Chapter 6 of Phantomas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Suvestre this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Alan Winteroud Phantomas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Suvestre translated by Cranston Metcalfe. Chapter 6 Phantomas it is death hurrying back toward the chateau with the sergeant Juv ran into Monsieur de Prail outside the part gate the magistrate had just arrived from Brieve in a motor car which he had commandeered for his personal use during the last few days. Well said Juv in his quiet measured tones have you heard the news and as the magistrate looked at him in surprise he went on I gather from your expression that you have not well sir if you will kindly fill up a warrant we will arrest Miser Charles Rambeir. Juv briefly repeated to the magistrate what the sergeant had reported to him and the sergeant added a few further details. The three men had now reached the foot of the steps before the house and were about to go up when the door of the chateau was opened and Dolan appeared he hurried toward them with unkempt hair and a haggard face and excitedly exclaimed didn't you meet the Rambeir's where are they where are they. The magistrate who was bewildered by what Juv had told him was trying to form a coherent idea of the whole sequence of events but the detective realized the situation at once and turned to the sergeant. The bird has flown he said the sergeant threw up his hands in dismay. Inside the hall Juv and Monsieur de Prail ordered Dolan to give them an exact account of the discovery made by Therese in the course of the previous night. Well gentlemen said the old fellow who was greatly upset by the discovery of the murderer of the Marquis de Langrune when I got to the chateau early this morning I found the two old servants Marie and Louise entirely occupied attending to the young mistress. Marie slept in an adjoining room to hers last night and was awakened about five o'clock by the poor child's inarticulate cries. Manmousel Therese was bathed in perspiration her face was all drawn and there were dark rings under her eyes she was sleeping badly and evidently having a dreadful nightmare. She half woke up several times and muttered some unintelligible words to Marie who thought that it was a result of over excitement. But about six o'clock just as I arrived Manmousel Therese really woke up and bursting into a fit of sobbing and crying repeated the names of her grandmother and the Rambayres and the Baron de Vibre. She kept on saying the murder the murder and making all sorts of signs of terror but we were not able to get from her a clear statement of what it was all about. I felt her pulse and found she was very feverish and Louise prepared a cooling drink which she persuaded her to take in about 20 minutes. It was then nearly half past six. Manmousel Therese quieted down and managed to tell us what she had heard during the night and the dreadful interview and conversation between Monsieur Rambayre and his son which he had seen and overheard. What did you do then? inquired Monsieur Dupréle. I was dreadfully upset myself sir and I sent Jean the coachman to Saint-Jorais to fetch the doctor and also to let Sergeant Doucet know. Sergeant Doucet got here first. I told him all I knew and then I went upstairs with the doctor to see Manmousel Therese. The magistrate turned to the police sergeant and questioned him. Directly Monsieur Delon told me his story the sergeant replied. I thought it was my duty to report to Monsieur Juvre who I knew was not far from the chateau on his way to Verrière. Monsieur Juvre told me last night that he meant to explore that part in the early morning. I left Morand on duty at the entrance to the chateau with orders to prevent either of the Rambayres from leaving. And Morand did not see them going away, the magistrate asked. Juvre had already defined what had happened and replied for the sergeant. Morand did not see them go out for the obvious reason that they had left long before, in the middle of the night. Directly after their altercation in a word, before Manmousel Therese woke up, he turned to the sergeant. What has been done since then? Nothing, Inspector. Well, Sergeant, said Juvre, I imagine his worship will order you to send out your men at once after the runaways. As a matter of courtesy, he glanced at the magistrate as if asking for his approval. But he only did so out of politeness, for he took it for granted. Well, of course, said the magistrate, please do so at once. The sergeant turned on his heel and left the hall. Whereas Manmousel Therese, Monsieur de Prail, asked Delon, who was standing nervously apart. She is sleeping just now, sir, said the steward coming forward. The doctor is with her, and would rather she were not disturbed if you would have no objection. Very well, said the magistrate, leave us, please. And Delon also went away. Juvre and Monsieur de Prail looked at one another. The magistrate was the first to break the silence. So it is finished, he remarked. So this Charles Rambeir is the culprit? Juvre shook his head. Charles Rambeir, well, he ought to be the culprit. Why that reservation inquired the magistrate? I say ought to be for all the circumstances point to that conclusion, and yet in my bones I don't believe he is. Surely the presumptions of his guilt, his pseudo confession, or at least his silence in face of his father's formal accusation, may make us sure he is, said Monsieur de Prail. There are some presumptions in favor of his innocence too, Juvre replied, but with a slight hesitation. The magistrate pressed his point. Your investigations formally demonstrated the fact that the crime was committed by some person who was inside the house. Possibly, said Juvre, but not certainly. The probabilities do not allow us to assert it as a fact. Explain yourself. Not so fast, sir, Juvre replied. And getting up, he added, there is nothing for us to do here, sir. Shall we go up to the room Charles Rambeir occupied? Monsieur de Prail followed the detective, and the two men went into the room, which was as plainly furnished as that of any young girl. The magistrate installed himself comfortably in an easy chair and lighted a cigar. While Juvre walked up and down, scrutinizing everything with quick, sharp glances and began to talk. I said not so fast just now, sir, and I will tell you why, in my opinion, there are two preliminary points in this affair which is important to clear up in the nature of the crime and the motive which can actuate the criminal. Let us take up these two points, and first of all, ask ourselves how the murder of the Marquis de la Grune ought to be classified in the technical sense. The first conclusion, which must be impressed upon the mind of any observant person who has visited the scene of the crime and examined the corpse that the victim is, that the murder must be placed in the category of cropulous crimes. The murderer seems to have left the implicit mark of his character upon his victim. The very violence of the blows dealt show that he is a man of the lower orders, a typical criminal, a professional. What do you deduce that from, Mr. de Preil inquired? Simply from the nature of the wound, you saw it as I did. Madame de la Grune's throat was almost entirely severed by the blade of some cutting instrument. The breadth and depth of the wound absolutely proved that it was not made with one stroke. The murderer must have gone amok and dealt several blows, have gone on striking even when death had finished its work, or at least was quite inevitable.  Again, the nature of the wound shows that the murderer is a strong man. You no doubt know that weak men with feeble muscles strike deep by choice. That is to say with a pointed weapon and aiming at a vital organ. Whereas powerful murderers have a predilection for blows dealt superficially and for broad, ghastly wounds. Besides, that is only following a natural law. A weak man finesses with death, tries to make sure of it at some very precise point, penetrating the heart or severing an artery. A brutal man does not care where he hits, but trusts to his own brute strength to achieve his purpose. We have next to determine the sort of weapon with which the murder was committed. We have not got it at any rate up to the present. I have given orders for the drains to be emptied and the pond to be dragged and the shrubberies to be searched. But whether our search is crowned with success or not, I am convinced that the instrument was a knife. One of those common knives was a catch lock that apaches always carry. If the murderer had had a weapon whose point was its principal danger, he would have stabbed and stabbed to the heart instead of cutting. But he used the edge, the part of a knife that is most habitually used and he actually cut. When the first wound was made, he did not strike anywhere else, but continued working away at the wound and enlarging it. It is a point of capital importance that this murder was committed with a knife, not with a dagger or stiletto. And therefore, this is a crapulous crime. And what conclusion do you draw from the fact that the crime is a crapulous one, the magistrate proceeded to inquire? Merely that it cannot have been committed by Charles Rambeir, Jules answered very gravely. He is a young man who has been well brought up. He comes a very good stock and his age makes it most improbable that he can be a professional criminal. Obviously, obviously, murmured the magistrate, not a little embarrassed by the keen logic of the detective. And now let us consider the motive or motives of this crime, Jules continued. Why did the man commit this murder? Doubtless for purposes of robbery, said the magistrate. What did he want to steal as you've retorted? As a matter of fact, Madame de Lengren's diamond rings and watch and purse were all found on her table in full view of everybody. In the drawers that had been broken open, I found other Jules, over 20 pounds in gold and silver and three banknotes in a card case. What is your view, sir, of a crapulous robber who sees valuables like that within his reach and who does not take them? It is certainly surprising, the magistrate admitted. Very surprising and goes to show that although the crime in itself is a common-sorted one, the criminal may have had higher or at any rate different aspirations from those which would lead an ordinary ruffian to commit murder for the sake of robbery. The age and social position and personality of Madame de Lengren may get very unlikely that she had enemies. Poor was the object of vengeance and therefore, if she was got rid of, it was very likely that she might be robbed but robbed of what? Was there something more important than money or Jules to be got? I frankly admit that although I put the question, I am at a loss how to answer it. Obviously, murmured the magistrate again, still more puzzled by all these logical deductions. Jules proceeded with the development of his ideas. And now suppose we are face to face with a crime committed without any motive as a result of some morbid impulse a by no means uncommon occurrence, monomania or temporary insanity. In that case, although in consequence of the crapless nature of the crime, I had previously dismissed the very serious presumption of guilt attaching to young Rambeir, I should be inclined to reconsider my opinion and think it possible that he might be the culprit. We know very little about the young fellow from the physiological point of view. In fact, we don't know him at all but it seems that his family is not altogether normal. And I understand that his mother's mental condition is precarious. If for a moment we regard Charles Rambeir as a hysterical subject, we can associate him with the murder of the Marquis de la Grune without thereby destroying our case that the crime is a crapless one. For a man of only medium physical strength when suffering from an attack of mental alienation has his muscular power increased at least tenfold during his paroxysms. Under such influences that Charles Rambeir might have committed murder with all the fierce brutality of a giant. But I shall soon be in possession of absolutely accurate knowledge as to the muscular strength of the murderer who proceeded. Quite lately, Monsieur Bertillon invented a marvelous dynamometer which enables us not only to ascertain what kind of lever has been used to force a lock or a piece of furniture but also to determine the exact strength of the individual who used the tools. I have taken samples of the wood from the broken drawer and I shall soon have exact information. That will be immensely important, Monsieur de Prail agreed. Even if it does away with our present certainty of Charles Rambeir's guilt, we shall be able to find out whether the murder was committed by any other occupant in the house still assuming that it was committed by some member of the household. With regard to that said Juv, we can proceed with our method of deduction and eliminate from our field of observation anybody who has a good alibi or other defenses. It will be so much ground cleared. For my own part, I find it impossible to suspect the two old maid servants, Louise and Marie. The tramps whom we have detained and subsequently released are too simple-minded elementary people to have been capable of devising the minute precautions which demonstrate the subtle cleverness of the man who murdered the Marquise. Then there is Delon, but I imagine you will agree with me in thinking that his alibi removes him from suspicion. More especially, as the medical evidence proves that the murder was committed during the night between two and three o'clock. Only Monsieur Etienne Rambeir is left, the magistrate put in, and about nine o'clock that evening he left the dorset station in the slow train which reaches Verrier at 6.55 a.m. He spent the whole night in the train, where he's certainly arrived by that one, he could not have a better alibi. Not possibly, Juvre replied, so we need only trouble ourselves with Charles Rambeir, and warming up to the subject the detective proceeded to pile up a crushing indictment against the young man. The crime was committed so quietly that not the faintest sound was heard, therefore the murderer was in the house. He went to the Marquise's room and announced his arrival by a cautious tap on the door. The Marquise then opened the door to him and was not surprised to see him, for she knew him quite well. He went into her room with her and, oh, come, come, Monsieur de Prail broke in, you are romancing now, Monsieur Juvre, you forget that the bedroom door was forced, the best proof of that being the bolt which was found wrenched away and hanging literally at the end of the screws. I was expecting you to say that, sir, said Juvre with a smile, but before I reply, I should like to show you something rather quaint. He led the way across the passage and went into the bedroom of the Marquise where order had now been restored. The dead body had been removed to the library which was transformed into a chapel ardente and two nuns were watching over it there. Have a good look at this bolt, he said to Monsieur de Prail. Is there anything unusual about it? No, said the magistrate. Yes, there is, said Juvre. The slide bolt is out as when the bolt is fastened but the socket into which the slide bolt slips to fasten the door to the wall is intact. If the bolt really had been forced, the socket would have been wrenched away too. Juvre next asked Monsieur de Prail to look closely at the screws that were wrenched halfway out of the door. Do you see anything on those? The magistrate pointed to their heads. There are tiny scratches on them, he said, rather hesitatingly. For in his inmost heart, he knew to detect his real superiority over himself. And from those I must infer that the screws have not been wrenched out by the pressure exerted on the bolt but really unscrewed and therefore, and therefore, Juvre broke in, this is a mere blind from which we may certainly draw the conclusion that the murderer wished to make us believe that the door was forced. Whereas in reality, it was opened to him by the Marquis. Therefore, the murderer was personally known to her. The murderer was personally known to her, he repeated. Now I should like to remind you of young Charles Rambeir's equivocal behavior in the course of the evening that preceded the crime. It struck President Bonet and shocked the priest. I also recall his hereditary antecedents, his mother's insanity, and finally, Juvre broke off abruptly and unceremoniously dragged the magistrate out of the room and into Charles Rambeir's bedroom. He hurried into the dressing room adjoining, went down on his knees on the floor and laid a finger to the middle of the oil cloth that was laid over the boards. What do you see there, sir, he demanded. The magistrate adjusted his eyeglass and looking at the place indicated by the detective saw a little black stain. He wetted his finger, rubbed it on the spot, and then holding up his hand observed that the tip of his finger was stained red. It is blood, he muttered. Yes, blood, said Juvre, and I gather from this that the story of the bloodstained towel which Monsieur Rambeir Sr. found amongst his son's things and the sight of which so greatly impressed Mademoiselle Therese was not an invention on the young lady's part, but really existed, and it forms the most damning evidence possibly against the young man. He obviously washed his hands after the crime from the water in the tap over this wash hand basin here, but one drop of blood falling on the towel and dripping onto the floor has been enough to give him away. The magistrate nodded. It is conclusive, he said. You have just proved the demonstration, Monsieur Juvre, that Charles Rambeir is the guilty party. It is beyond argument. It is conclusive, conclusive. There were a couple of seconds of silence, and then Juvre suddenly said, no. No, he repeated. It is quite true that we can deduce perfectly logical arguments to show that the murder was committed by some member of the household and that, therefore, Charles Rambeir is the only possible culprit, but we can deduce equally logical arguments to show that the crime was committed by some person who got in from outside. There is nothing to prove that he did not walk into the house through the front door. The door was locked, said the magistrate. That's nothing, said Juvre the laugh. Don't forget there isn't such a thing as a real safety lock nowadays, since all locks can be opened with an outside key. If I had found one of the good old fashioned catch locks on the door, such as they used to make years ago, I should have said to you, nobody got in, because the only way to get through a door faster with one of those locks is to break the door down. But here we have a lock that can be opened with a key. Now, the key does not exist of which one cannot get an impression, and there is not such a thing as an impression from which one cannot manufacture a false key. The murderer could easily have gotten into the house with a duplicate key. The magistrate raised a further objection. If the murderer had got in from outside, he would inevitably have left some traces around about the chateau, but there aren't any. Yes, there are, Juvre retorted. First of all, there is this piece of an ordinance map, which I found yesterday between the chateau and the embankment. He took it from his pocket as he spoke. It is an odd coincidence that this scrap shows the neighborhood of the chateau of Bolia. That doesn't prove anything, said the magistrate. To find a piece of a map of our district in our district is the most natural thing possible. Now, if you were to discover the rest of this map in anybody's possession, then you may rest assured that I shall try to do so with the least possible delay, said Juvre gently. But this is not the only argument I have to support my theory. This morning when I was walking near the embankment, I found some very suspicious footprints. It is true there are any number of footprints near the end of the Varriere tunnel where the navies are at work, but at the other end of the tunnel where there is no occasion for anyone to pass by, I found the earth of the embankment which was crisp with the frost had been disturbed, showing that someone had clambered up the embankment. The tips of his shoes had been driven into the earth and I could see distinctly where his feet had been placed. But unfortunately the soil there is so dry that the footprints were too faint for me to hope to be able to identify the maker of them. But the fact remains that someone did climb up the embankment, someone who is making for the railway. The magistrate did not seem to be impressed by Juvre's discovery. And pray what conclusion do you think ought to be drawn from that, he inquired. Juvre sat down in an easy chair, threw back his head and closed his eyes as if he were about to indulge in a long soliloquy and began to express his thoughts aloud. Suppose we were to combine the two hypotheses into one. To wit, that the murderer was in the chateau prior to the accomplishment of the crime and left the chateau directly it was accomplished. What should you say, sir, of a criminal completing his deed then hurrying over the couple of miles that separate Boliu from the railway and catching a passing train? And on his way climbing the embankment at the spot where I found the footprints I mentioned. I should say, the magistrate replied, that you can't jump into a moving train as you can into a passing tram and further that at night none but express trains run between Brieve and Cahor. All right, said Juvre, I will merely point out that owing to the work on the line at present, all trains have stopped at the beginning of the tunnel for the last two months. If the murderer had planned to escape in that way, he might very well have been aware of this regular stoppage. The magistrate's confidence was a little shaken by these new deductions on the part of the detective, but he submitted yet another objection. We have not found any traces round about the chateau. Strictly speaking, no, we have not, Juvre admitted, but it is clear that if the murderer walked on the grass and he probably did so, he walked on it during the night. That is to say, before the morning dew. Now, everybody knows that when the dew rises in the early morning, grass that has been bent down by any passing man or animal stands up again in its original position. Thereby destroying all traces. So if the murderer did walk in the lawn when he was getting away, nobody could tell that he had done so. Nevertheless, on the lawn in front of the window of the room where the murder was committed, I have observed not exactly footprints, but signs that the earth has been disturbed at that spot. I imagine that if I were to jump out of a first floor window onto the soft surface of a lawn and wanted to efface the marks of my boots, I should smooth the earth and the grass around him in just the same way that the little piece of lawn I speak of seems to have been smooth. I should like to have a look at that, said Monsieur de Preu. Well, there's no difficulty about it, Juvre replied. Come along. The two men hurried down the staircase and out of the house. When they reached the patch of grass which the inspector said had been made up, they crouched down and scrutinized it closely. Just by the side of the grass, even overhanging it a little, a large rhubarb plant outspread its thick, ventilated leaves almost parallel with the soil. Juvre happened to glance casually at the nearest leaf and uttered an explanation of surprise and gratification. Gad, here's something interesting. And he drew the magistrate's attention to some little pilluels of earth with which the plant was peppered. What is that? inquired Monsieur de Preu. Earth, said Juvre, who had swept the top of the leaf with the palm of his hand. Ordinary earth, like the rest 10 inches below on the grass. Well, what about it? said the puzzled magistrate. Well, said Juvre with a smile. I imagine that ordinary earth or any kind of earth has no power to move of its own volition, much less to jump up 10 inches into the air and settle on the top of a leaf, even a rhubarb leaf. So I conclude that since this earth did not get here by itself, it was brought here. How? That is very simple. Somebody has jumped onto the grass there, Monsieur de Preu. He has removed the marks of his feet by smoothing the earth with his hands. The earth soiled his hands, and he rubbed one against the other quite mechanically.  And so it is certain, this is one proof more, that even if the murderer did not get in from the outside, he did at any rate take to flight after he had committed the crime. So it can't be Charles Rambeir after all, said the magistrate. It ought to be Charles Rambeir, was Jus' baffling reply. The magistrate waxed irritable. My dear sir, your everlasting contradictions end by being rather absurd. You have hardly finished building up one laborious theory before you start knocking it down again. I fail to understand you. Jus' smiled at Monsieur de Preu's sudden irritability, but quickly became grave again. I am anxious not to be led away by any preconceived opinion. I put the hypothesis that so-and-so is guilty and examine all the arguments in support of that theory. Then I submit that the crime was committed by someone else and proceed in the same way. My method certainly has the objection that it confronts every argument with a diametrically opposite one, but we are not concerned with establishing any one case in preference to another. It is the truth and nothing else that we have to discover. And that is tantamount to saying that in spite of the overwhelming circumstantial evidence and in spite of the fact that he has run away, Charles Rambeir is innocent. Charles Rambeir is the culprit, sir, Jus' replied brightly. If he were not, whom else could we possibly suspect? The detective's placidity and his perpetual self-contradictions exasperated Monsieur de Preu. He held his tongue and was silently revolving the case in his mind when Jus' made yet one more suggestion. There is one final hypothesis which I feel obliged to put before you. Do you realize, sir, that this is a typical Fantamas crime? Monsieur de Preu shrugged his shoulders as the detective pronounced this half-mythical name. Upon my word, Monsieur Jus', I should never have expected you to invoke Fantamas. Why, Fantamas is the too obvious sub-diffuse, the cheapest device for investing a case with mock honors.  Fantamas has no existence in fact. Jus' stopped in his stride. He paused a moment before applying, then spoke in a restrained voice, but with an emphasis on his words that always marked him when he spoke in all seriousness. You are wrong to laugh, sir, very wrong. You are a magistrate and I am only a humble detective inspector, but you have three or four years' experience, perhaps less, while I have 15 years' work behind me. I know that Fantamas does exist and I do anything but laugh when I suspect his intervention in a case. Monsieur de Preu could hardly conceal his surprise and Jus' went on. No one has ever said of me, sir, that I was a coward. I have looked death in the eyes. I have often hunted and arrested criminals who would not have had the least hesitation in doing away with me. There are whole gangs of rascals who have vowed my death. All manner of horrible revenge has threatened me today. For all that, I have the most complete indifference, but when people talk to me of Fantamas, when I fancy that I can detect the intervention of that genius of crime in any case, then, Monsieur de Preu, I am in a funk. I tell you, frankly, I am in a funk. I am frightened because Fantamas is a being against whom it is idle to use ordinary weapons because he has been able to hide his identity and elude all pursuit for years because his daring is boundless and his power immeasurable because he is everywhere and nowhere at once. And if he has had a hand in this affair, I am not even sure that he is not listening to me now. And finally, Monsieur de Preu, because everyone whom I have known to attack Fantamas, my friends, my colleagues, my superior officers, have one and all, one and all, sir, been beaten in the fight. Fantamas does exist, I know, but who is he? A man can brave a danger he can measure, but he trembles when confronted with apparel he suspects but cannot see. But this Fantamas is not a devil, the magistrate broke in testily. He is a man like you and me. You are right, sir, in saying that he is a man, but I repeat the man is a genius. I don't know whether he works alone or whether he is the head of a gang of criminals. I know nothing of his life. I know nothing of his object. In no single case yet has it been possible to determine the exact part he has taken. He seems to possess the extraordinary gift of being able to slay and leave no trace. You don't see him, you divine his presence. You don't hear him, you have a presentiment of him. If Fantamas is mixed up in this present affair, I don't know if we shall ever succeed in clearing it up. The seer of the prayer was impressed in spite of himself by the detective's earnestness. But I suppose you are not recommending me to drop the inquiry, are you Jove? The detective forced to laugh that did not ring quite true. Come, come, sir, he answered. I told you just now that I was frightened, but I never said I was a coward. You may be quite sure I shall do my duty to the very end. When I first began, and that was not yesterday nor the day before, to realize the importance and the power of this Fantamas, I took an oath, sir, that someday I would discover his identity and affect his arrest. Fantamas is an enemy of society, you say. I prefer to regard him first and foremost as my own personal enemy. I have declared war on him and I am ready to lose my skin in the war if necessary, but by God I'll have his. Jove ceased. Monsieur de Prail also was silent, but the magistrate was still skeptical despite the detective's strange utterance and presently he could not refrain from making a gentle protest and appeal. Do please bring in a verdict against someone, Monsieur Jove, for really I would rather believe that your Fantamas is a creation of the imagination. Jove shrugged his shoulders, seemed to be arriving at a mighty decision and began. You are quite right, sir, to require me to draw some definite conclusion, even if you are not right in denying the existence of Fantamas. So I make the assertion that the murderer is, the sound of hurrying steps behind them made both men turn round. A postman, hot and perspiring, was hurrying to the chateau. He had a telegram in his hand. Does either of you gentlemen know, Monsieur Jove, he asked? My name is Jove, said the detective. And he took the telegram and tore the envelope open. He glanced through it and then handed it to the magistrate. Please read that, sir, he said. The telegram was from the Criminal Investigation Department and ran as follows. Return immediately to Paris. Are convinced that extraordinary crime lies behind disappearance of Lord Beltham. Privately suspect Fantamas' work. End of Chapter 6 Recording by Alan Winteroud Boomcoach.blogspot.com Chapter 7 of Fantamas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Souvestre This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winteroud Fantamas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Souvestre translated by Cranston Metcalf Chapter 7 The Criminal Investigation Department Does Monsieur Guern live here, please? Madame Delanc, the concierge at No. 147 Rue Laverre, looked at the inquirer and saw a tall, dark man with a heavy moustache, wearing a soft hat and a tightly buttoned overcoat, the collar of which was turned up to his ears. Monsieur Guern is away, sir, she answered. He has been away for some little time. I know, said the stranger, but still I want to go up to his rooms if you will kindly go with me. You want, the concierge began in surprise and doubt. Oh, I know, of course. You are the man from the, what's its name, company? Come for his luggage? Wait a minute. What is the name of that company? Something funny. An English name, I fancy. The woman left the door which she had been holding just a jar, and went to the back of her lodge. She looked through the pigeonholes where she kept the tenant's letters ready sorted and picked out a soiled printed circular addressed to Monsieur Guern. She was busy putting on her spectacles when the stranger drew near and from over her shoulder got a glimpse of the name for which she was looking. He drew back again noiselessly and said quietly, I have come from the South Steamship Company. Yes, that's it, said the concierge. Laboriously spelling out the words. The South, what you say? I can never pronounce those names. Rue d'Audeville, isn't it? That's it, replied the man in the soft hat in pleasant measured tones. Well, it's very plain that you don't bustle much in your place, the concierge remarked. I've been expecting you to come from Monsieur Guern's things for nearly three weeks. He told me you would come a few days after he had gone. However, that's your business. Madame de Long cast a mechanical glance through the window that looked onto the street and then surveyed the stranger from top to toe. He seemed to be much too well dressed to be a mere porter. But you haven't got any hand card or truck, she exclaimed. You're not thinking of carrying the trunks on your shoulder, are you? Why, there are at least three or four of them and heavy. The stranger paused before answering as though he found it necessary to weigh each word. As a matter of fact, I merely wanted to get an idea of the size of the luggage, he said quietly. Will you show me the things? If I must, I must, said the concierge with a heavy sigh. Come up with me, it's the fifth floor. And as she climbed the stairs, she grumbled, it's a pity you didn't come when I was doing my work. I shouldn't have had to climb a hundred stairs a second time then. It counts up at the end of the day, and I'm not as young as I was. The stranger followed her up the stairs, murmuring monosyllabic sympathy and regulating his pace by hers. Arrived at the fifth floor, the concierge drew a key from her pocket and opened the door of the flat. It was a small, modest place, but quite prettily decorated. The door on the landing opened into a tiny sort of enter room from which one passed into a front room with little but a round table and a few armchairs. Beyond this was a bedroom, almost filled by the large bed, which was the first thing one saw on entering, and on the right there was yet another room, probably a little office. Both the first room, which was a kind of general living room, and the bedroom had wide windows overlooking gardens as far as one could see. An advantage of the flat was that it had nothing opposite, so that the occupant could move about with the windows open if he liked and yet have nothing to fear from the inquisitiveness of neighbors.  I must air the place, the concierge muttered, or else Monsieur Gern won't be pleased when he comes back. He always says he is too hot and can't breathe in Paris.  Oh no, sir, the concierge answered. Monsieur Gern is a kind of commercial traveler and is often away, sometimes for a month or six weeks together. And the gossiping woman was beginning a long and incoherent story when the stranger interrupted her, pointing to a silver-framed photograph of a young woman he had noticed on the mantelpiece. Is that Madame Gern? Monsieur Gern is a bachelor, mademoiselle Delanc replied. I can't fancy him married with his roaming kind of life. Just a little friend of his, eh, said the man in the soft hat with a wink and a meaning smile. Oh no, said the concierge, shaking her head. That photograph is not a bit like her. So you know her then. I do and I don't. That's to say, when Monsieur Gern is in Paris, he often has visits from a lady in the afternoon, a very fashionable lady. I can tell you not the sort that one often sees in this quarter. Why the woman who comes is a society lady, I am sure. She always has her veil down and passes by my lodge ever so fast and never has any conversation with me. Free with her money too. It's very seldom she does not give me something when she comes. The strangers seem to find the concierge's communications very interesting, but they did not interrupt his mental inventory of the room. In other words, your tenant does not keep too sharp an eye on his money, he suggested. No, indeed. The rent is always paid in advance and sometimes Monsieur Gern even pays two terms in advance because he says he can never tell if his business won't be keeping him away when the rent is due. Just then, a deep voice calls up the staircase. Concierge, Monsieur Gern, have you any one of that name in the house? Come up to the fifth floor, the concierge called back to the man. I am in his rooms now, and she went back into the flat. Here's somebody else from Monsieur Gern, she exclaimed. Does he have many visitors, the stranger inquired? Hardly any, sir, that's why I'm so surprised. Two men appeared, their blue blouses and metal-peaked caps proclaimed them to be porters. The concierge turned to the man in the soft hat. I suppose these are your men, come to fetch their trunks? The stranger made a slight grimace, seemed to hesitate, and finally made up his mind to remain silent. Rather surprised to see that the three men did not seem to be acquainted with each other, the concierge was about to ask what it meant when one of the porters addressed her curtly. We've come from the South Steamship Company for four boxes from Monsieur Gern's place. Are those the ones? And taking no notice of the visitor in the room, the man pointed to two large trunks and two small boxes which were placed in a corner of the room. But aren't you three all together? inquired Madame Delanc visibly uneasy. The stranger still remained silent, but the first porter replied at once, No, we have nothing to do with the gentleman. Get on to it mate, we've no time to waste. Anticipating their action, the concierge got instinctively between the porters and the luggage, so too did the man in the soft hat. Pardon, he said politely, but peremptorily, please take nothing away. One of the porters drew a crumpled and dirty memorandum book from his pocket and turned over the pages, wetting his thumb every time. He looked at it attentively and then spoke. There's no mistake, this is where we were told to come, and again he signed to his mate. Let's get on with it. The concierge was puzzled. She looked first at the mysterious stranger who was as quiet and silent as ever, and then at the porters who were beginning to be irritated by these incomprehensible complications. Madame Delanc's mistrust waxed greater, and she sincerely regretted being alone on the fifth floor with these strangers, for the other occupants of this floor had gone off to their daily work long ago. Suddenly she escaped from the room and called surely down the stairs, Madame Aurora, Madame Aurora! The man in the soft hat rushed after her, seized her gently but firmly by the arm, and let her back into the room. I beg you madam, make no noise. Do not call out, he said in a low tone. Everything will be all right. I only ask you not to create a disturbance. But the concierge was thoroughly alarmed by the really odd behavior of all these men, and again screamed to the top of her voice, Help! Police! The first porter was exasperated. It's unfortunate to be taken for thieves, he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Look here Auguste, just run down to the corner of the street and bring back a gendarm. The gentleman can explain to the concierge and then we shall be at liberty to get on with our job. Auguste hastened to obey and several tense moments passed during which not a single word was exchanged between the three people who were left together. Then heavy steps were heard and Auguste reappeared with a gendarm. The latter came swaggering into the room with a would-be majestic air and solemnly and pompously inquired, now then what's all this about? At the sight of the officer every countenance cleared. The concierge ceased to tremble. The porter lost his air of suspicion. Both were beginning to explain to the representative of the authority when the man in the soft hat waved him aside, stepped up to the guardian of the peace and looking him straight in the eye said, Criminal Investigation Department, Inspector Jouf. The gendarm, who was quite unprepared for this announcement, stepped back a pace and raised his eyes toward the man who addressed him. He suddenly raised his hand to his kepi and came to attention. Beg pardon, Inspector. I didn't recognize you. Monsieur Jouf? And you have been in this division a long time, too. He turned angrily to the foremost porter. Step forward, please, and let's have no nonsense. Jouf, who had thus disclosed his identity as a detective, smiled seeing that the gendarm assumed that the South Steamship Company's porter was a thief. That's all right, he said. And no harm. Then who am I to arrest? The puzzled gendarm asked. The concierge broke in to explain. She had been much impressed by the style and title of the stranger. If the gentleman had told me where he came from, I would certainly never have allowed anyone to go for a gendarm. Inspector Jouf smiled. If I had told you who I was just now, madam, when you were quite naturally so upset, you would not have believed me. You would have continued to call out. Now I am particularly anxious to avoid any scandal or noise at the present moment. I rely on your discretion. He turned to the two porters who were done with amazement and could make nothing of the affair. As for you, my good fellows, I must ask you to leave your other work and go back at once to your office in the Rue d'Hôteville and tell your manager what is his name? Monsieur Woolen, one of the men replied. Good. Tell me, sir Woolen, that I want to see him here at the earliest possible moment and tell him to bring with him all the papers he has that refer to Monsieur Gern and not a word to anyone about this, please, especially in this neighborhood. Take my message to your manager and that's all. The porters had left hurriedly for the Rue d'Hôteville and a quarter of an hour went by. The detective had requested the concierge to ask the Madame Aurora to whom she had previously appealed for help to take her place temporarily in the lodge. Juv kept Madame Delanc upstairs with him, partly to get information from her and partly to prevent her from gossiping downstairs. While he was opening drawers and ransacking furniture and plunging his hand into presses and cupboards, Juv asked the concierge to describe this tenant of hers, Monsieur Gern, in whom he appeared to be so deeply interested. He is a rather fair man, the concierge told him, medium height, stout build and clean shaven like an Englishman. There is nothing particular about him. He is like lots of other people. The very vague description was hardly satisfactory. The detective told the policeman to unscrew the lock on a locked trunk and gave him a small screwdriver which he had found in the kitchen. Then he turned again to Madame Delanc who was standing stiffly against the wall, severely silent. You told me that Monsieur Gern had a lady friend, when used he to see her. Pretty often when he was in Paris and always in the afternoon, sometimes they were together till six or seven o'clock and once or twice the lady did not come down before half past seven. You stay to leave the house together? No, sir. Did the lady ever stay the night here? Never, sir. Yes, evidently a married woman, as is speaking to himself. Madame Delanc made a vague gesture to show her ignorance on the point. I can't tell you anything about that, sir. Very well said the detective. Kindly passed me that coat behind you. The concierge obediently took down a coat from a hook and handed it to Juv who searched it quickly, looked it all over and found a label sewn on the inside of the collar. It bore the one word, Pretoria. Good, said he in an undertone. I thought as much. Then he looked at the buttons. These were stamped on the underside with the name Smith. The gendarme understood what the detective was about and he too examined the clothes in the first trunk which he had just opened. There is nothing to show where these things came from, sir, you remarked. The name of the maker is not on them. That's all right, said Juv. Open the other trunk. While the gendarme was busy forcing the second lock, Juv went for a moment into the kitchen and came back holding a rather heavy copper mallet with an iron handle which he had found there. He was looking at this mallet with some curiosity, balancing it and weighing it in his hands when a sudden exclamation of fright from the gendarme drew his eyes to the trunk, the lid of which had just been thrown back. Juv did not lose all his professional impassivity but even he leaped forward like a flash. The gendarme to one side and dropped on his knees beside the open box.  The moment Madame Delonc caught sight of the ghastly thing she fell back into a chair half fainting and there she remained unable to move with her body hunched forward and haggard eyes fixed upon the corpse of which she caught occasional glimpses as the movements of Juv and the gendarme every now and then left the shocking thing within the trunk exposed to her view. Yet there was nothing especially gruesome or repellent about the corpse. It was the body of a man of about 50 years of age with a pronounced brick red complexion and a lofty brow, the height of which was increased by premature baldness. Long, fair moustaches drooped from the upper lip almost to the top of the chest. The unfortunate creature was doubled up in the trunk with knees bent and head forced down by the weight of the lid. The body was dressed with a certain fastidiousness and it was obviously that of a man of fashion and distinction. There was no wound to be seen. The calm, quiet face suggested that the victim had been taken by surprise while in the full vigor of life and killed suddenly and had not been subjected to the anguish of a fight for life or to any slow agony. Juv half turned to the concierge. When did you see, Monsieur Gurn last? Exactly please, it is important. Madame Delanc babbled something unintelligible and then as the detective pressed her made an effort to collect her scattered wits. Three weeks ago at least, sir. Yes, three weeks exactly. No one has been here since. I will swear. Juv made a sign to the gendarme who understood and felt the body carefully. Quite stiff and hard, sir, he said. Yet there is no smell from it. Perhaps the cold, Juv shook his head. Even severe cold could not preserve a body in that condition for three weeks and it's not cold now. But there is this and he showed his subordinate a small yellowish stain just at the opening of the collar close to the atom's apple which in spite of the comparative thinness of the body was very much developed. Juv took the corpse under the armpits and raised it gently wishing to examine it closely but anxious also not to alter its position. On the nape of the neck was a large stain of blood like a black wind and as big as a five-chilling piece just above the last vertebrae of the spinal column. That's the explanation the detective murmured and carefully replacing the body he continued his investigation. With quick, clever hands he searched the coat pockets and found the watch in its proper place.  But Juv looked in vain for the pocketbook which the man had doubtless been in the habit of caring about with him. The pocketbook probably containing some means of identification. The inspector merely grunted, got up, began pacing the room and questioned the concierge. Does Mr. Gern have a motor car? No sir, she replied looking surprised why do you ask? Oh for no particular reason the inspector was affected in difference. But at the same time he was contemplating a large nickel pump that lay on a what-not a syringe holding perhaps half a pint like those that chauffeurs use. He looked at it steadfastly for several minutes. His next question was addressed to the gendarm who is still on his knees by the trunk. We have found one yellow stain on the neck. You will likely find some more. Have a look at the wrists and the calves of the legs and the stomach. But do it carefully so as not to disturb the body. While the gendarm began to obey his chief's order carefully undoing the clothing on the corpse Juv looked at the concierge again. Who did the work of this flat? I did sir. Juv pointed to the velvet curtain that screened the door between the little anti-room and the room in which they were. How did you come to leave that curtain unhooked at the top without putting it to rights? Madame Delonc looked at it. It's the first time I've seen it like that, she said apologetically. The curtain could not have been unhooked when I did the room last without my noticing it. Anyhow, it hasn't been long like that. I ought to say that as Mr. Gern was seldom here I didn't do the place out thoroughly very often. When did you do it out last? Quite a month ago. That is to say, Mr. Gern went away a week after you last cleaned the place up. Yes, sir. Juv changed the subject and pointed to the corpse. Tell me, Madame, do you know that person? The concierge fought down her nervousness and for the first time looked at the unfortunate victim with a steady gaze. I have never seen him before, she said, with a little shudder. And so, when the gentleman came up here, you did not notice him, said the inspector gently. No, I did not notice him, she declared, and went on as if answering some question which occurred to her own mind. And I wonder, I didn't, for people very seldom inquired from Mr. Gern. Of course, when the lady was with him, Mr. Gern was not at home to anybody. This, this dead man must have come straight up himself. Juv nodded and was about to continue his questioning when the bell rang. Open the door, said Juv, to the concierge. And he followed her to the entrance of the flat, partly fearing to find some intruder there, partly hoping to see some unexpected person whose arrival might throw a little light upon the situation. At the open door, Juv saw a young man of about 25, an obvious Englishman with clear eyes and close cropped hair, with an accent that further made his British origin unmistakable. The visitor introduced himself. I am Mr. Wolland, manager of the Paris branch of the South Steamship Company. It seems that I am wanted at Mr. Gern's flat on the fifth floor of this house by desire of the police. Juv came forward. I am much obliged to you for putting yourself to this inconvenience, sir. Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Juv, an inspector from the Criminal Investigation Department. Please come in. Solomon and passive, Mr. Wolland entered the room. A side glance suddenly showed him the open trunk on the dead body, and as the police moved, Mr. Wolland came of good stock and had all that admirable self-possession which is the strength of the powerful Anglo-Saxon race. He looked at the inspector in somewhat haughty silence, waiting for him to begin. Will you kindly let me know, sir, the instructions your firm had with regard to the forwarding of the baggage which you sent for to this flat of Mr. Gern's this morning. Four days ago, inspector, on the 14th of December to be precise, the London Mail brought us a letter in which Lord Beltham, who has been a client of ours for several years, instructed us to collect on the 17th of December, that is today, four articles marked HWK 1, 2, 3, and 4 from Mr. Gern's apartment 147 Rue Leverre. He informed us that the concierge had orders to allow us to take them away. To what address were you to dispatch them? Our client instructed us to forward the trunks by the first steamer to Johannesburg, where he would send for them. We were to send two invoices with the goods as usual. The third invoice was to be sent to London, Box 63, Charing Cross Post Office. Rue made a note of Box 63, Charing Cross, in his pocketbook. Address to what name or initials? Simply Beltham. Good. There are no other documents relating to the matter? No, I have nothing else, said Mr. Wolland. The young fellow relapsed into his usual impassive silence. Rue watched him for a minute or two and then said, You must have heard the various rumors current in Paris three weeks ago, sir, about Lord Beltham. He was a very well-known personage in society. Suddenly he disappeared. His wife left nothing undone to give the matter his publicity. Were you not rather surprised when you received a letter from Lord Beltham four days ago? Mr. Wolland was not disconcerted by the rather embarrassing question. Of course I had heard of Lord Beltham's disappearance, but it was not for me to form any official opinion about it. I am a businessman, sir, not a detective. Lord Beltham might have disappeared voluntarily or the reverse. I was not asked to say which. When I got his letter I simply decided to carry out the orders it contained. I should do the same again in similar circumstances. Are you satisfied that the order was sent by Lord Beltham? I have already told you, sir, that Lord Beltham had been a client of ours for several years. We have had many similar dealings with him. This last order which we received from him appeared to be entirely about suspicion, identical in form and in terms with the previous letters we had had from him. He took a letter out of his pocketbook and handed it to Juv. Here is the order, sir. If you think proper, you can compare it with similar documents filed in our office in the Rue d'Audeville. And as Juv was silent, Mr. Wolland with the utmost dignity inquired. Is there any further occasion for me to remain here? Thank you, sir. No. Juv replied. Mr. Wolland made an almost imperceptible bow and was on the point of withdrawing once more. Mr. Wolland, did you know Lord Beltham? No, sir. Lord Beltham always sent us his orders by letter. Once or twice he has spoken to us over the telephone. But he never came to our office and I have never been to his house. Thank you very much, said Juv and with a bow Mr. Wolland withdrew. With meticulous care, Juv replaced every article which he had moved during his investigation. He carefully shut the lid of the trunk, thus hiding the unhappy corpse from the curious eyes of the gendarme and the still terrified Madame Delanc. Then he leisurely buttoned his overcoat and spoke to the gendarme. Stay here until I send a man to relieve you. I am going to your superintendent now. At the door he called the concierge. Will you kindly go down before me, Madame? Return to your lodge and please do not say a word about what has happened to anyone whatever. You can trust me, sir, the worthy creature murmured and Juv walked slowly away from the house with head bowed in thought. There could be no doubt about it. The body in the trunk was that of Lord Belfem. Juv knew the Englishman quite well but who was the murderer? Everything points to Gern, Juv thought, and yet would an ordinary murderer have dared to commit such a crime as this? Am I letting my imagination run away with me again? But it seems to me that about this murder, committed in the very middle of Paris in a crowded house where yet nobody heard or suspected anything, there is an audacity, a certainty of impunity, and above all a multiplicity of precautions that are typical of the Fontemos manner.  Fontemos Fontemos, did Fontemos really commit this murder? And if he did, shall I ever succeed in throwing light upon this new mystery and learning the secret of that tragic room? This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winterout Fontemos by Marcella Lane and Pierre Souvestre translated by Cranston Metcalf Chapter 8 A Dreadful Confession While Jus was devoting his marvelous skill and incomparable daring to the elucidation of the new case with which the criminal investigation department had entrusted him in Paris, things were marching at Beaulieu where the whole machinery of the law was being set in motion for the discovery and arrest of Charles Rambert. With a mighty clatter and racket, Bouzia came down the slope and stopped before Old Mother Cicard's cottage. He arrived in his own equipage and an extraordinary one it was.  The solid rubber tires which had once adorned the machine had worn out long ago and were now replaced by twine twisted around the fellows of the wheels. This was forever fraying away and the wheels were fringed with a veritable lacework of string. Bouzia must have picked up this impossible machine for an old song at some local market unless perhaps some charitable person gave it to him simply to be rid of it. He styled this tricycle his engine and it was by no means the whole of his equipage. Attached to the tricycle by a stout rope was a kind of wicker perambulator on four wheels which he called his sleeping car because he stored away in it all the bits of rag he picked up on his journeys and also his very primitive bedding and the little piece of waterproof canvas under which he slept in the open air. Behind the sleeping car was a third vehicle the restaurant car consisting of an old suit box mounted on four solid wooden wheels which were fastened to the axles by huge conical bolts. In this he kept his provisions lumps of bread and fat bottles and vegetables all mixed up in agreeable confusion. Bouzia made quite long journeys in this train of his and was well known throughout often did the astonished populations see him bent over his tricycle with his pack on his back pedaling with extraordinary rapidity down the hills while the carriages behind him bumped and jumped over the inequalities in the service of the road until it seemed impossible that they should retain their equilibrium. Old Mother Shakard had recognized the cause of the racket. The healthy life of the country had kept the old woman strong and active in spite of the 83 years that had passed over her head. And now she came to her door armed with a broom and halted the tramp in angry threatening tones. So it is you is it you old thief you robber of the poor it's shocking the way you spend your time in evil doing what do you want now pray slowly and sheepishly and with head bowed Bouzia approached Mother Shakard nervously looking out for a whack over the head with a broom the old lady held don't be cross he pleaded when he could get in a word I want to come to an arrangement with you Mother Shakard if it can be done that's all according said the old woman eyeing the tramp with greatness trust I haven't much faith in arrangement with you rascals like you always managed to do honest folk Mother Shakard turned back to her cottage it was no weather for her to stop out of doors for a strong north wind was blowing and that was bad for rheumatism Bouzia deliberately followed her inside and closed the door carefully behind him without ceremony he walked up to the hearth where a scanty wood fire was burning and put down his pack so as to be able to rub his hands more freely miserable weather Mother Shakard the obstinate old lady stuck to her one idea if it isn't miserable to steal my rabbit this is the finest weather ever I saw you make a lot of fuss about a trifle the tramp protested especially since you will be a lot the better by the arrangement I am going to suggest the notion called Mother Shakard a little and she sat down in a form while Bouzia took a seat upon the table what do you mean the old woman inquired well said Bouzia I suppose your rabbit would have fetched a couple of shillings in the market and asked you two fowls that are worth quite 18 pence each and if you will give me some dinner at 12 o'clock I will put in a good morning's work for you Mother Shakard looked at the clock upon the wall it was 8 o'clock the transproposal represented 4 hours work which was not to be despised but before striking the bargain she insisted on seeing the fowls these were extracted from the pack tied together by the feet and half suffocated unfortunate creatures were not much to look at but they would be cheap which was worth considering where did you get these fowls Mother Shakard asked more is a matter of form than anything else for she was pretty sure they had not been honestly come by Bouzia put his finger to his lip hush he murmured gently that's a secret between me and the poultry well is it a go and he held out his hand to the old lady she hesitated a moment and then made up her mind it's a go she said putting her horny fingers into the man's hard palm you will chop me some wood first and then go down to the river for the rushes I have put in to soak they must be well swollen by this time Bouzia was glad to have made it up with Mother Shakard and pleased at the prospect of a good dinner at midday he opened the cottage door and leisurely arranged a few logs with which she was going to split them Mother Shakard began to throw down some grain to the skinny and famished fowls that fluttered around her I thought you were in prison Bouzia she said over stealing my rabbit and also over that affair at the Chateau of Bolia oh those are two quite different stories Bouzia replied you mustn't mix them up together on any account as for the Chateau job every tramp in the district has been run in I was cocked my miss you morand the morning after the murder he took me into the kitchen of the Chateau and Madame Louise gave me something to eat there was another chap there with me a man named Francois Paul who doesn't belong to these parts between you and me I thought he was an evil looking customer who might easily have been the murderer but it doesn't do to say that sort of thing and I'm glad I held my tongue because they let him go I heard no more about it and five days later I went back to Brieve and the funeral of the Marquis de la Grune that was the ceremony if you like the church all lighted up and all the nobility from the neighborhood present I didn't lose my time for I knew all the gentlemen and ladies and took the best part of 16 shillings and the blind beggar who sits on the steps of the church called me all the names he could put his tongue to the tramp's story interested Mother Shikard mightily but her former idea still dominated her mind so they didn't punish you for stealing my rabbits well, they did and they didn't said Boussia scratching his head Miser Moran who was an old friend of mine took me to the lock up at Saint-Jouer and I was to have gone the next morning to the court at Brieve where I knew the sentence for stealing domestic animals is three weeks that would have suited me all right just now for the prison at Brieve is quite new and very comfortable but that same night Miser Moran Ducey shoved another man into the clink with me at Saint-Jouer a raving lunatic who started smashing everything up and tried to tear my eyes out naturally I gave him as good as I got and the infernal route we made brought in the sergeant I told him the chap wanted to throttle me and he was nonplussed for he couldn't do anything with the man who was fairly mad and couldn't leave me alone there with him so alas the sergeant took me to one side and not let him see me again so there it is while he was chattering like this Bouzi had finished the job set to him by Mother Shekard who meanwhile appealed some potatoes and poured the soup on the bread he wiped his brow and seeing the brimming pot gave a meaning wink and licked his tongue I'll make the fire up Mother Shekard I'm getting jolly hungry so you ought to be at half past eleven the old woman replied yes we'll have dinner and you can get the rushes out afterwards Mother Shekard was the proud free-holder of a little cottage that was separated from the Bank of the Dordogne by the high road between Martel and Montvalent round the cottage she had a small orchard an opposite through a gap in the trees was a view of the yellow waters of the Dordogne and the chain of hills that stood up on the far side of the river living here summer and winter with her rabbit center fowls Mother Shekard earned a little money by making baskets but she was crippled with rheumatism and was miserable every time she had to go down to the river to pull out the bundles of rushes that she put there to soak the work meant not merely an hours paddling in mud up to the knees but also a fortnight's acute agony and at least a shilling for medicine so whoever wanted to make a friend of the old woman only had to volunteer to get the rushes out for her as he ate Buzia told Mother Shekard of his plans for the coming spring yes he said since I'm not doing any time this winter I'm going to undertake a long journey he stopped munching for a second and paused for greater effect I am going to Paris Mother Shekard then seeing that the lady was utterly dumbfounded by the announcement he lent his elbows on the table and looked at her over his empty plate I've always had one great desire to see the Eiffel Tower that idea has been running in my mind for the last 15 years well now I'm going to gratify the wish I hear you can get a room in Paris for Tupin's half penny a night and I can manage that how long will it take you to get there inquired the old woman immensely impressed by Buzia's venturesome plan that depends said the tramp I must allow quite three months with my train of course I got run in on the way for stealing or as a rogue and vagabond I couldn't say how long it would take the meal was over and the old woman was quietly washing up her few plates and dishes then Buzia who had gone down to the river to fetch the rushes suddenly called shrilly to Mother Shekard Mother Shekard mother Shekard come and look just fancy I've earned 25 francs the summons was so urgent and the news so amazing the old lady left her house and hurried across the road to the river bank she saw the tramp up to his waist in the water trying with a long stick to drag out of the current a large object which was not identifiable at first glance to all her inquiries Buzia answered the same delighted cry I have earned 25 francs to intent on bringing his fishing job to a successful issue even to turn around a few minutes later he emerged dripping from the water towing a large bundle to the safety of the bank Mother Shekard drew nearer greatly interested and then recoiled with a shriek of horror Buzia had fished out a corpse it was a ghastly sight the body of a very young man almost a boy with long slender limbs the face was so horribly swollen and torn as to be shapeless one leg was almost entirely torn from the trunk through rinse in the clothing strips of flesh were trailing blue and discolored by their long immersion in the water on the shoulders and back of the neck were bruises and stains of blood Buzia who was quite unaffected by the ghastliness of the object and still kept up his gay chant I have fished up a body I've earned 25 francs observed that there were large splinters of wood rotten from long immersion sticking in some parts of the woods he stood up and addressed Mother Shekard who, wide as a sheet was watching him in silence I see what it is he must have got caught up in some mill wheel that's what has cut him up like that Mother Shekard shook her head uneasily suppose it was murder that would be an ugly business it's no good my looking at him anymore said Buzia I don't recognize him that's sure the old woman agreed he's dressed like a gentleman the two looked at each other in silence Buzia was not nearly so complacent as he had been a few minutes before the reward of 25 francs prompted him to go at once to inform the police the idea of a crime suggested by the worthy woman disturbed him greatly and all the more because he thought it was well founded another murder in the neighborhood would certainly vex the authorities and put the police in a bad temper Buzia knew from experience at the first thing people do after a tragedy is to arrest all the tramps and that if the police are at all crotchety they always contrive to get the tramps sentenced for something else he had had a momentary inclination to establish his winter quarters in prison but since then he had formed the plan of going to Paris and liberty appealed to him more he reached a sudden decision I'll punt him back in the water but mother shikard stayed him just as he was putting his idea into execution you mustn't suppose somebody has seen us already it would land us in no end of trouble half an hour later convinced that it was his melancholy duty Buzia left two thirds of his train in mother shikard's custody got us tried his prehistoric tricycle and slowly pedaled off towards Saint-Joré New Year's Day is a melancholy and a tedious one for everybody whose public or private relations do not make it an exceptionally interesting one there is the alteration in the date for one thing which is provocative of thought and there is the enforced idleness for another calling upon energetic folk like a temporary paralysis and leaving him nothing but meditation wherewith to employ themselves Shuv comfortably installed in his own private study was realizing this just as the evening was falling on the 1st of January he was a confirmed bachelor and for several years had lived in a little flat on the fifth floor of an old house in the Rue Bonaparte he had not gone out today but though he was resting he was not idle for a whole month passed he had been wholly engrossed in his attempt to solve the mystery surrounding the two cases on which he was engaged the Baltham case and his mind was leisurely revolving around him now as he sat in his warm room before a blazing wood fire and watched the blue smoke curl up in rings towards the ceiling the two cases were very dissimilar and yet his detective instinct persuaded him that although they differed in details their conception and execution emanated not only from one single brain but also from one hand he was convinced that he was dealing with a mysterious and dangerous individual and that while he himself was out in the open he was fighting a concealed and invisible adversary he strove to give form and substance to the adversary and the name of Fontamas came into his mind Fontamas what might Fontamas be doing now and if he had a real existence as the detective most firmly believed how was he spending New Year's Day his sharp ring at the bell startled him from his chair and not giving his manservant time to answer it he went down to the door and took from a messenger a telegram which he hastily tore open and read have found in the Dordonia a drowned body of young man face unrecognizable from description possibly Charles Rambert please consider a situation and wire course you will take the telegram had been handed in a brief and was signed by Monsieur de Prail something fresh at last the detective muttered drowned in the Dordonia and face unrecognizable I wonder if it really is Charles Rambert since Monsieur Etienne Rambert and his son had disappeared so unaccountably the detective naturally had formulated mentally several hypotheses but he had arrived at no conclusion which really satisfied his judgment but though their flight had not surprised him greatly he had been rather surprised that the police had not been able to find any trace of them for rightly or wrongly Juve credited them with a good deal of cleverness and power so it was by no means unreasonable to accept the death of the fugitives as explanation for the failure of the police to find them however this was a fresh development of the case and he was about to draft a reply to Monsieur de Prail when once more the bell rang sharply this time Juve did not move but listen while his man spoke to the visitor it was an absolute rule of shoes never to receive visitors at his flat if anyone wanted to see him on business he was to be found almost every day in his office at headquarters about 11 in the morning to a few people he was willing to give appointments at a quiet and discreet little café in the Boulevard Saint Michel but he invited no one to his own rooms except one or two of his own relations from the country and even they had to be provided with a password before they could obtain admission so now to all the entreaties of the caller Juve's manservant solidly replied with the assurance that his master could see no one yet the visitor's insistence was so great that at last the servant was prevailed upon to bring in his card albeit with some fear as to the consequences for himself but to his extreme relief and surprise Juve when he had read the name and graved upon the card said sharply bring him in here at once in another couple of seconds Monsieur Etienne Rambert was in the room the old gentleman who had fled mysteriously a few days before taking with him the son over whom so dreaded charge was hanging bowed deferentially to the detective with the pitiful mane of one who was crushed beneath the burden of misfortune his features were drawn his face bore the stamp of deepest grief and in his hand he held an evening paper which in his agitation he had crumpled almost into a ball tell me sir if it is true he said in low trembling tones I have just read that Juve pointed to a chair took the paper mechanically and smoothing it out read below a large headline is this a sequel to the Beaulieu crime a story similar to that he had just gathered from monsieur de frail's telegram Juve contemplated Monsieur Etienne Rambert in silence for a few minutes and then without applying directly to his visitor's first question asked him a question in that quiet voice of his the wonderful and different tonelessness of which concealed the least clue as to his inmost thoughts why did you come to me sir to find out sir the old man answered what? if that poor drowned corpse is my son's is it my poor Charles it is rather you who can tell me sir said Juve impassive as ever there was a pause despite his emotion Monsieur Rambert seemed to be thinking deeply suddenly he appeared to make an important decision and raising his eyes to the detective he spoke very slowly have pity sir on a broken hearted father listen to me I have a dreadful confession to make Juve drew his chair close to Monsieur Etienne Rambert I am listening he said gently and Monsieur Etienne Rambert began his dreadful confession end of chapter 8 recording by Alan Winteroud boomcoach.blogspot.com chapter 9 of Funtomas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Suvestre this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Alan Winteroud Funtomas by Marcella Lane and Pierre Suvestre translated by Cranston Metcalf chapter 9 all for honor society had mustered in force at the Cahor Law Courts where the Assizes were about to be recorded by Alan Winteroud at the Cahor Law Courts where the Assizes were about to be held hooting motorcars and antiquated coaches drawn by Percy Horses were arriving every minute bringing gentry from the great houses in the neighborhood squireens and well-to-do country people prosperous farmers and jolly wine growers all of them determined not to miss the trial that was causing such immense excitement because the principal figure in it was well known as a friend of the oldest families in those parts and because he was not merely a witness nor even the victim but actually the defendant in the case although he had been admitted to bail in the interval by order of the court compared with those of large towns this courtroom at Cahor was small but it was filled by a considerable and most select crowd quiet greetings and low tone conversation were freely exchanged but there was an air of melancholy about every person present and it was obvious that they were drawn there by no mere curiosity or desire for horror details but by legitimate interest in the development of great drama one of the leading heroines in the case was pointed out with particular sympathy that's Therese Evenois over there in the first row the president of the court gave her that seat the officer who took the card of admission over to Corel told me so that's where Madame de Vibre lives isn't it yes she is sitting there next to Therese now that pretty woman in grey since Madame de Langrune's death she has kept the child with her thinking very rightly that it would be too painful for her to be at Beaulieu the family council have appointed President Bonnet temporary guardian of Therese he is that tall thin man over there talking to the steward de Long the Baron de Vibre turned affectionately to Therese being dreadfully pale in her long morning veil are you sure this won't tire you too much dear shall we go outside for a little while oh no please do not worry about me Therese replied indeed I shall be alright President Bonnet sat by the two ladies he had been engaged solemnly exchanging bowels with everyone in the courtroom who he considered it flattering to himself to know now he took part in the conversation and displayed his special knowledge by explaining the constitution of the court and pointing out where the clerk sat and where the public prosecutor sat and where the jury sat all at great length and much to the interest of the people near him with however one exception a man dressed entirely in black with his head half buried in the huge collar of a traveling Ulster and dark glasses over his eyes appear to be vastly bored by the old magistrate's disposition Juv for it was he knew too much about legal procedures to require explanations from President Bonnet suddenly a thrill ran through the room and conversations stopped abruptly Monsieur Etienne Rambert had just walked down the gangway in the court to the seat reserved for him just in front of the witness box and close to a kind of rostrum in which Maitre Diro an old member of the Cahor bar immediately took his place Monsieur Etienne Rambert was very pale but it was obvious that he was by no means overwhelmed by the fatality overhanging him he was indeed a fine figure as he took his seat and mechanically passed his hand through his long white curls flinging them back and raising his head almost as if in defiance of the inquisitive crowd that was gazing at him almost immediately after he had taken his seat a door was thrown open and the jury filed in and then a black gown Usher came forward and shrilly called for silence stand up gentlemen hats off please gentlemen the court with solemn measured steps and heads bent as if absorbed in profoundist meditation the judges slowly proceeded to their seats the president formally declared the court open where upon the clerk rose immediately to read the indictment the clerk of the court at Cahor was a most excellent man but modesty was his distinguishing characteristic and his chief desire appeared to be to shun responsibility figure as little prominently as possible and even escape observation altogether Assizes were not often held at Cahor and he had had few occasions to read an indictment as tragic as this present one with the result that he lacked confidence now he read in a toneless monotonous voice so nervously and softly that nobody in the body of the court could hear a word he said and even the jury were obliged to lean their elbows on the desk before them and make an ear trumpet of their hands to find out what it was all about Etienne Rambert however was only a few feet from the clerk he did not miss a word and it was evident from his nervous movements every now and then that some passages in the indictment hit him very hard indeed and even lessened his general confidence when the clerk had finished Etienne Rambert sat still with his forehead resting in his hands as if crushed by the weight of the memories the indictment had evoked then the sharp thin voice of the president of the court snapped the chain of his thoughts stand up sir and pale as death Etienne Rambert rose and folded his arms across his breast in firm yet somehow muffled tones he answered their preliminary formal questions his name was Ervé Paul Etienne Rambert his age 59 his occupation a merchant and he had discovered plantations in South America then followed the formal inquiry whether he had heard and understood the indictment which had just been read I followed it all sir he replied with a little gesture expressive of his sense of the gravity of the facts detailed and the weight of the evidence which one general sympathy for him I followed it all but I protest against some of the allegations and I protest with my whole energy against the suggestion that I have failed in my duty as a man of honor and as a father the president of the court checked him irritably excuse me I do not intend to permit you to extend the pleadings indefinitely I shall examine you on the various points of the indictment and you may protest as much as you please the unfeeling rudeness provoked no comment from the defendant and the president proceeded well you have heard the indictment it charges you first with having aided and abetted the escape of your son whom an inquiry held in another place had implicated in the murder of the Marquista Langrune and it charges you secondly with having killed your son whose body has been recovered from the Dordonia in order that you might escape the penalty of public obliquy at this brutal statement of the case Etienne Rambeir made a proud gesture of indignation sir he exclaimed there are different ways of putting things I do not deny the purport of the indictment but I object to the summary of it that you present no one has dared to contend that I killed my son in order to escape public obliquy as you have just insinuated I am entirely indifferent to the world's opinion what the indictment is intended to allege the only thing it can allege is that I wrought justice upon a criminal who ought to have filled me with horror nevertheless I ought not to have handed over to the public executioner this time it was the judge's turn to be astonished he was so accustomed to the cheap triumphs the judges looked to win in court that he had expected to make mincemeat of this poor broken old man whom the law delivered to his tender mercy but he discovered that the old man had fine courage and replied with spirit to his malevolent remarks we will discuss your right to take the law into your own hands presently he said but that is not the question now there are other points which it would be well for you to explain to the jury why in the first place did you obstinately decline to speak to the examining magistrate I had no answer to make to the examining magistrate Etienne Rambert answered slowly as if you were weighing his words because in my opinion he had no questions to put to me I do not admit that I am charged with anything contrary to the code or that any such charge can be formulated against me the indictment charges me with having killed my son because I believed him to be guilty of the murder of Madame de la Grune and would not hand him over to the gallows I have never confessed to that murder sir and nothing will ever make me do so and that is why I would not reply to the examining magistrate because I would not admit that there was anything before the court concerning myself because since the dreadful tragedy in my private life was exposed to public opinion I desired that I should be judged by public opinion which sir is not represented by you who are a professional judge but by the jury here who will shortly say whether I am really a criminal wretch by the jury many of whom are fathers themselves and when they think of their own sons what appalling visions must have passed through my mind when I was forced to believe that my boy my own son had committed a cowardly murder what sort of tragedy will they think that must have been for a man like me with 60 years of honor and of honorable life behind him the outburst ended on a sob and the whole court was moved to sympathy women wiping their eyes men coughing and even the jury striving hard for them the judge glared around the court and after a pause addressed the defendant again with sarcastic phrases so that is why you stood mute during the inquiry was it sir odd very odd I admire the interpretation you place upon your duty as an honorable man it is quaint Etienne Rambeir interrupted the sneering speech I am quite sure sir that there are plenty of people here who will understand and endorse what I did the declaration was so pointedly personal that the judge took it up and I am quite sure that people of principle understand me when I have shown them your conduct as it really was you have a predilection for heroics it will not be without interest to bring things to the point your attitude throughout this affair has been this it is not for me to anticipate the issue of this inquiry which will be held someday into the murder of madame de la grune but I must recall the fact at the moment you believed your son was the murderer the moment you discovered the bloodstained towel which furnished the circumstantial evidence of his guilt you the man of honor mind you never thought of handing over the culprit to the police who were actually in the precincts of the chateau but only thought of securing his escape and helping him to get away you even accompanied him in his flight and so became in a sense his accomplice I suppose you do not deny that as the enrambeir shook with emotion and answered in ringing tones if you are of opinion sir that that was an act of complicity on my part I will not only deny it I will proclaim it from the housetops I became the accomplice of a murderer by inducing him to run away did I you forget sir that at the moment when I first believed my son was the culprit I was not his accomplice then I suppose there was a bond between him and me already that could not possibly break he was my son sir the duty of a father and I attached the very loftiest meaning to the word duty can never entail his giving up his son a fresh murmur of sympathy through the court annoyed the judge who shrugged his shoulders let us leave empty rhetoric alone he said you have plenty of fine phrases with which to defend your action that indeed is your concern as the jury will doubtless appreciate but I think it will be more advantageous to clear up the facts a little not more advantageous to you perhaps but that is what I am here to do so will you please tell me whether your son confessed to having murdered madame the long grown either during that night when you persuaded him to run away yes or no please I can't answer sir my son was mad I will not believe my son was a criminal there was absolutely no motive to prompt him to the deed and his mother is in an asylum that is the whole explanation of the crime if he committed murder it was in a fit of temporary insanity he is dead I refuse to cover his memory with a stain of infamy in other words according to you you did confess but you don't want to say so I do not say he did confess you leave it to be inferred at the in rembear made no reply and the judge passed on to another point what exactly did you do after you left the chateau what anyone does I suppose when he runs away we wandered miserably about going through fields and woods I accusing him and he defending himself we avoided the villages scarcely venturing even in the early morning to go and buy food and walked quickly wishing to get as far away as possible we spent the most frightful time it is possible to conceive how long was all this I was myth my son for four days sir so it was on the fourth day that you killed him have pity sir I did not kill my son it was a murderer that I had with me a murderer for whom the police were hunting and for whom the guillotine was waiting a murderer if you prefer it so said the judge entirely heedless of the unhappy man's protests but you had no right to assume the functions of executioner come you admit you did kill him I do not admit it do you deny that you killed him I did what my duty told me to do still the same story said the judge hangarly drumming his fingers on the death you refused to answer but even in your own interest you must have the courage to adopt some definite theory well would you have been glad if your son had taken his own life may I entreat you to remember that my son is dead Etienne Rambeir said once more I can only remember the one fact that he was my son I can't say that I desired his death I don't even know now if he was guilty whatever horror I may think guilty whatever horror I may feel for a crime I can only remember how that Charles was not in his right mind and that he was the son of my loins again a tremor of emotion passed through the court and again the judge made an angry gesture ordering silence so you declined to answer any of the principal points of the indictment the jury will no doubt appreciate the reason well can you let us know any of the advice of your son if you did not desire him to take his own life and if you had no intention of killing him what did you want oblivion said Etienne Rambeir more calmly this time it was not for me to give my son up and I could only desire for him oblivion and if that was impossible then death I implored him to think of the life that was before him and the future of shame and I urged him to disappear forever ah you admit you did recommend him to commit suicide I mean I wanted him to go abroad the president feigned to be occupied with his notes purposely giving time for the importance of the last admission he had run from Etienne Rambeir to sink into the minds of the jury then without raising his head he asked abruptly you were very surprised to hear of his death no said Rambeir Dully how did you part from each other the last night we slept out of doors under a stack we were both worn out and heart sick I prayed God of His mercy to have pity on us it was by the bank of the Dordonia next morning when I woke up I was alone he, my son, had disappeared I know no more the judge quelled the emotion in the court by a threatening glance a question on the defendant which was like a trap to catch him lying if, at that time, you knew no more how was it that a few days later you called on Inspector Zhuv and asked him at once what was known about the dead body of your son the body had only been recovered within the previous hour or two and had not been absolutely identified the newspapers at any rate only suggested the identity with the utmost reserve but you, sir, had no doubts on the subject you knew that the corpse was that of your son why? how? it was one of the strongest points that could be made in support of the theory that at the unrambarred murder of his son and the defendant immediately saw the difficulty he would have in giving an adequate answer without compromising himself he turned to the jury as though he had more hope in them than in the court gentleman he cried this is torture I cannot answer anymore you know quite enough to form your judgment of me form it now say if I failed in my duty as a man of honor and a father I at least can answer no more questions and he sank back in his place like a beaten man crushed by the distress evoked by all these painful memories the judge nodded to the jury with the grim complacency of a man who has run down his game this refusal to answer my questions is in itself tantamount to a confession he said acidly well we will proceed to call the witnesses I should like to say that the most interesting witness would undoubtedly be Bozia the tramp who recovered the body of Charles Rambar but unfortunately that individual has no fixed abode and it has not been possible to serve him with a subpoena a number of witnesses succeeded one another in the box without however throwing any fresh light upon the matter they were peasants who had met the two Rambairs when they were flying from the chateau village bakers who had sold them bread and lock keepers who had seen but been unable to recover the floating corpse the people in the court began to weary of the proceedings the more so as it was confidently rumored that Etienne Rambar had proudly declined to call any witnesses on his own behalf and even to allow his counsel to make any rhetorical appeal to the jury it might be imprudent but there was something fine in his defiance there was however one more thrill of interest for the public the judge had explained that he deemed it unnecessary to call the detective Zhuv in as much as all the information he had to give was already detailed in the long indictment but as Madame de la Grune's granddaughter was present in court he would exercise his discretion and request her to answer one or two questions and much taken aback with this unexpected publicity Thérèse Evernois followed the usher to the witness box Manmousel Thérèse Evernois I need hardly ask you if you recognize Monsieur Rambar but do you identify him as the person whose conversation with young Charles Rambar you overheard on that fatal night at the chateau of Bolieux Yes sir, that is Monsieur Etienne Rambar she replied in low tones with a long and tender look of pity to the defendant Will you please tell us anything you know that has any bearing upon the charge brought against the defendant the charge of having killed his son Thérèse made a visible effort to restrain her distress I can only say one thing sir that Monsieur Rambar was talking to his son in tones of such terrible distress that I knew his heart was broken by the tragedy I have heard so much from my dear grandmother about Monsieur Etienne Rambar that I can only remember that she always declared him to be a man of the very highest principle and I can only tell him here how dreadfully sorry I am for him and that everyone pities him as much as I do The judge had expected that Thérèse would be a witness hostile to the defendant whereas anything she was going to say would obviously be much to his advantage he cut her short That is enough Manmousel, thank you and while Thérèse was going back to her seat wiping away the tears that would come to her eyes despite her bravest efforts to keep her self-control in the presence of so many strangers the judge announced that there were no other witnesses to be heard and called upon the public prosecutor to address the court that person had rose at once and made a harangue that was eloquent enough no doubt but introduced no new features into the case he relied upon his law rather than his facts rapidly recapitulated predictions and pitifully weak arguments if arguments they could be called claimed that the facts had improved despite the defendant's steady refusal to answer questions and insisted on the point that the defendant had no right whatever to take the law into his own hands and either kill his son or aid in a bed in his flight he concluded by asking for a verdict of guilty and a sentence of penal servitude for life to him succeeded counsel for the defendant whose speech was brevity itself he declined to make any appeal add miser accordion but simply asked the jury to decide whether the defendant had not acted as any high-principled father would act when he discovered that his son had committed a crime during a fit of insanity he asked only for an impartial decision on the facts from men of high principle and he sat down conscious of having focused the issue on the proper point and secured the sympathy of the public the judges withdrew to their room the jury retired to consider their verdict and Etienne Rambeir was removed between two orders Juv had not stirred during the whole trial or displayed the least sign of approval or disapproval at any of the questions and answers exchanged he now sat unobtrusively listening to the conversation that passed near him relative to the issue of the case President Bonet opined that Etienne Rambeir had blundered and refusing to put up any defense he had shown contempt of court which was always unwise and the court would show him no mercy DeLonge was of another opinion according to him Etienne Rambeir was a sport of fate deserving pity rather than severity and the court would be very lenient another man declared that Etienne Rambeir had been in an impasse however fondly he loved his son he could not but hope that he might commit suicide if a friend committed an offense against the laws of honor the only thing to do was to put a pistol into his hand and so on the only point on which all were unanimous was their sympathy with the defendant but a bell rang sharply grave and impassive the jury returned the judges filed once more into their seats Etienne Rambeir was led back into court by the warders in tense silence the foreman of the jury spoke in the presence of God and of man and upon my honor and my conscience I declare that the answer of the jury is no to all the questions put and that is the answer of them all it was acquittal there was no applause but yet it seemed as if the word that had set the defendant free had relieved every bosom of an overwhelming dread the air seemed easier to breathe and there was no one there but seemed physically better and also happier for hearing a verdict for the general pity they had felt for the unhappy defendant a man of honor and a most unhappy father by their verdict the jury had implicitly applauded and commiserated Etienne Rambeir but he still sat in the dock broken and prostrated by terrible distress sobbing unreservedly and making no effort to restrain his immeasurable grief end of chapter 9 recording by Alan Winterout boomcoach.blogspot dot com