sudden,
mine was no less so. Since, when all was said, he had accepted the bargain,
I would force him to keep it, at least in so far as I was interested. A
very few steps brought me to the first floor ... I had not a doubt that
Madame de Gorne was there and had heard the sound of our discussion.
Switching on the light of my pocket-torch, I looked into three bedrooms.
The fourth was locked. I knocked at the door. There was no reply. But this
was one of the moments in which a man allows no obstacle to stand in his
way. I had seen a hammer in one of the rooms. I picked it up and smashed in
the door.... Yes, Natalie was lying there, on the floor, in a dead faint. I
took her in my arms, carried her downstairs and went through the kitchen.
On seeing the snow outside, I at once realized that my footprints would be
easily traced. But what did it matter? Was there any reason why I should
put Mathias de Gorne off the scent? Not at all. With the sixty thousand
francs in his possession, as well as the paper in which I undertook to pay
him a like sum on the day of his divorce, to say nothing of his house and
land, he would go away, leaving Natalie de Gorne to me. Nothing was changed
between us, except one thing: instead of awaiting his good pleasure, I
had at once seized the precious pledge which I coveted. What I feared,
therefore, was not so much any subsequent attack on the part of Mathias
de Gorne, but rather the indignant reproaches of his wife. What would she
say when she realized that she was a prisoner in my hands?... The reasons
why I escaped reproach Madame de Gorne has, I believe, had the frankness
to tell you. Love calls forth love. That night, in my house, broken by
emotion, she confessed her feeling for me. She loved me as I loved her.
Our destinies were henceforth mingled. She and I set out at five o'clock
this morning ... not foreseeing for an instant that we were amenable to
the law."

Jerome Vignal's story was finished. He had told it straight off the reel,
like a story learnt by heart and incapable of revision in any detail.

There was a brief pause, during which Hortense whispered:

"It all sounds quite possible and, in any case, very logical."

"There are the objections to come," said Renine. "Wait till you hear them.
They are very serious. There's one in particular...."

The deputy-procurator stated it at once:

"And what became of M. de Gorne in all this?"

"Mathias de Gorne?" asked Jerome.

"Yes. You have related, with an accent of great sincerity, a series of
facts which I am quite willing to admit. Unfortunately, you have forgotten
a point of the first importance: what became of Mathias de Gorne? You tied
him up here, in this room. Well, this morning he was gone."

"Of course, Mr. Deputy, Mathias de Gorne accepted the bargain in the end
and went away."

"By what road?"

"No doubt by the road that leads to his father's house."

"Where are his footprints? The expanse of snow is an impartial witness.
After your fight with him, we see you, on the snow, moving away. Why don't
we see him? He came and did not go away again. Where is he? There is not a
trace of him ... or rather...."

The deputy lowered his voice:

"Or rather, yes, there are some traces on the way to the well and around
the well ... traces which prove that the last struggle of all took place
there.... And after that there is nothing ... not a thing...."

Jerome shrugged his shoulders:

"You have already mentioned this, Mr. Deputy, and it implies a charge of
homicide against me. I have nothing to say to it."

"Have you anything to say to the fact that your revolver was picked up
within fifteen yards of the well?"

"No."

"Or to the strange coincidence between the three shots heard in the night
and the three cartridges missing from your revolver?"

"No, Mr. Deputy, there was not, as you believe, a last struggle by the
well, because I left M. de Gorne tied up, in this room, and because I also
left my revolver here. On the other hand, if shots were heard, they were
not fired by me."

"A casual coincidence, therefore?"

"That's a matter for the police to explain. My only duty is to tell the
truth and you are not entitled to ask more of me."

"And if that truth conflicts with the facts observed?"

"It means that the facts are wrong, Mr. Deputy."

"As you please. But, until the day when the police are able to make them
agree with your statements, you will understand that I am obliged to keep
you under arrest."

"And Madame de Gorne?" asked Jerome, greatly distressed.

The deputy did not reply. He exchanged a few words with the commissary of
police and then, beckoning to a detective, ordered him to bring up one of
the two motor-cars. Then he turned to Natalie:

"Madame, you have heard M. Vignal's evidence. It agrees word for word with
your own. M. Vignal declares in particular that you had fainted when he
carried you away. But did you remain unconscious all the way?"

It seemed as though Jerome's composure had increased Madame de Gorne's
assurance. She replied:

"I did not come to, monsieur, until I was at the chateau."

"It's most extraordinary. Didn't you hear the three shots which were heard
by almost every one in the village?"

"I did not."

"And did you see nothing of what happened beside the well?"

"Nothing did happen. M. Vignal has told you so."

"Then what has become of your husband?"

"I don't know."

"Come, madame, you really must assist the officers of the law and at least
tell us what you think. Do you believe that there may have been an accident
and that possibly M. de Gorne, who had been to see his father and had more
to drink than usual, lost his balance and fell into the well?"

"When my husband came back from seeing his father, he was not in the least
intoxicated."

"His father, however, has stated that he was. His father and he had drunk
two or three bottles of wine."

"His father is not telling the truth."

"But the snow tells the truth, madame," said the deputy, irritably. "And
the line of his footprints wavers from side to side."

"My husband came in at half-past-eight, monsieur, before the snow had begun
to fall."

The deputy struck the table with his fist:

"But, really, madame, you're going right against the evidence!... That
sheet of snow cannot speak false!... I may accept your denial of matters
that cannot be verified. But these footprints in the snow ... in the
snow...."

He controlled himself.

The motor-car drew up outside the windows. Forming a sudden resolve, he
said to Natalie:

"You will be good enough to hold yourself at the disposal of the
authorities, madame, and to remain here, in the manor-house...."

And he made a sign to the sergeant to remove Jerome Vignal in the car.

The game was lost for the two lovers. Barely united, they had to separate
and to fight, far away from each other, against the most grievous
accusations.

Jerome took a step towards Natalie. They exchanged a long, sorrowful look.
Then he bowed to her and walked to the door, in the wake of the sergeant of
gendarmes.

"Halt!" cried a voice. "Sergeant, right about ... turn!... Jerome Vignal,
stay where you are!"

The ruffled deputy raised his head, as did the other people present. The
voice came from the ceiling. The bulls-eye window had opened and Renine,
leaning through it, was waving his arms:

"I wish to be heard!... I have several remarks to make ... especially in
respect of the zigzag footprints!... It all lies in that!... Mathias had
not been drinking!..."

He had turned round and put his two legs through the opening, saying to
Hortense, who tried to prevent him:

"Don't move.... No one will disturb you."

And, releasing his hold, he dropped into the room.

The deputy appeared dumfounded:

"But, really, monsieur, who are you? Where do you come from?"

Renine brushed the dust from his clothes and replied:

"Excuse me, Mr. Deputy. I ought to have come the same way as everybody
else. But I was in a hurry. Besides, if I had come in by the door instead
of falling from the ceiling, my words would not have made the same
impression."

The infuriated deputy advanced to meet him:

"Who are you?"

"Prince Renine. I was with the sergeant this morning when he was pursuing
his investigations, wasn't I, sergeant? Since then I have been hunting
about for information. That's why, wishing to be present at the hearing,
I found a corner in a little private room...."

"You were there? You had the audacity?..."

"One must needs be audacious, when the truth's at stake. If I had not
been there, I should not have discovered just the one little clue which I
missed. I should not have known that Mathias de Gorne was not the least bit
drunk. Now that's the key to the riddle. When we know that, we know the
solution."

The deputy found himself in a rather ridiculous position. Since he
had failed to take the necessary precautions to ensure the secrecy of
his enquiry, it was difficult for him to take any steps against this
interloper. He growled:

"Let's have done with this. What are you asking?"

"A few minutes of your kind attention."

"And with what object?"

"To establish the innocence of M. Vignal and Madame de Gorne."

He was wearing that calm air, that sort of indifferent look which was
peculiar to him in moments of actions when the crisis of the drama depended
solely upon himself. Hortense felt a thrill pass through her and at once
became full of confidence:

"They're saved," she thought, with sudden emotion. "I asked him to protect
that young creature; and he is saving her from prison and despair."

Jerome and Natalie must have experienced the same impression of sudden
hope, for they had drawn nearer to each other, as though this stranger,
descended from the clouds, had already given them the right to clasp hands.

The deputy shrugged his shoulders:

"The prosecution will have every means, when the time comes, of
establishing their innocence for itself. You will be called."

"It would be better to establish it here and now. Any delay might lead to
grievous consequences."

"I happen to be in a hurry."

"Two or three minutes will do."

"Two or three minutes to explain a case like this!"

"No longer, I assure you."

"Are you as certain of it as all that?"

"I am now. I have been thinking hard since this morning."

The deputy realized that this was one of those gentry who stick to you
like a leech and that there was nothing for it but to submit. In a rather
bantering tone, he asked:

"Does your thinking enable you to tell us the exact spot where M. Mathias
de Gorne is at this moment?"

Renine took out his watch and answered:

"In Paris, Mr. Deputy."

"In Paris? Alive then?"

"Alive and, what is more, in the pink of health."

"I am delighted to hear it. But then what's the meaning of the footprints
around the well and the presence of that revolver and those three shots?"

"Simply camouflage."

"Oh, really? Camouflage contrived by whom?"

"By Mathias de Gorne himself."

"That's curious! And with what object?"

"With the object of passing himself off for dead and of arranging
subsequent matters in such a way that M. Vignal was bound to be accused of
the death, the murder."

"An ingenious theory," the deputy agreed, still in a satirical tone. "What
do you think of it, M. Vignal?"

"It is a theory which flashed through my own mind. Mr. Deputy," replied
Jerome. "It is quite likely that, after our struggle and after I had gone,
Mathias de Gorne conceived a new plan by which, this time, his hatred would
be fully gratified. He both loved and detested his wife. He held me in the
greatest loathing. This must be his revenge."

"His revenge would cost him dear, considering that, according to your
statement, Mathias de Gorne was to receive a second sum of sixty thousand
francs from you."

"He would receive that sum in another quarter, Mr. Deputy. My examination
of the financial position of the de Gorne family revealed to me the fact
that the father and son had taken out a life-insurance policy in each
other's favour. With the son dead, or passing for dead, the father would
receive the insurance-money and indemnify his son."

"You mean to say," asked the deputy, with a smile, "that in all this
camouflage, as you call it, M. de Gorne the elder would act as his son's
accomplice?"

Renine took up the challenge:

"Just so, Mr. Deputy. The father and son are accomplices.

"Then we shall find the son at the father's?"

"You would have found him there last night."

"What became of him?"

"He took the train at Pompignat."

"That's a mere supposition."

"No, a certainty."

"A moral certainty, perhaps, but you'll admit there's not the slightest
proof."

The deputy did not wait for a reply. He considered that he had displayed an
excessive goodwill and that patience has its limits and he put an end to
the interview:

"Not the slightest proof," he repeated, taking up his hat. "And, above
all, ... above all, there's nothing in what you've said that can contradict
in the very least the evidence of that relentless witness, the snow. To go
to his father, Mathias de Gorne must have left this house. Which way did he
go?"

"Hang it all, M. Vignal told you: by the road which leads from here to his
father's!"

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