The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Le Blanc

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"What plan?" asked Hortense. "For, after all, it's only your assumption
that there's to be a victim and that the victim is to be flung off the
top of the cliffs. You yourself told me that you heard no allusion to a
possible murder."

"That is so. But I heard some very plain words relating to the marriage of
the brother or the sister with the wife or the husband of the third person,
which implies the need for a crime."

They were sitting on the terrace of the casino, facing the stairs which run
down to the beach. They therefore overlooked the few privately-owned cabins
on the shingle, where a party of four men were playing bridge, while a
group of ladies sat talking and knitting.

A short distance away and nearer to the sea was another cabin, standing by
itself and closed.

Half-a-dozen bare-legged children were paddling in the water.

"No," said Hortense, "all this autumnal sweetness and charm fails to
attract me. I have so much faith in all your theories that I can't help
thinking, in spite of everything, of this dreadful problem. Which of those
people yonder is threatened? Death has already selected its victim. Who is
it? Is it that young, fair-haired woman, rocking herself and laughing? Is
it that tall man over there, smoking his cigar? And which of them has the
thought of murder hidden in his heart? All the people we see are quietly
enjoying themselves. Yet death is prowling among them."

"Capital!" said Renine. "You too are becoming enthusiastic. What did I tell
you? The whole of life's an adventure; and nothing but adventure is worth
while. At the first breath of coming events, there you are, quivering in
every nerve. You share in all the tragedies stirring around you; and the
feeling of mystery awakens in the depths of your being. See, how closely
you are observing that couple who have just arrived. You never can tell:
that may be the gentleman who proposes to do away with his wife? Or perhaps
the lady contemplates making away with her husband?"

"The d'Ormevals? Never! A perfectly happy couple! Yesterday, at the hotel,
I had a long talk with the wife. And you yourself...."

"Oh, I played a round of golf with Jacques d'Ormeval, who rather fancies
himself as an athlete, and I played at dolls with their two charming little
girls!"

The d'Ormevals came up and exchanged a few words with them. Madame
d'Ormeval said that her two daughters had gone back to Paris that morning
with their governess. Her husband, a great tall fellow with a yellow beard,
carrying his blazer over his arm and puffing out his chest under a cellular
shirt, complained of the heat:

"Have you the key of the cabin, Therese?" he asked his wife, when they had
left Renine and Hortense and stopped at the top of the stairs, a few yards
away.

"Here it is," said the wife. "Are you going to read your papers?"

"Yes. Unless we go for a stroll?..."

"I had rather wait till the afternoon: do you mind? I have a lot of letters
to write this morning."

"Very well. We'll go on the cliff."

Hortense and Renine exchanged a glance of surprise. Was this suggestion
accidental? Or had they before them, contrary to their expectations, the
very couple of whom they were in search?

Hortense tried to laugh:

"My heart is thumping," she said. "Nevertheless, I absolutely refuse to
believe in anything so improbable. 'My husband and I have never had the
slightest quarrel,' she said to me. No, it's quite clear that those two get
on admirably."

"We shall see presently, at the Trois Mathildes, if one of them comes to
meet the brother and sister."

M. d'Ormeval had gone down the stairs, while his wife stood leaning on the
balustrade of the terrace. She had a beautiful, slender, supple figure. Her
clear-cut profile was emphasized by a rather too prominent chin when at
rest; and, when it was not smiling, the face gave an expression of sadness
and suffering.

"Have you lost something, Jacques?" she called out to her husband, who was
stooping over the shingle.

"Yes, the key," he said. "It slipped out of my hand."

She went down to him and began to look also. For two or three minutes,
as they sheered off to the right and remained close to the bottom of the
under-cliff, they were invisible to Hortense and Renine. Their voices were
covered by the noise of a dispute which had arisen among the
bridge-players.

They reappeared almost simultaneously. Madame d'Ormeval slowly climbed a
few steps of the stairs and then stopped and turned her face towards the
sea. Her husband had thrown his blazer over his shoulders and was making
for the isolated cabin. As he passed the bridge-players, they asked him for
a decision, pointing to their cards spread out upon the table. But, with a
wave of the hand, he refused to give an opinion and walked on, covered the
thirty yards which divided them from the cabin, opened the door and went
in.

Therese d'Ormeval came back to the terrace and remained for ten minutes
sitting on a bench. Then she came out through the casino. Hortense, on
leaning forward, saw her entering one of the chalets annexed to the Hotel
Hauville and, a moment later, caught sight of her again on the balcony.

"Eleven o'clock," said Renine. "Whoever it is, he or she, or one of the
card-players, or one of their wives, it won't be long before some one goes
to the appointed place."

Nevertheless, twenty minutes passed and twenty-five; and no one stirred.

"Perhaps Madame d'Ormeval has gone." Hortense suggested, anxiously. "She is
no longer on her balcony."

"If she is at the Trois Mathildes," said Renine, "we will go and catch her
there."

He was rising to his feet, when a fresh discussion broke out among the
bridge-players and one of them exclaimed:

"Let's put it to d'Ormeval."

"Very well," said his adversary. "I'll accept his decision ... if he
consents to act as umpire. He was rather huffy just now."

They called out:

"D'Ormeval! D'Ormeval!"

They then saw that d'Ormeval must have shut the door behind him, which kept
him in the half dark, the cabin being one of the sort that has no window.

"He's asleep," cried one. "Let's wake him up."

All four went to the cabin, began by calling to him and, on receiving no
answer, thumped on the door:

"Hi! D'Ormeval! Are you asleep?"

On the terrace Serge Renine suddenly leapt to his feet with so uneasy an
air that Hortense was astonished. He muttered:

"If only it's not too late!"

And, when Hortense asked him what he meant, he tore down the steps and
started running to the cabin. He reached it just as the bridge-players were
trying to break in the door:

"Stop!" he ordered. "Things must be done in the regular fashion."

"What things?" they asked.

He examined the Venetian shutters at the top of each of the folding-doors
and, on finding that one of the upper slats was partly broken, hung on as
best he could to the roof of the cabin and cast a glance inside. Then he
said to the four men:

"I was right in thinking that, if M. d'Ormeval did not reply, he must have
been prevented by some serious cause. There is every reason to believe that
M. d'Ormeval is wounded ... or dead."

"Dead!" they cried. "What do you mean? He has only just left us."

Renine took out his knife, prized open the lock and pulled back the two
doors.

There were shouts of dismay. M. d'Ormeval was lying flat on his face,
clutching his jacket and his newspaper in his hands. Blood was flowing
from his back and staining his shirt.

"Oh!" said some one. "He has killed himself!"

"How can he have killed himself?" said Renine. "The wound is right in the
middle of the back, at a place which the hand can't reach. And, besides,
there's not a knife in the cabin."

The others protested:

"If so, he has been murdered. But that's impossible! There has been nobody
here. We should have seen, if there had been. Nobody could have passed us
without our seeing...."

The other men, all the ladies and the children paddling in the sea had come
running up. Renine allowed no one to enter the cabin, except a doctor who
was present. But the doctor could only say that M. d'Ormeval was dead,
stabbed with a dagger.

At that moment, the mayor and the policeman arrived, together with some
people of the village. After the usual enquiries, they carried away the
body.

A few persons went on ahead to break the news to Therese d'Ormeval, who was
once more to be seen on her balcony.

* * * * *

And so the tragedy had taken place without any clue to explain how a man,
protected by a closed door with an uninjured lock, could have been murdered
in the space of a few minutes and in front of twenty witnesses, one might
almost say, twenty spectators. No one had entered the cabin. No one had
come out of it. As for the dagger with which M. d'Ormeval had been stabbed
between the shoulders, it could not be traced. And all this would have
suggested the idea of a trick of sleight-of-hand performed by a clever
conjuror, had it not concerned a terrible murder, committed under the most
mysterious conditions.

Hortense was unable to follow, as Renine would have liked, the small party
who were making for Madame d'Ormeval; she was paralysed with excitement and
incapable of moving. It was the first time that her adventures with Renine
had taken her into the very heart of the action and that, instead of noting
the consequences of a murder, or assisting in the pursuit of the criminals,
she found herself confronted with the murder itself.

It left her trembling all over; and she stammered: "How horrible!... The
poor fellow!... Ah, Renine, you couldn't save him this time!... And that's
what upsets me more than anything, that we could and should have saved him,
since we knew of the plot...."

Renine made her sniff at a bottle of salts; and when she had quite
recovered her composure, he said, while observing her attentively:

"So you think that there is some connection between the murder and the
plot which we were trying to frustrate?"

"Certainly," said she, astonished at the question.

"Then, as that plot was hatched by a husband against his wife or by a wife
against her husband, you admit that Madame d'Ormeval ...?"

"Oh, no, impossible!" she said. "To begin with, Madame d'Ormeval did not
leave her rooms ... and then I shall never believe that pretty woman
capable.... No, no, of course there was something else...."

"What else?"

"I don't know.... You may have misunderstood what the brother and sister
were saying to each other.... You see, the murder has been committed under
quite different conditions ... at another hour and another place...."

"And therefore," concluded Renine, "the two cases are not in any way
related?"

"Oh," she said, "there's no making it out! It's all so strange!"

Renine became a little satirical:

"My pupil is doing me no credit to-day," he said. "Why, here is a perfectly
simple story, unfolded before your eyes. You have seen it reeled off like
a scene in the cinema; and it all remains as obscure to you as though you
were hearing of an affair that happened in a cave a hundred miles away!"

Hortense was confounded:

"What are you saying? Do you mean that you have understood it? What clues
have you to go by?"

Renine looked at his watch:

"I have not understood everything," he said. "The murder itself, the mere
brutal murder, yes. But the essential thing, that is to say, the psychology
of the crime: I've no clue to that. Only, it is twelve o'clock. The brother
and sister, seeing no one come to the appointment at the Trois Mathildes,
will go down to the beach. Don't you think that we shall learn something
then of the accomplice whom I accuse them of having and of the connection
between the two cases?"

They reached the esplanade in front of the Hauville chalets, with the
capstans by which the fishermen haul up their boats to the beach. A number
of inquisitive persons were standing outside the door of one of the
chalets. Two coastguards, posted at the door, prevented them from entering.

The mayor shouldered his way eagerly through the crowd. He was back from
the post-office, where he had been telephoning to Le Havre, to the office
of the procurator-general, and had been told that the public prosecutor
and an examining-magistrate would come on to Etretat in the course of the
afternoon.

"That leaves us plenty of time for lunch," said Renine. "The tragedy will
not be enacted before two or three o'clock. And I have an idea that it will
be sensational."

They hurried nevertheless. Hortense, overwrought by fatigue and her desire
to know what was happening, continually questioned Renine, who replied
evasively, with his eyes turned to the esplanade, which they could see
through the windows of the coffee-room.

"Are you watching for those two?" asked Hortense.

"Yes, the brother and sister."

"Are you sure that they will venture?..."

"Look out! Here they come!"

He went out quickly.

Where the main street opened on the sea-front, a lady and gentleman were
advancing with hesitating steps, as though unfamiliar with the place. The
brother was a puny little man, with a sallow complexion. He was wearing a
motoring-cap. The sister too was short, but rather stout, and was wrapped
in a large cloak. She struck them as a woman of a certain age, but still
good-looking under the thin veil that covered her face.

They saw the groups of bystanders and drew nearer. Their gait betrayed
uneasiness and hesitation.

The sister asked a question of a seaman. At the first words of his answer,
which no doubt conveyed the news of d'Ormeval's death, she uttered a cry
and tried to force her way through the crowd. The brother, learning in his
turn what had happened, made great play with his elbows and shouted to the
coast-guards:

"I'm a friend of d'Ormeval's!... Here's my card! Frederic Astaing.... My
sister, Germaine Astaing, knows Madame d'Ormeval intimately!... They were
expecting us.... We had an appointment!..."

They were allowed to pass. Renine, who had slipped behind them, followed
them in without a word, accompanied by Hortense.

The d'Ormevals had four bedrooms and a sitting-room on the second floor.
The sister rushed into one of the rooms and threw herself on her knees
beside the bed on which the corpse lay stretched. Therese d'Ormeval was in
the sitting-room and was sobbing in the midst of a small company of silent
persons. The brother sat down beside her, eagerly seized her hands and
said, in a trembling voice:

"My poor friend!... My poor friend!..."

Renine and Hortense gazed at the pair of them: and Hortense whispered:

"And she's supposed to have killed him for that? Impossible!"

"Nevertheless," observed Renine, "they are acquaintances; and we know that
Astaing and his sister were also acquainted with a third person who was
their accomplice. So that...."

"It's impossible!" Hortense repeated.

And, in spite of all presumption, she felt so much attracted by Therese
that, when Frederic Astaing stood up, she proceeded straightway to sit down
beside her and consoled her in a gentle voice. The unhappy woman's tears
distressed her profoundly.

Renine, on the other hand, applied himself from the outset to watching
the brother and sister, as though this were the only thing that mattered,
and did not take his eyes off Frederic Astaing, who, with an air of
indifference, began to make a minute inspection of the premises, examining
the sitting-room, going into all the bedrooms, mingling with the various
groups of persons present and asking questions about the manner in which
the murder had been committed. Twice his sister came up and spoke to him.
Then he went back to Madame d'Ormeval and again sat down beside her, full
of earnest sympathy. Lastly, in the lobby, he had a long conversation with
his sister, after which they parted, like people who have come to a perfect
understanding. Frederic then left. These manoeuvers had lasted quite thirty
or forty minutes.

It was at this moment that the motor-car containing the
examining-magistrate and the public prosecutor pulled up outside the
chalets. Renine, who did not expect them until later, said to Hortense:

"We must be quick. On no account leave Madame d'Ormeval."

Word was sent up to the persons whose evidence might be of any service
that they were to go to the beach, where the magistrate was beginning a
preliminary investigation. He would call on Madame d'Ormeval afterwards.
Accordingly, all who were present left the chalet. No one remained behind
except the two guards and Germaine Astaing.

Germaine knelt down for the last time beside the dead man and, bending low,
with her face in her hands, prayed for a long time. Then she rose and was
opening the door on the landing, when Renine came forward:

"I should like a few words with you, madame."

She seemed surprised and replied:

"What is it, monsieur? I am listening."

"Not here."

"Where then, monsieur?"

"Next door, in the sitting-room."

"No," she said, sharply.

"Why not? Though you did not even shake hands with her, I presume that
Madame d'Ormeval is your friend?"

He gave her no time to reflect, drew her into the next room, closed the
door and, at once pouncing upon Madame d'Ormeval, who was trying to go out
and return to her own room, said:

"No, madame, listen, I implore you. Madame Astaing's presence need not
drive you away. We have very serious matters to discuss, without losing a
minute."

The two women, standing face to face, were looking at each other with the
same expression of implacable hatred, in which might be read the same
confusion of spirit and the same restrained anger. Hortense, who believed
them to be friends and who might, up to a certain point, have believed them
to be accomplices, foresaw with terror the hostile encounter which she felt
to be inevitable. She compelled Madame d'Ormeval to resume her seat, while
Renine took up his position in the middle of the room and spoke in resolute
tones:

"Chance, which has placed me in possession of part of the truth, will
enable me to save you both, if you are willing to assist me with a frank
explanation that will give me the particulars which I still need. Each of
you knows the danger in which she stands, because each of you is conscious
in her heart of the evil for which she is responsible. But you are
carried away by hatred; and it is for me to see clearly and to act. The
examining-magistrate will be here in half-an-hour. By that time, you must
have come to an agreement."

They both started, as though offended by such a word.

"Yes, an agreement," he repeated, in a more imperious tone. "Whether you
like it or not, you will come to an agreement. You are not the only ones to
be considered. There are your two little daughters, Madame d'Ormeval. Since
circumstances have set me in their path, I am intervening in their defence
and for their safety. A blunder, a word too much; and they are ruined. That
must not happen."

At the mention of her children, Madame d'Ormeval broke down and sobbed.
Germaine Astaing shrugged her shoulders and made a movement towards the
door. Renine once more blocked the way:

"Where are you going?"

"I have been summoned by the examining-magistrate."

"No, you have not."

"Yes, I have. Just as all those have been who have any evidence to give."

"You were not on the spot. You know nothing of what happened. Nobody knows
anything of the murder."

"I know who committed it."

"That's impossible."

"It was Therese d'Ormeval."

The accusation was hurled forth in an outburst of rage and with a fiercely
threatening gesture.

"You wretched creature!" exclaimed madame d'Ormeval, rushing at her. "Go!
Leave the room! Oh, what a wretch the woman is!"

Hortense was trying to restrain her, but Renine whispered:

"Let them be. It's what I wanted ... to pitch them one against the other
and so to let in the day-light."

Madame Astaing had made a convulsive effort to ward off the insult with a
jest; and she sniggered:

"A wretched creature? Why? Because I have accused you?"

"Why? For every reason! You're a wretched creature! You hear what I say,
Germaine: you're a wretch!"

Therese d'Ormeval was repeating the insult as though it afforded her some
relief. Her anger was abating. Very likely also she no longer had the
strength to keep up the struggle; and it was Madame Astaing who returned
to the attack, with her fists clenched and her face distorted and suddenly
aged by fully twenty years:

"You! You dare to insult me, you! You after the murder you have committed!
You dare to lift up your head when the man whom you killed is lying in
there on his death-bed! Ah, if one of us is a wretched creature, it's you,
Therese, and you know it! You have killed your husband! You have killed
your husband!"

She leapt forward, in the excitement of the terrible words which she was
uttering; and her finger-nails were almost touching her friend's face.

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't kill him!" she cried. "Don't say
that: I won't let you. Don't say it. The dagger is there, in your
bag. My brother felt it, while he was talking to you; and his hand
came out with stains of blood upon it: your husband's blood, Therese. And
then, even if I had not discovered anything, do you think that I should not
have guessed, in the first few minutes? Why, I knew the truth at once,
Therese! When a sailor down there answered, 'M. d'Ormeval? He has been
murdered,' I said to myself then and there, 'It's she, it's Therese, she
killed him.'"

Therese did not reply. She had abandoned her attitude of protest. Hortense,
who was watching her with anguish, thought that she could perceive in her
the despondency of those who know themselves to be lost. Her cheeks had
fallen in and she wore such an expression of despair that Hortense, moved
to compassion, implored her to defend herself:

"Please, please, explain things. When the murder was committed, you were
here, on the balcony.... But then the dagger ... how did you come to have
it ...? How do you explain it?..."

"Explanations!" sneered Germaine Astaing. "How could she possibly explain?
What do outward appearances matter? What does it matter what any one saw
or did not see? The proof is the thing that tells.... The dagger is there,
in your bag, Therese: that's a fact.... Yes, yes, it was you who did it!
You killed him! You killed him in the end!... Ah, how often I've told my
brother, 'She will kill him yet!' Frederic used to try to defend you. He
always had a weakness for you. But in his innermost heart he foresaw what
would happen.... And now the horrible thing has been done. A stab in the
back! Coward! Coward!... And you would have me say nothing? Why, I didn't
hesitate a moment! Nor did Frederic. We looked for proofs at once.... And
I've denounced you of my own free will, perfectly well aware of what I was
doing.... And it's over, Therese. You're done for. Nothing can save you
now. The dagger is in that bag which you are clutching in your hand. The
magistrate is coming; and the dagger will be found, stained with the blood
of your husband. So will your pocket-book. They're both there. And they
will be found...."

Her rage had incensed her so vehemently that she was unable to continue and
stood with her hand outstretched and her chin twitching with nervous
tremors.

Renine gently took hold of Madame d'Ormeval's bag. She clung to it, but he
insisted and said:

"Please allow me, madame. Your friend Germaine is right. The
examining-magistrate will be here presently; and the fact that the dagger
and the pocket-book are in your possession will lead to your immediate
arrest. This must not happen. Please allow me."

His insinuating voice diminished Therese d'Ormeval's resistance. She
released her fingers, one by one. He took the bag, opened it, produced
a little dagger with an ebony handle and a grey leather pocket-book and
quietly slipped the two into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Germaine Astaing gazed at him in amazement: "You're mad, monsieur! What
right have you ...?"

"These things must not be left lying about. I sha'n't worry now. The
magistrate will never look for them in my pocket."

"But I shall denounce you to the police," she exclaimed, indignantly.
"They shall be told!"

"No, no," he said, laughing, "you won't say anything! The police have
nothing to do with this. The quarrel between you must be settled in
private. What an idea, to go dragging the police into every incident of
one's life!"

Madame Astaing was choking with fury:

"But you have no right to talk like this, monsieur! Who are you, after all?
A friend of that woman's?"

"Since you have been attacking her, yes."

"But I'm only attacking her because she's guilty. For you can't deny it:
she has killed her husband."

"I don't deny it," said Renine, calmly. "We are all agreed on that point.
Jacques d'Ormeval was killed by his wife. But, I repeat, the police must
not know the truth."

"They shall know it through me, monsieur, I swear they shall. That woman
must be punished: she has committed murder."

Renine went up to her and, touching her on the shoulder:

"You asked me just now by what right I was interfering. And you yourself,
madame?"

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