The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Le Blanc

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A curious fact, which surprised Hortense, was that Prince Renine had
neglected to pursue a more minute enquiry, as though the matter had lost
all interest for him. He did not even speak of it any longer; and, in the
inn at which they stopped and took a light meal in the nearest village, it
was she who asked the landlord about the abandoned chateau. But she learnt
nothing from him, for the man was new to the district and could give her no
particulars. He did not even know the name of the owner.

They turned their horses' heads towards La Mareze. Again and again Hortense
recalled the squalid sight which had met their eyes. But Renine, who was
in a lively mood and full of attentions to his companion, seemed utterly
indifferent to those questions.

"But, after all," she exclaimed, impatiently, "we can't leave the matter
there! It calls for a solution."

"As you say," he replied, "a solution is called for. M. Rossigny has to
know where he stands and you have to decide what to do about him."

She shrugged her shoulders: "He's of no importance for the moment. The
thing to-day...."

"Is what?"

"Is to know what those two dead bodies are."

"Still, Rossigny...."

"Rossigny can wait. But I can't. You have shown me a mystery which is now
the only thing that matters. What do you intend to do?"

"To do?"

"Yes. There are two bodies.... You'll inform the police, I suppose."

"Gracious goodness!" he exclaimed, laughing. "What for?"

"Well, there's a riddle that has to be cleared up at all costs, a terrible
tragedy."

"We don't need any one to do that."

"What! Do you mean to say that you understand it?"

"Almost as plainly as though I had read it in a book, told in full detail,
with explanatory illustrations. It's all so simple!"

She looked at him askance, wondering if he was making fun of her. But he
seemed quite serious.

"Well?" she asked, quivering with curiosity.

The light was beginning to wane. They had trotted at a good pace; and the
hunt was returning as they neared La Mareze.

"Well," he said, "we shall get the rest of our information from people
living round about ... from your uncle, for instance; and you will see how
logically all the facts fit in. When you hold the first link of a chain,
you are bound, whether you like it or not, to reach the last. It's the
greatest fun in the world."

Once in the house, they separated. On going to her room, Hortense found her
luggage and a furious letter from Rossigny in which he bade her good-bye
and announced his departure.

Then Renine knocked at her door:

"Your uncle is in the library," he said. "Will you go down with me? I've
sent word that I am coming."

She went with him. He added:

"One word more. This morning, when I thwarted your plans and begged you to
trust me, I naturally undertook an obligation towards you which I mean to
fulfill without delay. I want to give you a positive proof of this."

She laughed:

"The only obligation which you took upon yourself was to satisfy my
curiosity."

"It shall be satisfied," he assured her, gravely, "and more fully than you
can possibly imagine."

M. d'Aigleroche was alone. He was smoking his pipe and drinking sherry. He
offered a glass to Renine, who refused.

"Well, Hortense!" he said, in a rather thick voice. "You know that it's
pretty dull here, except in these September days. You must make the most
of them. Have you had a pleasant ride with Renine?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk about, my dear sir," interrupted the
prince.

"You must excuse me, but I have to go to the station in ten minutes, to
meet a friend of my wife's."

"Oh, ten minutes will be ample!"

"Just the time to smoke a cigarette?"

"No longer."

He took a cigarette from the case which M. d'Aigleroche handed to him, lit
it and said:

"I must tell you that our ride happened to take us to an old domain which
you are sure to know, the Domaine de Halingre."

"Certainly I know it. But it has been closed, boarded up for twenty-five
years or so. You weren't able to get in, I suppose?"

"Yes, we were."

"Really? Was it interesting?"

"Extremely. We discovered the strangest things."

"What things?" asked the count, looking at his watch.

Renine described what they had seen:

"On a tower some way from the house there were two dead bodies, two
skeletons rather ... a man and a woman still wearing the clothes which
they had on when they were murdered."

"Come, come, now! Murdered?"

"Yes; and that is what we have come to trouble you about. The tragedy must
date back to some twenty years ago. Was nothing known of it at the time?"

"Certainly not," declared the count. "I never heard of any such crime or
disappearance."

"Oh, really!" said Renine, looking a little disappointed. "I hoped to
obtain a few particulars."

"I'm sorry."

"In that case, I apologise."

He consulted Hortense with a glance and moved towards the door. But on
second thought:

"Could you not at least, my dear sir, bring me into touch with some persons
in the neighbourhood, some members of your family, who might know more
about it?"

"Of my family? And why?"

"Because the Domaine de Halingre used to belong and no doubt still belongs
to the d'Aigleroches. The arms are an eagle on a heap of stones, on a rock.
This at once suggested the connection."

This time the count appeared surprised. He pushed back his decanter and his
glass of sherry and said:

"What's this you're telling me? I had no idea that we had any such
neighbours."

Renine shook his head and smiled:

"I should be more inclined to believe, sir, that you were not very eager to
admit any relationship between yourself ... and the unknown owner of the
property."

"Then he's not a respectable man?"

"The man, to put it plainly, is a murderer."

"What do you mean?"

The count had risen from his chair. Hortense, greatly excited, said:

"Are you really sure that there has been a murder and that the murder was
done by some one belonging to the house?"

"Quite sure."

"But why are you so certain?"

"Because I know who the two victims were and what caused them to be
killed."

Prince Renine was making none but positive statements and his method
suggested the belief that he supported by the strongest proofs.

M. d'Aigleroche strode up and down the room, with his hands behind his
back. He ended by saying:

"I always had an instinctive feeling that something had happened, but I
never tried to find out.... Now, as a matter of fact, twenty years ago,
a relation of mine, a distant cousin, used to live at the Domaine de
Halingre. I hoped, because of the name I bear, that this story, which,
as I say, I never knew but suspected, would remain hidden for ever."

"So this cousin killed somebody?"

"Yes, he was obliged to."

Renine shook his head:

"I am sorry to have to amend that phrase, my dear sir. The truth, on the
contrary, is that your cousin took his victims' lives in cold blood and in
a cowardly manner. I never heard of a crime more deliberately and craftily
planned."

"What is it that you know?"

The moment had come for Renine to explain himself, a solemn and
anguish-stricken moment, the full gravity of which Hortense understood,
though she had not yet divined any part of the tragedy which the prince
unfolded step by step."

"It's a very simple story," he said. "There is every reason to believe that
M. d'Aigleroche was married and that there was another couple living in
the neighbourhood with whom the owner of the Domaine de Halingre were on
friendly terms. What happened one day, which of these four persons first
disturbed the relations between the two households, I am unable to say. But
a likely version, which at once occurs to the mind, is that your cousin's
wife, Madame d'Aigleroche, was in the habit of meeting the other husband
in the ivy-covered tower, which had a door opening outside the estate. On
discovering the intrigue, your cousin d'Aigleroche resolved to be revenged,
but in such a manner that there should be no scandal and that no one
even should ever know that the guilty pair had been killed. Now he had
ascertained--as I did just now--that there was a part of the house, the
belvedere, from which you can see, over the trees and the undulations of
the park, the tower standing eight hundred yards away, and that this was
the only place that overlooked the top of the tower. He therefore pierced
a hole in the parapet, through one of the former loopholes, and from
there, by using a telescope which fitted exactly in the grove which he
had hollowed out, he watched the meetings of the two lovers. And it was
from there, also, that, after carefully taking all his measurements, and
calculating all his distances, on a Sunday, the 5th of September, when the
house was empty, he killed them with two shots."

The truth was becoming apparent. The light of day was breaking. The count
muttered:

"Yes, that's what must have happened. I expect that my cousin
d'Aigleroche...."

"The murderer," Renine continued, "stopped up the loophole neatly with a
clod of earth. No one would ever know that two dead bodies were decaying
on the top of that tower which was never visited and of which he took the
precaution to demolish the wooden stairs. Nothing therefore remained for
him to do but to explain the disappearance of his wife and his friend. This
presented no difficulty. He accused them of having eloped together."

Hortense gave a start. Suddenly, as though the last sentence were a
complete and to her an absolutely unexpected revelation, she understood
what Renine was trying to convey:

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that M. d'Aigleroche accused his wife and his friend of eloping
together."

"No, no!" she cried. "I can't allow that!... You are speaking of a cousin
of my uncle's? Why mix up the two stories?"

"Why mix up this story with another which took place at that time?" said
the prince. "But I am not mixing them up, my dear madame; there is only one
story and I am telling it as it happened."

Hortense turned to her uncle. He sat silent, with his arms folded; and
his head remained in the shadow cast by the lamp-shade. Why had he not
protested?

Renine repeated in a firm tone:

"There is only one story. On the evening of that very day, the 5th of
September at eight o'clock, M. d'Aigleroche, doubtless alleging as his
reason that he was going in pursuit of the runaway couple, left his house
after boarding up the entrance. He went away, leaving all the rooms as
they were and removing only the firearms from their glass case. At the
last minute, he had a presentiment, which has been justified to-day, that
the discovery of the telescope which had played so great a part in the
preparation of his crime might serve as a clue to an enquiry; and he threw
it into the clock-case, where, as luck would have it, it interrupted
the swing of the pendulum. This unreflecting action, one of those which
every criminal inevitably commits, was to betray him twenty years later.
Just now, the blows which I struck to force the door of the drawing-room
released the pendulum. The clock was set going, struck eight o'clock ...
and I possessed the clue of thread which was to lead me through the
labyrinth."

"Proofs!" stammered Hortense. "Proofs!"

"Proofs?" replied Renine, in a loud voice. "Why, there are any number
of proofs; and you know them as well as I do. Who could have killed at
that distance of eight hundred yards, except an expert shot, an ardent
sportsman? You agree, M. d'Aigleroche, do you not?... Proofs? Why was
nothing removed from the house, nothing except the guns, those guns
which an ardent sportsman cannot afford to leave behind--you agree, M.
d'Aigleroche--those guns which we find here, hanging in trophies on the
walls!... Proofs? What about that date, the 5th of September, which was
the date of the crime and which has left such a horrible memory in the
criminal's mind that every year at this time--at this time alone--he
surrounds himself with distractions and that every year, on this same 5th
of September, he forgets his habits of temperance? Well, to-day, is the 5th
of September.... Proofs? Why, if there weren't any others, would that not
be enough for you?"

And Renine, flinging out his arm, pointed to the Comte d'Aigleroche, who,
terrified by this evocation of the past, had sunk huddled into a chair and
was hiding his head in his hands.

Hortense did not attempt to argue with him. She had never liked her uncle,
or rather her husband's uncle. She now accepted the accusation laid against
him.

Sixty seconds passed. Then M. d'Aigleroche walked up to them and said:

"Whether the story be true or not, you can't call a husband a criminal for
avenging his honour and killing his faithless wife."

"No," replied Renine, "but I have told only the first version of the story.
There is another which is infinitely more serious ... and more probable,
one to which a more thorough investigation would be sure to lead."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this. It may not be a matter of a husband taking the law into his
own hands, as I charitably supposed. It may be a matter of a ruined man who
covets his friend's money and his friend's wife and who, with this object
in view, to secure his freedom, to get rid of his friend and of his own
wife, draws them into a trap, suggests to them that they should visit that
lonely tower and kills them by shooting them from a distance safely under
cover."

"No, no," the count protested. "No, all that is untrue."

"I don't say it isn't. I am basing my accusation on proofs, but also on
intuitions and arguments which up to now have been extremely accurate. All
the same, I admit that the second version may be incorrect. But, if so, why
feel any remorse? One does not feel remorse for punishing guilty people."

"One does for taking life. It is a crushing burden to bear."

"Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden that M.
d'Aigleroche afterwards married his victim's widow? For that, sir, is
the crux of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was M.
d'Aigleroche penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wife
rich? Or were they both in love with each other and did M. d'Aigleroche
plan with her to kill his first wife and the husband of his second wife?
These are problems to which I do not know the answer. They have no interest
for the moment; but the police, with all the means at their disposal, would
have no great difficulty in elucidating them."

M. d'Aigleroche staggered and had to steady himself against the back of a
chair. Livid in the face, he spluttered:

"Are you going to inform the police?"

"No, no," said Renine. "To begin with, there is the statute of limitations.
Then there are twenty years of remorse and dread, a memory which will
pursue the criminal to his dying hour, accompanied no doubt by domestic
discord, hatred, a daily hell ... and, in the end, the necessity of
returning to the tower and removing the traces of the two murders, the
frightful punishment of climbing that tower, of touching those skeletons,
of undressing them and burying them. That will be enough. We will not ask
for more. We will not give it to the public to batten on and create a
scandal which would recoil upon M. d'Aigleroche's niece. No, let us leave
this disgraceful business alone."

The count resumed his seat at the table, with his hands clutching his
forehead, and asked:

"Then why ...?"

"Why do I interfere?" said Renine. "What you mean is that I must have
had some object in speaking. That is so. There must indeed be a penalty,
however slight, and our interview must lead to some practical result. But
have no fear: M. d'Aigleroche will be let off lightly."

The contest was ended. The count felt that he had only a small formality to
fulfil, a sacrifice to accept; and, recovering some of his self-assurance,
he said, in an almost sarcastic tone:

"What's your price?"

Renine burst out laughing:

"Splendid! You see the position. Only, you make a mistake in drawing me
into the business. I'm working for the glory of the thing."

"In that case?"

"You will be called upon at most to make restitution."

"Restitution?"

Renine leant over the table and said:

"In one of those drawers is a deed awaiting your signature. It is a draft
agreement between you and your niece Hortense Daniel, relating to her
private fortune, which fortune was squandered and for which you are
responsible. Sign the deed."

M. d'Aigleroche gave a start:

"Do you know the amount?"

"I don't wish to know it."

"And if I refuse?..."

"I shall ask to see the Comtesse d'Aigleroche."

Without further hesitation, the count opened a drawer, produced a document
on stamped paper and quickly signed it:

"Here you are," he said, "and I hope...."

"You hope, as I do, that you and I may never have any future dealings? I'm
convinced of it. I shall leave this evening; your niece, no doubt,
tomorrow. Good-bye."

* * * * *

In the drawing-room, which was still empty, while the guests at the
house were dressing for dinner, Renine handed the deed to Hortense. She
seemed dazed by all that she had heard; and the thing that bewildered her
even more than the relentless light shed upon her uncle's past was the
miraculous insight and amazing lucidity displayed by this man: the man who
for some hours had controlled events and conjured up before her eyes the
actual scenes of a tragedy which no one had beheld.

"Are you satisfied with me?" he asked.

She gave him both her hands:

"You have saved me from Rossigny. You have given me back my freedom and my
independence. I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Oh, that's not what I am asking you to say!" he answered. "My first and
main object was to amuse you. Your life seemed so humdrum and lacking in
the unexpected. Has it been so to-day?"

"How can you ask such a question? I have had the strangest and most
stirring experiences."

"That is life," he said. "When one knows how to use one's eyes. Adventure
exists everywhere, in the meanest hovel, under the mask of the wisest of
men. Everywhere, if you are only willing, you will find an excuse for
excitement, for doing good, for saving a victim, for ending an injustice."

Impressed by his power and authority, she murmured:

"Who are you exactly?"

"An adventurer. Nothing more. A lover of adventures. Life is not worth
living except in moments of adventure, the adventures of others or personal
adventures. To-day's has upset you because it affected the innermost depths
of your being. But those of others are no less stimulating. Would you like
to make the experiment?"

"How?"

"Become the companion of my adventures. If any one calls on me for help,
help him with me. If chance or instinct puts me on the track of a crime or
the trace of a sorrow, let us both set out together. Do you consent?"

"Yes," she said, "but...."

She hesitated, as though trying to guess Renine's secret intentions.

"But," he said, expressing her thoughts for her, with a smile, "you are a
trifle sceptical. What you are saying to yourself is, 'How far does that
lover of adventures want to make me go? It is quite obvious that I attract
him; and sooner or later he would not be sorry to receive payment for his
services.' You are quite right. We must have a formal contract."

"Very formal," said Hortense, preferring to give a jesting tone to the
conversation. "Let me hear your proposals."

He reflected for a moment and continued:

"Well, we'll say this. The clock at Halingre gave eight strokes this
afternoon, the day of the first adventure. Will you accept its decree and
agree to carry out seven more of these delightful enterprises with me,
during a period, for instance, of three months? And shall we say that, at
the eighth, you will be pledged to grant me...."

"What?"

He deferred his answer:

"Observe that you will always be at liberty to leave me on the road if I
do not succeed in interesting you. But, if you accompany me to the end, if
you allow me to begin and complete the eighth enterprise with you, in three
months, on the 5th of December, at the very moment when the eighth stroke
of that clock sounds--and it will sound, you may be sure of that, for the
old brass pendulum will not stop swinging again--you will be pledged to
grant me...."

"What?" she repeated, a little unnerved by waiting.

He was silent. He looked at the beautiful lips which he had meant to claim
as his reward. He felt perfectly certain that Hortense had understood and
he thought it unnecessary to speak more plainly:

"The mere delight of seeing you will be enough to satisfy me. It is not for
me but for you to impose conditions. Name them: what do you demand?"

She was grateful for his respect and said, laughingly:

"What do I demand?"

"Yes."

"Can I demand anything I like, however difficult and impossible?"

"Everything is easy and everything is possible to the man who is bent on
winning you."

Then she said:

"I demand that you shall restore to me a small, antique clasp, made of a
cornelian set in a silver mount. It came to me from my mother and everyone
knew that it used to bring her happiness and me too. Since the day when it
vanished from my jewel-case, I have had nothing but unhappiness. Restore it
to me, my good genius."

"When was the clasp stolen?"

She answered gaily:

"Seven years ago ... or eight ... or nine; I don't know exactly ... I don't
know where ... I don't know how ... I know nothing about it...."

"I will find it," Renine declared, "and you shall be happy."

II

THE WATER-BOTTLE

Four days after she had settled down in Paris, Hortense Daniel agreed to
meet Prince Renine in the Bois. It was a glorious morning and they sat down
on the terrace of the Restaurant Imperial, a little to one side.

Hortense, feeling glad to be alive, was in a playful mood, full of
attractive grace. Renine, lest he should startle her, refrained from
alluding to the compact into which they had entered at his suggestion.
She told him how she had left La Mareze and said that she had not heard
of Rossigny.

"I have," said Renine. "I've heard of him."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he sent me a challenge. We fought a duel this morning. Rossigny got
a scratch in the shoulder. That finished the duel. Let's talk of something
else."

There was no further mention of Rossigny. Renine at once expounded to
Hortense the plan of two enterprises which he had in view and in which he
offered, with no great enthusiasm, to let her share:

"The finest adventure," he declared, "is that which we do not foresee. It
comes unexpectedly, unannounced; and no one, save the initiated, realizes
that an opportunity to act and to expend one's energies is close at hand.
It has to be seized at once. A moment's hesitation may mean that we are too
late. We are warned by a special sense, like that of a sleuth-hound which
distinguishes the right scent from all the others that cross it."

The terrace was beginning to fill up around them. At the next table sat
a young man reading a newspaper. They were able to see his insignificant
profile and his long, dark moustache. From behind them, through an open
window of the restaurant, came the distant strains of a band; in one of
the rooms a few couples were dancing.

As Renine was paying for the refreshments, the young man with the long
moustache stifled a cry and, in a choking voice, called one of the waiters:

"What do I owe you?... No change? Oh, good Lord, hurry up!"

Renine, without a moment's hesitation, had picked up the paper. After
casting a swift glance down the page, he read, under his breath:

"Maitre Dourdens, the counsel for the defence in the trial of Jacques
Aubrieux, has been received at the Elysee. We are informed that the
President of the Republic has refused to reprieve the condemned man
and that the execution will take place to-morrow morning."

After crossing the terrace, the young man found himself faced, at the
entrance to the garden, by a lady and gentleman who blocked his way; and
the latter said:

"Excuse me, sir, but I noticed your agitation. It's about Jacques Aubrieux,
isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, Jacques Aubrieux," the young man stammered. "Jacques, the friend
of my childhood. I'm hurrying to see his wife. She must be beside herself
with grief."

"Can I offer you my assistance? I am Prince Renine. This lady and I would
be happy to call on Madame Aubrieux and to place our services at her
disposal."

The young man, upset by the news which he had read, seemed not to
understand. He introduced himself awkwardly:

"My name is Dutreuil, Gaston Dutreuil."

Renine beckoned to his chauffeur, who was waiting at some little distance,
and pushed Gaston Dutreuil into the car, asking:

"What address? Where does Madame Aubrieux live?"

"23 _bis_, Avenue du Roule."

After helping Hortense in, Renine repeated the address to the chauffeur
and, as soon as they drove off, tried to question Gaston Dutreuil:

"I know very little of the case," he said. "Tell it to me as briefly as you
can. Jacques Aubrieux killed one of his near relations, didn't he?"

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