Chapter 1, Part 1 of the Eight Strokes of the Clock. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lémy. The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Leblanc. Chapter 1, Part 1. Authors Note These adventures were told to me in the old days by Arsène Lupin, as though they had happened to a friend of his named Prince Renine. As for me, considering the way in which they were conducted, the actions, the behavior and the very character of the hero, I find it very difficult not to identify the two friends as one and the same person. Arsène Lupin is gifted with a powerful imagination and is quite capable of attributing to himself adventures which are not his at all and of disowning those which are really his. The reader will judge for himself, M.L., on the top of the tower. Ohtan's Danielle pushed her window wajar and whispered, Are you there, Rossigny? I'm here, replied the voice from the shrubbery at the front of the house. Leaning forward, she saw a rather fat man looking up at her, out of a gross red face, with its cheeks and chin set in unpleasantly fair whiskers. Well, he asked. Well, I had a great argument with my uncle and aunt last night. They absolutely refused to sign the document, of which my lawyer sent them the draft, or to restore the dowry squandered by my husband. But your uncle was responsible for the terms of the marriage settlement. No matter, he refuses. Well, what do you propose to do?  She asked, with a laugh. More so than ever. Your intentions are strictly honorable, remember? Just as you please. You know that I am madly in love with you. Unfortunately, I am not madly in love with you. Then what made you choose me? Chance, I was bored. I was growing tired of my humdrum existence. So, I'm ready to run risks. Here's my luggage. Catch. She let down from the window a couple of large leather kit bags. Rosigny caught them in his arms. The tie is cast, she whispered. Go and wait for me with your car at the crossroads. I shall come on horseback. Hang it. I can't run off with your horse. He will go home by himself. Capital. Oh, by the way, what is it? Who is this Prince Hanin, who's been here the last three days and whom nobody seems to know? I don't know much about him. My uncle met him at a friend's shoot, and asked him here to stay. You seem to have made a great impression on him. You went for a long ride with him yesterday. He's a man I don't care for. In two hours I shall have left the house in your company.  Well, we've talked long enough. We have no time to lose. For a few minutes she stood, watching the fat man bending under the weight of her traps, as he moved away in the shelter of an empty avenue. Then she closed the window. Outside, in the park, the huntsman's horns were sounding the Reveille. The hounds burst into frantic baying. It was the opening day of the hunt that morning at the Château de la Marseille, where, every year, in the first week in September, the Comte de Glerosche, a mighty hunter before the Lord, and his countess, were accustomed to invite a few personal friends and the neighboring landowners. Portans slowly finished dressing, put on a riding habit, which revealed the lines of her supple figure, and a wide-brimed felt hat, which encircled her lovely face and obron hair, and sat down to her writing desk, at which she wrote to her uncle, Monsieur de Glerosche, a farewell letter to be delivered to him that evening. It was a difficult letter to word, and, after beginning it several times, she ended by giving up the idea. I will write to him later, she said to herself, when his anger has cooled down, and she went downstairs to the dining room. Enormous logs were blazing in the hearth of the lofty room. The walls were hung with trophies of rifles and shotguns. The guests were flocking in, from every side, shaking hands with the Comte de Glerosche, one of those typical country squires, heavily and powerfully built, who lives only for hunting and shooting. He was standing before the fire, with a large glass of old brandy in his hand, drinking the health of each new arrival. Portans kissed him absently. What, uncle, you, who are usually so sober? Po, he said. A man may surely indulge himself a little once a year, and will give you a scolding.  Besides, he added gruffly, it is not her business, and still asses it yours, my dear child. Prince Henin came up to Ortans. He was a young man, very smartly dressed, with a narrow and rather pale face, whose eyes held by turns, the gentlest and the harshest, the most friendly and the most satirical expression. He bowed to her, kissed her hand, and said, May I remind you of your kind promise, dear madame? My promise? Yes, we agreed that we should repeat our delightful excursion of yesterday, and try to go over that old boarded-up place, the look of which made us so curious. It seems to be known as the Domaine de Halinga. She answered a little curtly. I'm extremely sorry, monsieur, but it would be rather far, and I'm feeling a little done up. I shall go for a canter in the park, and come indoors again. There was a pause. Then, Sèche Henin said, smiling, with his eyes fixed on hers, and in a voice which she alone could hear. I am sure that you'll keep your promise, and that you'll let me come with you. It would be better. For whom? For you? You mean? For you, too, I assure you. She collared slightly, but did not reply, shook hands with a few people around her, and left the room. A grim was holding the horse at the foot of the steps. She mounted, and set off towards the woods beyond the park. It was a cool, still morning. Through the leaves which barely quivered, the sky showed crystalline blue. Orteins rode at a walk down winding avenues, which, in half an hour, brought her to a countryside of ravines and bluffs, intersected by the high road. She stopped. There was not a sound. Hossini was have stopped his engine, and concealed the car in the thickets around the crossroads. She was five hundred yards at most from that circular space. After hesitating for a few seconds, she dismounted, tied her horse carelessly, so that he could release himself by the least effort and return to the house, shrouded her face in the long brown veal that hung over her shoulders, and walked on. As she expected, she saw Hossini directly. She reached the first turn in the road. He ran up to her, and drew her in the compass. Quick, quick! Oh, I was so afraid that you would be late, or even change your mind. And here you are. It seems too good to be true. She smiled.  I should think I am happy, and so will you be, I swear you will. Your life will be one long fairy tale. You shall have every luxury, and all the money you can wish for. I want neither money nor luxuries. What then? Happiness. You can safely leave your happiness to me. She replied jestingly, I rather doubt the quality of the happiness which you would give me. Wait! You'll see. You'll see. They had reached the mutter. Hossini, still stammering expressions of the light, started the engine. Orton stepped in and wrapped herself in a white cloak. The car followed the narrow, grassy path which led back to the crossroads, and Hossini was accelerating the speed when he was suddenly forced to pull up. A shot had wrung out from the neighboring wood on the right. The car was swerving from side to side. A front-tire burst shouted Hossini leaping to the ground. Not a bit of it, cried Hortense, somebody fired, impossible my dear, don't be so absurd. At that moment, two slight shocks were felt, and two more reports were heard, one after the other, some way off and still in the wood. Hossini snarled. The back-tires burst now, both of them. But who in the devil's name can the ruffian be? Just let me get hold of him, that's all. He clambered up the roadside slope, there was no one there. Moreover, the leaves of the coppice blocked the view. Damn it, damn it, he swore, you were right, somebody was firing at the car, oh this is a bit thick, we shall be held up for hours, three tires to mend, but what are you doing dear girl? Hortense herself had a lighted from the car, she ran to him, greatly excited. I'm going, but why? I want to know, someone fired, I want to know who it was.  What about you running away, all our plans, we'll discuss that tomorrow, go back to the house, take back my things with you, and goodbye for the present. She hurried, left him, had the good luck to find her horse, and set off at a gallop in a direction leading away from Lamarrez. She was not the least doubt in her mind that the three shots had been fired by Prince Hanin. It was he, she muttered angrily, it was he, no one else would be capable of such behavior. Besides, he had warned her, in his smiling, masterful way, that he would expect her. She was weeping with rage and humiliation, at that moment had she found herself face to face with Prince Hanin, she could have struck him with her riding whip. Before her was the rugged and picturesque stretch of country which lies between the On and the Sart above Alensson, and which is known as Little Switzerland. Steep hills compelled her frequently to moderate her pace, the more so as she had to cover some six miles before reaching her destination. But though the speed at which she rode became less headlong, though her physical effort gradually slackened, she nevertheless persisted in her indignation against Prince Hanin. She bore him a grudge, not only for the unspeakable action of which he had been guilty, but also for his behavior to her during the last three days, his persistent attentions, his assurance, his air of excessive politeness. She was nearly there. In the bottom of a valley, an old park wall, full of cracks and covered with moss and weeds, revealed the ball turret of a chateau, and a few windows with closed shutters. This was the domain de Halinga. She followed the wall and turned a corner. In the middle of the crescent-shaped space before which Lady Entrance Gates Sash Hanin stood, waiting beside his horse. She strained to the ground, and as he stepped forward, had in hand, thanking her for coming, she cried. One word, Monsieur, to begin with. Something quite inexplicable happened just now. Three shots were fired at a motor-car in which I was sitting. Did you fire those shots? Yes. She seemed dumbfounded. Then you confess it? You have asked the question, Madame, and I have answered it. But how dared you? What gave you the right? I was not exercising a right, Madame. I was performing a duty. Indeed. And what duty, pray? The duty of protecting you against a man who is trying to profit by your troubles. I forbid you to speak like that. I am responsible for my own actions, and I decided upon them in perfect liberty. Madame, I overheard your conversation with Monsieur Hossigny this morning, and it did not appear to me that you were accompanying him with a light heart. I admit the ruthlessness and bad taste of my interference, and I apologize for it humbly. But I risked being taken for a ruffian in order to give you a few hours for reflection. I have reflected fully, Monsieur. And I have once made up my mind to a thing I do not change it. Yes, Madame, you do, sometimes. If not, why are you here instead of there? Portance was confused for a moment. All her anger had subsided. She looked at Fennin with the surprise which one experiences when confronted with certain persons who are unlike their fellows, more capable of performing unusual actions, more generous and disinterested. She realized perfectly that he was acting without any ulterior motive or calculation that he was, as he had said, merely fulfilling his duty as a gentleman to a woman who was taking the wrong turning. Speaking very gently, he said, I know very little about you, Madame, but enough to make me wish to be of use to you. You are twenty-six years old and have lost both your parents. Seven years ago, you became the wife of the comdegler Hosh Snefu by marriage, who proved to be of unsound mind, half insane indeed, and had to be confined. This made it impossible for you to obtain a divorce and compelled you, since your dory had been squandered to live with your uncle and at his expense. It's a depressing environment. The Count and Countess do not agree. Years ago, the Count was deserted by his first wife, who ran away with the Countess' first husband. The abandoned husband and wife decided out of spite to unite their fortunes, but found nothing but disappointment and ill-will in this second marriage, and you suffered the consequences. They lead the monotonous, narrow, lonely life for eleven months or more out of the year.   In a word, you accepted with the very definite intention of keeping your admirer at arm's length, but also with the rather ingenuous hope that the scandal would force your uncle's hand, and make him account for his trusteeship, and assure you of an independent existence. That is how you stand. At present, you have to choose between placing yourself in M. Hosh Snefu's hands, or trusting yourself to me. She raised her eyes to his, what did he mean? What was the purpose of this offer, which he made so seriously, like a friend who asks nothing but to prove his devotion? After a moment's silence, he took the two horses by the bridle, and tied them up. Then he examined the heavy gates, each of which was strengthened by two planks nailed crosswise. An electoral poster, dated twenty years earlier, showed that no one had entered the domain since that time. Penin tore up one of the iron posts, which supported a railing, that ran round the Crescent and used it as a lever. The rotten planks gave way. One of them uncovered the lock, which he attacked with a big knife, containing a number of blades and implements. A minute later, the gate opened on a waist of brechen, which led up to a long, dilapidated building, with a turret at each corner, and a sort of a belvedere, built on a taller tower in the middle. The prince turned to Ortans.  You will form your decision this evening, and, if Messier Hossini succeeds in persuading you for the second time, I give you my word of honor that I shall not cross your path. Until then, grant me the privilege of your company. We made up our minds yesterday to inspect the chateau. Let us do so, will you? It is as good a way as any of passing the time, and I have a notion that it will not be uninteresting. He had a way of talking, which compelled obedience. He seemed to be commending and entreating at the same time. Ortans did not even seek to shake off the innervation into which her will was slowly sinking. She followed him to a half-demolished flight of steps, at the top of which was a door likewise strengthened by planks nailed in the form of a cross. Hennin went to work in the same way as before. They entered a spacious hall, paved with white and black flagstones, furnished with old sideboards and choir stalls, and adorned with a car of discussion which displayed the remains of amoral bearings representing a eagle standing on a block of stone, all half-hidden behind a veal of cobwebs which hung down over a pair of folding doors. The door of the drawing-room evidently, said Hennin. He found this more difficult to open, and it was only by repeatedly charging it with his shoulder that he was able to move one of the doors. Ortans had not spoken a word. She watched, not without surprise, this series of forcible entries which were accomplished with a really masterly skill. He guessed her thoughts, and turning round, said in a serious voice, It's child's play to me. I was a locksmith once. She seized his arm and whispered, Listen! To what? He asked. She increased the pressure of her hand to demand silence. The next moment he murmured, It's really very strange. Listen! Listen! Ortans repeated, in bewilderment, Can it be possible? They heard, not far from where they were standing, a sharp sound, the sound of a light tap requiring at regular intervals, and they had only to listen attentively to recognize the ticking of a clock. Yes, it was this, and nothing else, that broke the profound silence of the dark room. It was indeed the deliberate ticking, rhythmical as the beat of a metronome produced by a heavy brass pendulum. That was it, and nothing could be more impressive than the measured pulsation of this trivial mechanism, which, by some miracle, some inexplicable phenomenon had continued to live in the heart of the dead Chateau. And yet, stammered Ortans, without daring to raise her voice, No one has entered the house. No one. And it is quite impossible for that clock to have kept going for twenty years without being wound up. Quite impossible. Then, Serge Hennin opened the three windows and threw back the shutters. He and Ortans were in a drawing room, as he had thought, and the room showed not the least sign of disorder. The chairs were in their places, not a piece of furniture was missing. The people who had lived there and who had made it the most individual room in their house had gone away, leaving everything just as it was, the books which they used to read, the knickknacks on the tables and consoles. Hennin examined the old grandfather's clock, contained in its tall carved case which showed the disc of the pendulum through an oval pane of glass. He opened the door of the clock. The weights hanging from the cords were at their lowest point. At that moment there was a click. The clock struck eight, with a serious note which Ortans was never to forget. How extraordinary, she said. Extraordinary indeed, said he, for the works are exceedingly simple and would hardly keep going for a week. And do you see nothing out of the common? No, nothing, or at least. He stooped, and from the back of the case drew a metal tube which was concealed by the weights, holding it up to the light. A telescope, he said, thoughtfully, why did they hide it? And they left it drawn out to its full length. That's odd. What does it mean? The clock, as is sometimes usual, began to strike a second time, sounding eight strokes. Hennin closed the case and continued his inspection without putting his telescope down. A wide arc led from the drawing room to a smaller apartment, a sort of smoking room. This also was furnished, but contained a glass case for guns, of which the rack was empty. Hanging on a panel nearby was a calendar with the date of the 5th of September. Oh, cried Ortans in astonishment. The same date as today. They tore off the leaves until the 5th of September, and this is the anniversary. What an astonishing coincidence. Astonishing, he echoed. It's the anniversary of their departure 20 years ago, today. You must admit, she said, that all this is incomprehensible. Yes, of course, but all the same, perhaps not. Have you any idea? He waited a few seconds before replying. What puzzles me is this telescope hidden, chopped in that corner at the last moment? I wonder what it was used for. From the ground floor windows, you see nothing but the trees in the garden. And the same I expect from all the windows, we are in a valley, without the least open horizon. To use the telescope, one would have to go up to the top of the house. Shall we go up? She did not hesitate. The mystery surrounding the whole adventure excited her curiosity so keenly that she could think of nothing but accompanying Hanin and assisting him in his investigations. They went upstairs accordingly, and on the second floor came to a landing where they found the spiral staircase leading to the Belvedere. At the top of this was a platform in the open air, but surrounded by a parapet over six feet high. There must have been battlements which have been filled in since, observed Prince Hanin. Look here, there were loopholes at one time. They may have been blocked. In any case, she said, the telescope was of no use up here either, and we may as well go down again. I don't agree, he said. Logic tells us that there must have been some gap through which the country could be seen. And this was the spot where the telescope was used. He hoisted himself by his wrists to the top of the parapet, and then saw that this point of vantage commanded the whole of the valley, including the park, with its tall trees marking the horizon. And, beyond the depression in a wood surmounting a hill, at a distance of some seven or eight hundred yards, stood another tower, squatting in ruins, covered with ivy from top to bottom. Hanin resumed his inspection. He seemed to consider that the key to the problem lay in the use to which the telescope was put, and that the problem would be solved if only they could discover this use. He studied the loopholes one after the other. One of them, or rather the place which it had occupied, attracted his attention above the rest. In the middle of the layer of plaster, which had served to block it, there was a hollow filled with earth in which plants had grown. He pulled out the plants and removed the earth, thus clearing the mouth of a hole, some five inches in diameter, which completely penetrated the wall. On bending forward, Hanin perceived that this deep and narrow opening inevitably carried the eye above the dense tops of the trees and through the depression in the hill to the ivy-clad tower. At the bottom of this channel, in a sort of groove which ran through it like a gutter, the telescope fitted so exactly that it was quite impossible to shift it, however little, either to the right or to the left. Hanin, after wiping the outside of the lenses while taking care not to disturb the lie of the instrument by a hair's breadth, put his eye to the small end. He remained for 30 or 40 seconds, gazing attentively and silently. Then he drew himself up and said in a husky voice, it's terrible, it's really terrible. What is, she asked anxiously, look. She bent down, but the image was not clear to her, and the telescope had to be focused to suit her side. The next moment, she shuddered and said, it's just scarecrows, isn't it? Walls stuck up on the top, but why? Look again, he said. Look more carefully, under the hats, the faces. Oh, she cried, turning faint with horror. How awful! The field of the telescope, like the circular pictures shown by a magic lantern, presented this spectacle. The platform of a broken tower, the walls of which were higher in the more distant part, and formed as it were a backdrop, over which surged waves of ivy. In front, amid a cluster of bushes, were two human beings, a man and a woman, leaning back against a heap of fallen stones. But the words man and woman could hardly be applied to these two forms, these two sinister puppets, which, it is true, wore clothes and hats, or rather, shreds of clothes and remnants of hats, but had lost their eyes, their cheeks, their chins, every particle of flesh, until there were, actually and positively, nothing more than two skeletons. Two skeletons, stammered Hortans, two skeletons with clothes on, who carried them up there? Nobody, but still. That man and that woman must have died at the top of the tower, years and years ago, and their flesh rotted under their clothes, and the ravens ate them. But it's hideous, hideous, cried Hortans, pale as death, her face drawn with horror. End of Chapter 1, Part 1. Chapter 1, Part 2, of the Eight Strokes of the Clock. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Leni. The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Leblanc. Chapter 1, Part 2. Half an hour later, Hortans, Daniel, and Hennin left the Chateau de Halinga. Before their departure, they had gone as far as the Ivy Grown Tower, the remains of an old dungeon keep, more than half demolished. The inside was empty. There seemed to have been a way of climbing to the top, at a comparatively recent period, by means of wooden stairs and ladders, which now lay broken and scattered over the ground. The tower backed against the wall, which marked the end of the park. A curious fact, which surprised Hortans, was that Prince Hennin had neglected to pursue any more minute inquiry, as though the matter had lost all interest for him. He did not even speak of it any longer, and in the inn at which they stopped and took a light meal in the nearest village, it was she who asked the landlord about the abandoned Chateau. But she learned nothing from him, for the man was new to the district, and could give her no particulars. He did not even know the name of the owner. They turned their horses' heads towards La Maraiso. Again and again, Hortans recalled the squalid site which had met their eyes.  But after all, she exclaimed impatiently, we can't leave the matter there. It calls for a solution. As you say, he replied, a solution is called for. Monsieur Rossigny has to know where he stands, and you have to decide what to do about him. She shrugged her shoulders. He's of no importance for the moment. The thing today is what? It's to know what those two dead bodies are. Still, Rossigny, Rossigny can wait. But I can't. You have shown me a mystery, which is now the only thing that matters. What do you intend to do? To do? Yes, there are two bodies. You'll inform the police, I suppose. Gracious goodness, he exclaimed, laughing. What for? Well, there's a riddle that has to be cleared up at all costs, a terrible tragedy. We don't need anyone to do that. What? Do you mean to say that you understand it? Almost as plainly as though I had read it in a book, told in full detail, with exploratory illustrations. It's all so simple. She looked at him in askings, wondering if he was making fun of her. But he seemed quite serious. Well, she asked, quivering with curiosity. The light was beginning to wane. They had trotted at a good pace, and the hunt was returning as they neared La Maraiso. Well, he said, we shall get the rest of our information from people living around out, from your uncle, for instance. And you will see how logically all the facts fit in. When you hold the first link of a chain, you are bound, whether you like it or not, to reach the last. It's the greatest fun in the world. Once in the house, they separated. On going to her room, Ortans found her luggage in a furious letter from Hossigny, in which he baited her goodbye and announced his departure. Then Hennin knocked at her door. Your uncle is in the library, he said. Will you go down with me? I've sent word that I'm coming. She went with him. He added. One word more. This morning, when I thwarted your plans and begged you to trust me, I naturally undertook an obligation towards you, which I mean to fulfill without delay. I want to give you a positive proof of this. She left. The only obligation which you took upon yourself was to satisfy my curiosity. It shall be satisfied, he assured her gravely, and more fully than you can possibly imagine. Missier Dagler-Hosch was alone. He was smoking his pipe and drinking sherry. He offered a glass to Hennin, who refused. Well, Ortans, he said in a rather thick voice. You know that it's pretty dull here, except in these September days. You must make the most of them. Have you had a pleasant ride with Hennin? That's just what I wanted to talk about, my dear sir, interrupted the prince. You must excuse me, but I have to go to the station in 10 minutes to meet a friend of my wife's. Oh, 10 minutes will be ample. Just the time to smoke a cigarette? No longer. He took a cigarette from the case, which Missier Dagler-Hosch handed to him, lit it, and said, I must tell you that our ride happened to take us to an old domain which you are sure to know, the Domaine de Halinga. Certainly I know it, but it has been closed, boarded up for 25 years or so. You weren't able to get in, I suppose. Yes, we were. Really? Was it interesting? Extremely. We discovered the strangest things. What things? Asked the Count, looking at his watch. Hennin described what they had seen. On a tower, some way from the house, there were two dead bodies, two skeletons, rather, a man and a woman, so wearing the clothes which they had on when they were murdered. Come, come, now, murdered? Yes, and that is what we have come to trouble you about. The tragedy must date back to some 20 years ago. Was nothing known of it at the time? Certainly not, declared the Count. I never heard of any such crime or disappearance. Oh, really? Said Hennin, looking a little disappointed. I hope to obtain a few particulars. I'm sorry. In that case, I apologize. He consulted Ortauns with a glance and moved towards the door. But on second thought, could you not, at least, my dear sir, bring me into touch with some persons in the neighborhood, some members of your family, whom I know more about it, of my family, and why? Because a domain deralingue used to belong and no doubt still belongs to the Degle Roche. The arms are an eagle on a heap of stones, on a rock. This at once suggested the connection. This time the Count appeared surprised. He pushed back his decanter and his glass of sherry, and said, What's this you're telling me? I had no idea that we had any such neighbors. Hennin shook his head and smiled. I should be more inclined to believe, sir, that you were not very eager to admit any relationship between yourself and the unknown owner of the property. And he's not a respectable man. The man, to put it plainly, is a murderer. What do you mean? The Count had risen from his chair. Ortauns, greatly excited, said, Are you really sure that there has been a murder, and that the murder was done by someone belonging to the house? Quite sure. But why are you so certain? Because I know who the two victims were, and what caused them to be killed. Prince Hennin was making none but positive statements, and his method suggested the belief that he supported by the strongest proofs. Monsieur de La Roche showed up and down the room, with his hands behind his back. He ended by saying, I always had an instinctive feeling that something had happened, but I never tried to find out. Now as a matter of fact, twenty years ago, a relation of mine, a distant cousin, used to live at the Domaine de Halingon. I hoped, because of the name I bear, that this story which as I say I never knew but suspected would remain hidden forever. So this cousin killed somebody? Yes, he was obliged to. Hennin shook his head. I'm sorry to have to amend that phrase, my dear sir. The truth, on the contrary, is that your cousin took his victims' lives in cold blood, and in a cowardly manner. I never heard of a crime more deliberately and craftily planned. What is it that you know? The moment had come for Hennin to explain himself, a solemn and anguish-stricken moment, the full gravity of which Orton's understood, though she had not yet divined any part of the tragedy which the Prince unfolded step by step. It's a very simple story, he said. There is every reason to believe that Monsieur de La Roche was married, and that there was another couple living in the neighborhood with whom the owner of the Domaine de Halingon were on friendly terms. What happened one day, which of these four persons first disturbed the relations between the two households, I am unable to say. But a likely version, which at once occurs to the mind, is that your cousin's wife, Madame de La Roche, was in the habit of meeting the other husband in the ivy-covered tower, which had a door opening outside the estate. On discovering the intrigue, your cousin de La Roche resolved to be revenge, but in such a manner that there should be no scandal, and that no one even should ever know that the guilty pair had been killed. Now he had a certain, as I did just now, that there was a part of the house, the belvedere, from which you can see, over the trees and the undulations of the park, the tower, standing eight hundred yards away, and that this was the only place that overlooked the top of the tower. He therefore pierced a hole in the parapet, through one of the former loopholes, and from there, by using a telescope, which fitted exactly in the grove which he had hollowed out, he watched the meetings of the two lovers. And it was from there also, that, after carefully taking all his measurements and calculating all his distances, on a Sunday, the fifth of September, when the house was empty, he killed them with two shots. The truth was becoming apparent. The light of day was breaking. The count muttered. Yes, that's what must have happened. I expect that my cousin de La Roche, the murderer, had in continued, stopped up the loophole neatly, with a cloud of earth. No one would ever know that the two dead bodies were decaying on the top of that tower, which was never visited, and of which he took the precaution to demolish the wooden stairs. Nothing therefore remained for him to do, but to explain the disappearance of his wife and his friend. This presented no difficulty. He accused them of having eloped together. Orthans gave a start. Suddenly, as though the last sentence were a complete and, to her, an absolutely unexpected revelation, she understood what Henin was trying to convey. What do you mean, she asked? I mean that Monsieur de La Roche accused his wife and his friend of eloping together. No, no, she cried. I can't allow that. You are speaking of a cousin of my uncles. Why mix up the two stories? Why mix up the story with another which took place at that time, said the prince. But I am not mixing them up, my dear madame. There is only one story, and I am telling it as it happened. Orthans turned to her uncle. He sat silent, with his arms folded, and his head remained in the shadow cast by the lampshade. Why had he not protested? Henin repeated, in a firm tone, there is only one story. On the evening of that very day, the 5th of September, at 8 o'clock, Monsieur de La Roche, doubtless alleging as his reason that he was going in pursuit of the runaway couple, left his house after boarding up the entrance. He went away, leaving all the rooms as they were, and removing only the firearms from their glass case. At the last minute he had a presentment, which has been justified today, that the discovery of the telescope, which had played so great a part in the preparation of his crime, might serve as a clue to an inquiry. And he threw it in the clock case, where, as luck would have it, it interrupted the swing of the pendulum. This unreflecting action, one of those which every criminal inevitably commits, was to betray him, twenty years later. Just now, the blows which I struck to force the door of the drawing room, released the pendulum. The clock was set going, struck 8 o'clock. And I possessed the clue of thread, which was to lead me through the labyrinth. Proofs, stemmed Hortense. Proofs! Proofs, replied Henning, in a loud voice. Why, there are any number of proofs, and you know them as well as I do. Who could have killed at that distance of 800 yards, except an expert shot, an ardent sportsman? You agree, Monsieur de La Roche, do you not? Proofs? Why was nothing removed from the house? Nothing, except the guns, those guns which an ardent sportsman cannot afford to leave behind? You agree, Monsieur de La Roche, those guns which we find here, hanging in trophies on the walls. Proofs? What about that date, the 5th of September, which was the date of the crime, in which has left such a horrible memory in the criminal's mind that every year at this time, at this time alone, he surrounds himself with distractions, and that every year, on the same 5th of September, he forgets his habits of temperance. Well, today is the 5th of September. Proofs? Why, if there weren't any others, would that not be enough for you? And Henning, slinging out his arm, pointed to the con de La Roche, who, terrified by this avocation of the past, had sunk, huddled into a chair, and was hiding his head in his hands. Portans did not attempt to argue with him. She had never liked her uncle, or rather, her husband's uncle. She now accepted the accusation laid against him. 60 seconds passed. Then, Monsieur de La Roche walked up to them and said, whether the story be true or not, you can't call a husband a criminal for avenging his honor and killing his faithless wife. No, replied Henning. But I have told only the first version of the story. Here's another, which is infinitely more serious and more probable, one to which a more thorough investigation would be sure to lead. What do you mean? I mean this. It may not be a matter of a husband taking the law into his own hands, as I charitably supposed. It may be a matter of a ruined man who covets his friend's money and his friend's wife, and who, with this object in view, to secure his freedom, to get rid of his friend and of his own wife, draws them into a trap, suggests to them that they should visit that lonely tower, and kills them by shooting them from a distance safely under cover. No, no, the count protested. No, all that is untrue. I don't say it isn't. I am basing my accusation on proofs, but also on intuitions and arguments which up to now have been extremely accurate. All the same, I admit that the second version may be incorrect, but if so, I feel any remorse. One does not feel remorse for punishing guilty people. One does for taking life. It is a crushing burden to bear. Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden, that Messier Deglerosch afterwards married his victim's widow? For that, sir, is the cricks of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was Messier Deglerosch penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wife rich? Or were they both in love with each other?  These are problems to which I do not know the answer. They have no interest for the moment. But the police, with all the means at their disposal, would have no great difficulty in elucidating them. Messier Deglerosch staggered, and had to study himself against the back of a chair. Lived in the face, his splattered. Are you going to inform the police? No, no, said Hennie. To begin with, there is the statute of limitations.  And in the end, the necessity of returning to the tower and removing the traces of the two murders, the frightful punishment of climbing that tower, of touching those skeletons, of undressing them, and burying them. That will be enough. We will not ask for more. We will not give it to the public to batten on and create a scandal which would recoil upon Messier Deglerosch's knees. No, let us leave this disgraceful business alone. The count resumed his seat at the table, with his hands clutching his forehead, and asked, Then why? Why do I interfere? Said Hennie. What you mean is that I must have had some object in speaking. That is so. There must indeed be a penalty, however slight, and our interview must lead to some practical result. But have no fear. Messier Deglerosch will be let off lightly. The contest was ended. The count felt that he had only a small formality to fulfill, a sacrifice to accept. And recovering some of his self-assurance, he said, in an almost sarcastic tone. What's your price? Hennie burst out laughing. Splendid! You see the position. Only you make a mistake in drawing me into the business. I'm working for the glory of the thing. In that case, you will be called upon at most to make restitution. Restitution? Hennie leaned over the table and said, In one of those drawers, there's a deed awaiting your signature. It is a draft agreement between you and your niece, Orkhan Staniel, relating to her private fortune, which fortune was splendid and for which you are responsible. Signed the deed. Messier Deglerosch gave a start. Do you know the amount? I don't wish to know. And if I refuse, I shall ask to see the contest Deglerosch. Without further hesitation, the count opened a drawer, produced a document on stamped paper, and quickly signed it. Here you are, he said. And I hope, you hope as I do, that you and I may never have any future dealings. I'm convinced of it. I shall leave this evening. Your niece, no doubt, tomorrow. Goodbye. In the drawing room, which was still empty, while the guests at the house were dressing for dinner, Hennie handed the deed to Orkhan's. She seemed dazed by all that she had heard. And the thing that bewildered her even more than the relentless light shed upon her uncle's past was the miraculous insight and amazing acidity displayed by this man. The man who, for some hours, had controlled events and conjured upon before her eyes the actual sins of a tragedy, which no one had beheld. Are you satisfied with me? He asked. She gave him both her hands. You have saved me from Hossie and me. You have given me back my freedom and my independence. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Oh, that's not what I am asking you to say, he answered. My first and main object was to amuse you. Your life seemed so humdrum and lacking Indian expected. Has it been so today? How can you ask such a question? I have had the strangest and most stirring experiences. That is life, he said. When one knows how to use one's eyes, adventure exists everywhere in the meanest hovel under the mask of the wisest of men. Everywhere, if you are only willing, you will find an excuse for excitement, for doing good, for saving a victim, for ending an injustice. Impressed by his power and authority, she murmured, who are you exactly? An adventure, nothing more. A lover of adventures. Life's not worth living, except in moments of adventure. The adventures of others or personal adventures. Today's has upset you because it affected the innermost depths of your being. But those of others are no less stimulating. Would you like to make the experiment? How? Become the companion of my adventures. If anyone calls on me for help, help him with me. If chance or instinct puts me on the track of a crime or the trace of a sorrow, let us both set out together. Do you consent? Yes, she said, but she hesitated, as though trying to guess Henning's secret intentions. But, he said, expressing her thoughts for her with a smile.  What you are saying to yourself is, how far does that lover of adventures want to make me go? It is quite obvious that I had checked him, and sooner or later, he would not be sorry to receive payment for his services. You are quite right. We must have a formal contract. Very formal, said Octans, preferring to give a jesting tone to the conversation. Let me hear your proposals. He reflected for a moment and continued. Well, we'll say this. The clock at Heiling gave eight strokes this afternoon. The day of the first adventure. Will you accept its decree and agree to carry out seven more of these delightful enterprises with me, during a period, for instance, of three months? And shall we say that at the eighth, you will be pledged to grant me? Why? He deferred his answer. Observe that you will always be at liberty to leave me on the road, if I do not succeed in interesting you. But if you accompany me to the end, if you allow me to begin and complete the eighth enterprise with you, in three months, on the fifth of December, at the very moment when the eighth stroke of that clock sounds, and it will sound you may be sure of that, for the old brass pendulum will not stop swinging again, you will be pledged to grant me? Why? She repeated, a little bit nervous by waiting. He was silent. He looked at the beautiful lips, which he had meant to claim as his reward. He felt perfectly certain that Hortense had understood, and he thought it unnecessary to speak more plainly. The mere delight of seeing you will be enough to satisfy me. It is not for me, but for you, to impose conditions. Name them. What do you demand? She was grateful for his respect, and said laughingly, What do I demand? Yes? Can I demand anything I like, however difficult and impossible? Everything is easy and everything is possible to the man who is bent on winning you. Then she said, I demand that you shall restore to me a small antique clasp made of a carnelian set in a silver mound. It came to me from my mother, and everyone knew that it used to bring her happiness, and me too. Since the day when it vanished from my jewel case, I have had nothing but unhappiness. Restore it to me, my good genius. When was the clasp stolen? She answered gaily. Seven years ago, or eight, or nine, I don't know exactly. I don't know where. I don't know how. I know nothing about it. I will find it, and indeclared, and you shall be happy. End of Chapter 1, Part 2. Chapter 2, Part 1 of the Eight Strokes of the Clock. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Lényi. The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice LeBlanc. Chapter 2, Part 1. The Water Bottle. Four days after she had settled down in Paris, Orteens-Danielle agreed to meet Prince Hénine in the bois. It was a glorious morning, and they sat down on the terrace of the Restaurant Imperiale, a little to one side. Orteens, feeling glad to be alive, was in a playful mood, full of attractive grace. Hénine, lest he should startle her, reframed from alluding to the compact into which they had entered at his suggestion. She told him how she had left La Marseille, and said that she had not heard of Rossigny. I have, said Hénine. I've heard of him. Ho? Yes? He sent me a challenge. We fought a duel this morning. Rossigny got a scratch in the shoulder. That finished the duel. Let's talk of something else. There was no further mention of Rossigny. Hénine at once expounded to Orteens the plan of two enterprises which he had in view, in which he offered, with no great enthusiasm, to let her share. The finest adventure, he declared, is that which we do not foresee. It comes unexpectedly, unannounced, and no one, save the initiated, realizes that an opportunity to act and to expend one's energies is close at hand. It has to be seized at once. A moment's hesitation may mean that we are too late. We are warned by a special sense, like that of a sleuth hound which distinguishes the right scent from all the others that cross it. The terrace was beginning to fill up around them. At the next table sat a young man reading a newspaper. They were able to see his insignificant profile and his long, dark moustache. From behind them, through an open window of the restaurant, came the distant strains of a band. In one of the rooms, a few couples were dancing. As Hénine was paying for the refreshments, the young man with the long moustache stifled a cry and, in a choking voice, called one of the waiters. What do I owe you? No change? Oh, good Lord, hurry up. Hénine, without a moment's hesitation, had picked up the paper. After casting a swift glance down the page, he read, under his breath, Maitre Dordin, the counsel for the defense in the trial of Jacques Aubrier, has been received at the Elysée. We are informed that the president of the republic has refused to reprieve the condemned man and that the execution will take place tomorrow morning. After crossing the terrace, the young man found himself faced at the entrance to the garden by a lady and a gentleman who blocked his way. And the latter said, Excuse me, sir, but I noticed your agitation. It's about Jacques Aubrier, isn't it? Yes, yes, Jacques Aubrier, the young man stammered. Jacques, the friend of my childhood. I'm hurrying to see his wife. She must be beside herself with grief. Can I offer you my assistance? I am Prince Hénine. This lady and I would be happy to call on Madame Aubrier and to place our services at her disposal. The young man, upset by the news which he had read, seemed not to understand. Hénine introduced himself awkwardly. My name is Dutri, Gaston Dutri. Hénine back into his chauffeur, who was waiting at some little distance and pushed Gaston Dutri into the car, asking, What address? Where does Madame Aubrier live? 23 Bess Avenue de Roule. After helping your towns in, Hénine repeated the address to the chauffeur and, as soon as they drove off, tried to question Gaston Dutri. I know very little of the case, he said. Tell it to me as briefly as you can. Jacques Aubrier killed one of his new relations, didn't he? His innocence, sir, replied the young man who seemed incapable of giving the least explanation. Innocent, I swear it. I've been Jacques's friend for 20 years. He's innocent, and it would be monstrous. There was nothing to be got out of him. Besides, it was only a short drive. They entered Néryi through the Porte des Sablons, and two minutes later stopped before a long, narrow passage between high walls which led them to a small, one storied house. Gaston Dutrioui rang. Madame is in the drawing room with her mother, said the maid who opened the door. I'll go into the ladies, he said, taking Hénine and Hortense with him. It was a fair-sized, prettily furnished room, which, in ordinary times, must have been used also as a study. Two women sat weeping, one of whom, elderly and gray-haired, came up to Gaston Dutrioui. He explained the reason for Hénine's presence, and she at once cried amid her sobs. My daughter's husband is innocent, sir. Jacques, a better man never lived. He was so good-hearted. Murder his cousin. But he worshipped his cousin. I swear that he's not guilty, sir. And they are going to commit the infamy of putting him to death.  Hénine realized that all these people had been living for months under the obsession of that innocence, and in the certainty that an innocent man could never be executed. The news of the execution, which was now inevitable, was driving them mad. He went up to a poor creature bent in two, whose face, a quite young face, framed in pretty, flexing hair, was convulsed with desperate grief.  Hénine said to her, Madame, I do not know what I can do for you, but I give you my word of honor that if anyone in this world can be of use to you, it is myself. I therefore implore you to answer my questions, as though the clear and definite wording of your replies were able to alter the aspect of things, though you wish to make me share your opinion of Jacques Aupeyre, for he is innocent, is he not? Oh, sir, indeed he is, she exclaimed, and the woman's whole soul was in the words. You are certain of it, but you were unable to communicate your certainty to the court. Well, you must now compel me to share it. I am not asking you to go into details and to live again through the hideous torment which you have suffered, but merely to answer certain questions. Will you do this? How will? Hennin's influence over her was complete. With a few sentences, Hennin had succeeded in subduing her and inspiring her with the will to obey. And once more, Orteins realized all the man's power, authority and persuasion. What was your husband? He asked, after begging the mother and Gaston du Trouilly to preserve absolute silence. An insurance broker, in business? Until last year, yes. So, there have been financial difficulties during the past few months? Yes. And the murder was committed when? Last March, on a Sunday. Who was the victim? A distant cousin, Monsieur Guillaume, who lived at Surresne. What was the sum stolen? 60,000 franc notes which this cousin had received the day before Did your husband know that? Yes. His cousin told him of it on the Sunday, in the course of a conversation on the telephone. And Jacques insisted that his cousin ought not to keep so large a sum in the house, and that he ought to pay it into a bank next day. Was this in the morning? At one o'clock in the afternoon. Jacques was to have gone to Monsieur Guillaume on his motorcycle, but he felt tired and told him that he would not go out. So he remained here all day. Alone? Yes. The two servants were out. I went to the cinéma d'éterne with my mother and our friend Dutrouille. In the evening we learned that Monsieur Guillaume had been murdered. Next morning Jacques was arrested. On what evidence? The poor creature hesitated to reply. The evidence of guilt had evidently been overwhelming. Then, obeying a sign from Renine, she answered without a pause. The murderer went to Surresne on the motorcycle, and the tracks covered were those of my husband's machine. They found a handkerchief with my husband's initials and the revolver which was used to belong to him.  The murder was committed at four o'clock. And what does Jacques Oakley say in his defense? He declares that he slept all the afternoon. At that time, someone came who managed to unlock the cycle shed and take the motorcycle to go to Surresne. As for the handkerchief and the revolver, they were in the tool bag. There would be nothing surprising in the murderers using them. It seems a plausible explanation. Yes, but the prosecution raised two objections. In the first place, nobody, absolutely nobody, knew that my husband was going to stay at home all day. Because, on the contrary, it was his habit to go out on his motorcycle every Sunday afternoon. And the second objection? She flushed and murmured. The murderer went to the pantry at Monsieur Guillaume's and drank half a bottle of wine straight out of the bottle which shows my husband's fingerprints. It seemed as though her strength was exhausted and as though at the same time the unconscious hope between his intervention had awakened in her had suddenly vanished before the accumulation of adverse facts. Again she collapsed, withdrawn into a sort of silent meditation from which Hortense's affectionate attentions were unable to distract her. The mother stammered. He's not guilty, is he, sir? And they can't punish an innocent man. They haven't the right to kill my daughter.    She will never be able to endure the idea that they are guillotining Jacques.  That's very naive. Hanien was striding up and down the room. You can do nothing for her, can you? asked Hortense. It's half past eleven now. He replied in an anxious tone. And it's to happen tomorrow morning. Do you think he's guilty? I don't know, I don't know. The poor woman's conviction is too impressive to be neglected. When two people have lived together for years, they can hardly be mistaken about each other to that degree, and yet... He stretched himself out on a sofa and lit a cigarette. He smoked three in succession without a word from anyone to interrupt his train of thought. At the time he looked at his watch. Every minute was of such importance.  There is hope left until the last minute has come. And I promise you that for my part I will not be disheartened until that last minute. But I need your calmness and your confidence. I will be calm, she said with a pitiable air. And confident, and confident. Well, wait for me. I shall be back in two hours from now. Will you come with us, Monsieur Dutruy? As they were stepping into his car he asked the young man Do you know any small unfrequented restaurant not too far inside Paris? There's the Brasserie Loutesia on the ground floor of the house in which I live in the capital. That will be very handy. They scarcely spoke on the way. Henning, however said to Gaston Dutruy So far as I remember the numbers of the notes are known, aren't they? Yes, Monsieur Guillaume had entered the 60 numbers in his pocketbook. Henning muttered a moment later. That's where the whole problem lies. Where are the notes? If we could lay our hands on them we should know everything. At the Brasserie Loutesia there was a telephone in the private room where he asked to have lunch served. When the waiter had left him alone with Hortense and Dutruy he took down the receiver with a resolute air. Hello? Prefecture of police, please? Hello? Hello? Is that the Prefecture of Police? Please put me on to the criminal investigation department. I have a very important communication to make. You can say it's Prince Henning. Holding the receiver in his hand he turned to Gaston Dutruy. I can ask someone to come here, I suppose. We shall be quite undisturbed? Quite. He listened again. The secretary to the head of the criminal investigation department? Oh, excellent. Mr. Secretary, I have on several occasions been in communication with Monsieur Dutruy and have given him information which has been of great use to him. He is sure to remember Prince Henning. I may be able today to show him where the 60,000 franknotes are hidden, which Oakrieu the murderer stole from his cousin. If he is interested in the proposal back him to send an inspector to Brassahilutecia, Place de Terre. I shall be there with a lady and Monsieur Dutruy, Oakrieu's friend. Good day, Mr. Secretary. When Henning hung up the instrument he saw the amazed faces of Hortense and of Dutruy confronting him. Hortense whispered Then you know you've discovered nothing, he said, laughing. Well, I'm acting as though I knew it's not a bad method. Let's have some lunch, shall we? The cop marked a quarter to one. The men from the prefecture will be here, he said in 20 minutes at latest. And if no one comes, Hortense objected. That would surprise me. Of course, if I had sent a message to Monsieur Dutruy saying Oakrieu is innocent, I should have failed to make any impression. It's not the least used on the eve of an execution to attempt to convince the gentry of the police or of the law that a man condemned to death is innocent. No. From henceforth Jacques Oakrieu belongs to the executioner. But the prospect of securing this is a windfall worth taking a little trouble over. Just think, that was the weak point in the indictment. Those 60 notes which they were unable to trace. But as you know nothing of their whereabouts, my dear girl, I hope you don't mind my calling you so. My dear girl, when a man can't explain this or that physical phenomenon, he adopts some sort of theory which explains the various manifestations of the phenomenon and says that everything happened as though the theory were correct, that's what I'm doing. That amounts to saying that you are going upon a supposition. Henin did not reply. Not until some time later when lunch was over, did he say Obviously I am going upon a supposition. If I had several days before me, I should take the trouble of first verifying my theory which is based upon intuition quite as much as upon a few scattered facts. I only have two hours and I am embarking on the unknown path as though I were certain that it would lead me to the truth. And suppose you are wrong. I have no choice. Besides, it is too late. There's a knock. Oh, one word more. Whatever I may say, don't contradict me. Nor you, Monsieur Dutruy. He opened the door. A thin man with a red imperial entry. Prince Henin? You, of course, are from Monsieur Dutruy? Yes. And the newcomer gave his name. Chief Inspector Mauricio. I am obliged to you for coming so promptly, Mr. Chief Inspector, said Prince Henin. And I hope that Monsieur Dutruy will not regret having placed you at my disposal. At your entire disposal, in addition to two inspectors whom I have left in the square outside and who have been in the case with me I shall not detain you for any length of time, said Henin. And I will not even ask you to sit down. We have only a few minutes in which to settle everything. You know what it's all about? The 60,000 Frank notes stolen from Monsieur Guillaume. I have the numbers here. Henin ran his eyes down the slip of paper which the Chief Inspector handed him and said, that's right, the true lists agree. Inspector Mauricio seemed greatly excited. The Chief attaches the greatest importance to your discovery so you will be able to show me? Henin was silent for a moment and then declared. Mr. Chief Inspector, a personal investigation and a most exhaustive investigation it was as I will explain to you presently has revealed the fact that on his return from Sohezne the murderer, after replacing the motorcycle in the shed on the Avenue de Hulle, ran to the Tern and entered this house. This house? Yes. But what did he come here for? To hide the proceeds of his theft, the 60 banknotes. How do you mean where? In a flat of which he had the key on the fifth floor. Gaston Dutrouille exclaimed in amazement. But there's only one flat on the fifth floor and that's the one I live in. Exactly. As you were at the cinema with Mme. Oaklieu and her mother, advantage was taken of your absence. Impossible. No one has the key except myself. One can get in without a key. But I have seen no marks of any kind. Mauricio intervened. Come, let us understand one another. You say the banknotes were hidden in Monsieur Dutrouille's flat. Yes? Then, as Jacques Oaklieu was arrested the next morning, the notes ought to be there still. That's my opinion. Gaston Dutrouille could not help laughing. But that's absurd. I should have found them. Did you look for them? No. But I should have come across them at any moment. The place isn't big enough to swing a cat in. Would you care to see it? However small it may be it's large enough to hold 60 bits of paper. Of course everything's possible. Said Dutrouille, still I repeat that nobody to my knowledge has been to my rooms. That there is only one key that I am my own housekeeper and that I can't quite understand Ortex II could not understand. With her eyes fixed on Prince Henin's she was trying to read his innermost thoughts. What game was he playing? Was it her duty to support his statements? She ended by saying Mr. Chief Inspector since Prince Henin maintains that the notes have been put away upstairs wouldn't the simplest thing be to go and look? Mr. Dutrouille will take us up, won't you? This minute, said the young man, as you say that will be simplest. They all four climbed the five stories of the house and after Dutrouille had opened the door entered a tiny set of chambers consisting of a sitting room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom all arranged with a stidious neatness. It was easy to see that every chair in the sitting room occupied a definite place. The pipes had a rack to themselves so had the matches. Three walking sticks arranged according to their length hung from three nails. On a little table before the window a hat box filled with tissue paper awaited the felt hat which Dutrouille carefully placed in it. He had a few of his gloves beside it on the lid. He did all this with sedate and mechanical movements like a man who loves to see things in the places which he has chosen for them. Indeed, no sooner did Renin shift something than Dutrouille made a slight gesture of protest, took out his hat again, stuck it on his head, opened the window and rested his elbows on the sill with his back bare the sight of such vandalism. You're positive, are you not? The inspector asked Renin. Yes, yes, I'm positive that the sixteen notes were brought here after the murder. Let's look for them. This was easy and soon done. In half an hour not a corner remained unexplored, not a knick-knack unlifted. Nothing, said Inspector Mojiso. Shall we continue? The notes are no longer here. What do you mean? I mean that they have been removed. By whom? Can't you make a more definite accusation? Renin did not reply. But Gaston Dutrouille willed round. He was choking and splattered. Mr. Inspector, would you like me to make the accusation more definite as conveyed by this gentleman's remarks? It all means that there's a dishonest man here, that the notes hidden by the murderer were discovered and stolen by that dishonest man and deposited in another and safe place. That is your idea, sir, is it not? And you accuse me of committing this theft, don't you? He came forward, drumming his chest with his fists. Me! Me! I found the notes. Did I? And kept them for myself? You dare to suggest that? Renin still made no reply. Dutrouille flew into a rage and, taking Inspector Maurice Suicide, exclaimed, Mr. Inspector, I strongly protest against all this farce and against the part which you are unconsciously playing in it. Before your arrival, Prince Renin told this lady and myself that he knew nothing, that he was venturing into this affair at random and that he was following the first role that offered trusting to luck. Do you deny it, sir? Renin did not open his lips. Answer me, will you? Explain yourself. For, really, you are putting forward the most improbable facts without any proof, whatever. It's easy enough to say that I stole the notes. And how were you to know that they were here at all? Who brought them here? Why should the murderer choose this flat to hide them in?  Give us your proof, sir. One single proof. Inspector Morissot seemed perplexed. He questioned Renin with a glance. Renin said, Since you want specific details, we will get them from Madame Aurelieu herself. She's on the telephone. Let's go downstairs. We shall know all about it in a minute. Dutrély shrugged his shoulders. As you please, but what a waste of time! He seemed greatly irritated. His long wait at the window, under a blazing sun, had thrown him into a sweat. He went to his bedroom and returned with a bottle of water, of which he took a few sips. Afterwards, placing the bottle on the windowsill. Come along, he said. Prince Renin chuckled. He seemed to be in a hurry to leave the place. I'm in a hurry to show you what, retorted Dutrély slamming the door. End of Chapter 2 Part 1 Chapter 2 Part 2 of the Eight Strokes of the Clock This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lény The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Leblanc Chapter 2 Part 2 They went downstairs to the private room containing the telephone. The room was empty. Renin asked Gaston Dutrély for the obrieuil's number, took down the instrument and was put through. The maid who came to the telephone answered that Madame Obrieuil had fainted after giving way to an excess of despair and that she was now asleep. Fetch her mother, please. Prince Renin speaking. It's urgent. He handed the second receiver to Maurice Leblanc. For that matter, the voices were so distinct that Dutrély and Orteins were able to hear every word exchanged. Is that you, Madame? Yes. Prince Renin, I believe. Prince Renin. Oh, sir, what news have you for me? Is there any hope? Ask the old lady in a tone of entreaty. The inquiry is proceeding very satisfactorily, said Renin. And you may hope for the best. For the moment, I wanted to give me some very important particulars. On the day of the murder, did Gaston Dutrély come to your house? Yes. He came to fetch my daughter and myself after lunch. Did he know at that time that Monsieur Guillaume had 60,000 francs at his place? Yes, I told him. And that Jacques Obrieuil was not feeling very well and was proposing a visual cycle ride but to stay at home and sleep? Yes. You are sure? Absolutely certain. And you all three went to the cinema together? Yes. And you were all sitting together? Oh, no. There was no room. He took a seat farther away. A seat where you could see him? No. But he came to you during the interval? No. We did not see him until we were going out. Out of that? Not at all. Very well, madam. I will tell you the result of my efforts in an hour's time. But, above all, don't wake up Madame Obrieuil. And suppose she wakes on her own accord? Reassure her and give her confidence. Everything is going well. Very well indeed. He hung up the receiver and turned to Dutrély laughing. Haha, my boy. Things are beginning to look clearer. It was difficult to tell what these words meant or what conclusions Henin had drawn from his conversation. The silence was painful and oppressive. Mr. Chief Inspector, you have some of your men outside, haven't you? True detective sergeants. It's important that they should be there. Please, also ask the manager not to disturb us on any account. And, when Maurizio returned, Henin closed the door, took his stand in front of Dutrély, and, speaking in a good humored but emphatic tone, said, It amounts to this, young man, that the lady saw nothing of you between three and five o'clock on that Sunday. That's rather a curious detail. A perfectly natural detail, Dutrély retorted, and one more over, which proves nothing at all. It proves, young man, that you had a good two hours at your disposal. Obviously, two hours which I spent at the cinema, or somewhere else. Dutrély looked at him, somewhere else. Yes, as you were free, you had plenty of time to go wherever you liked. To Suresne, for instance? Oh, said the young man, Justin, in his turn. Suresne is a long way off. It's quite close. Hadn't you your friend Jacques Ouprier's motorcycle? A fresh pause followed these words. Dutrély had knitted his brows, as though he were trying to understand. At last he was heard to whisper. So that is what he was trying to lead up to, the brute. Henin brought down his hand on Dutrély's shoulder. No more talk, facts. Gaston Dutrély, you are the only person who on that day knew two essential things. First, that cousin Guillaume had 60,000 francs in his house. Secondly, that Jacques Ouprier was not going out. You at once saw your chance. The motorcycle was available. You slipped out during the performance. You went to Suresne. You killed cousin Guillaume. You took the 60 banknotes and left them at your rooms. And at five o'clock you went back to fetch the ladies. Dutrély had listened with an expression at once, mocking and flurried, casting an occasional glance at Inspector Morissot as though to enlist him as his witness. The man's mad, it seemed to say. It's no use being angry with him. When Henin had finished he began to laugh. Very funny. A cavital joke. So it was I whom the neighbors saw going and returning on the motorcycle. It was you disguised in Jacques Ouprier's clothes. And it was my fingerprints that were found on the bottle in Monsieur Guillaume's pantry. The bottle had been opened by Jacques Ouprier at lunch in his own house. And it was you who took it with you to serve as evidence. Funnier and funnier cried Dutrély who had the air of being frankly amused. Then I contrived the whole affair so that Jacques Ouprier might be accused of his crime. It was the safest means of not being accused yourself. Yes, but Jacques is a friend whom I have known from childhood. You're in love with his wife. The young man gave a sudden infuriated start. You dare, what? You dare make such an infamous suggestion. I have proof of it. That's a lie. I have always respected Madeline Ouprier and revered her, apparently. You desire her? Don't contradict me. I have abundant proof of it. That's a lie. I tell you you have only known me a few hours. Come, come. I've been quietly watching you for days waiting for the moment to pounce upon you. He took the young man by the shoulders and shook him. Come, Dutrély, confess. I hold all the proofs in my hand. I have witnesses whom we shall meet presently at the criminal investigation department. Confess, can't you? In spite of everything, you're tortured by remorse. Remember your dismay at the restaurant when you had seen the newspaper? What? Jacques Ouprier condemned to die. That's more than you bargained for. Penal servitude would have suited your book, but the scaffold. Jacques Ouprier executed tomorrow an innocent man. Confess, won't you? Confess to save your own skin. Own up. Bending over the other, all his might to extort a confession from him.  Not a word that you have said has any sense in it. All your accusations are false. What about the banknotes? Did you find them at my place, as you said you would? Hennin, exasperated, clenched his fists in his face. Yet I swear I will. He drew the inspector aside. Well, what do you say to it?  The inspector nodded his head. It may be, but all the same. So far there is no real evidence. Wait, Monsieur Morissot, Saint Hennin. Wait until we've had our interview with Monsieur Dujouy. For we shall see Monsieur Dujouy at the prefecture, shall we not? Yes, he'll be there at three o'clock. Well, you'll be convinced, Mr. Inspector. I tell you here and now that you will be convinced. Hennin was chuckling like a man who feels certain of the course of events. Ortans, who was standing near him and was able to speak to him without being heard by the others, asked, in a low voice, You've got him, haven't you? He nodded his head in ascent. Got him? I should think I have. All the same. I'm no farther forward than I was at the beginning. But this is awful and your proofs. Not the shadow of a proof. I was hoping to trip him up, but he's kept his feet the rascal. Still, you're certain it's he? It can't be anyone else. I had an intuition at the very outset and I've not taken my eyes off him since. I have seen his anxiety increasing as my investigation seemed to center on him and concern him more closely. Now I know. He's in love with Madame O'Brien in logic he's bound to be. But so far we have only hypothetical suppositions or rather certainties which are personal to myself. We shall never intercept a guillotine with those. Ah! If we could only find the banknotes given the banknotes, Mr. Dujouy would act.  What then? murmured Ortans in anguished accents. He did not reply. He walked up and down the room, in fear of gaiting and rubbing his hands. All was going so well. It was really a treat to take up a case which, so to speak, worked itself out automatically. Suppose we went to the prefecture, Monsieur Morissot. The chief must be there by now and having gone so far we may as well finish. Will Monsieur Dujouy come with us? Why not? said Dujouy arrogantly. But, just as Reynine was opening the door there was a noise in the passage and the manager ran up, waving his arms. Is Monsieur Dujouy still there? Monsieur Dujouy, you're flat on fire. A man outside told us. He saw it from the square. The young man's eyes lit up.  Oh, you ruffian! he cried. You've given yourself away, my beauty. It was you who set fire to the place upstairs. What's the burning? he blocked his exit. Let me pass! shouted Dujouy. There's a fire and no one can get in because no one else has a key. Here it is. Let me pass, damn it. Reynine snatched the key from his hand and holding him by the collar of his coat. Don't you move, my fine fellow. The game's up. You precious black-ard. Monsieur Morissot, will you give orders to the sergeant not to let him out of his sight and to blow out his brains if he tries to get away? We rely on you. Put a bullet into him if necessary. He hurried up the stairs followed by Orhtans and the chief inspector who was protesting rather pivishly. But I say, look here, it wasn't he who set the place on fire. How do you make out he set it on fire seeing that he never left us? Wah! he set it on fire beforehand to be sure. How, I ask you, how? How do I know? But a fire doesn't break out like that at all at the very moment when a man wants to burn compromising papers. They heard a commotion upstairs. It was the waiters of the restaurant trying to burst the door open. An acrid smell filled the well of the staircase. Reynine reached the top floor. By your leave, friends, I have the key. He inserted it in the lock and opened the door. He was met by a gust of smoke so dense that one might well have supposed the whole floor to be ablaze. Reynine at once saw that the fire had gone out of its own accord for lack of fuel and that there were no more flames.  An intruder might spoil everything. Bolt the door, that will be the best. He stepped into the front room where the fire had obviously had its chief center. The furniture, the walls and the ceiling though blackened by the smoke had not been touched.  Reynine struck his forehead.   Why? asked the inspector. The hat box, of course. The cardboard hat box which was standing on the table. That's where he hid the notes. They were there all through our search. Impossible. We never looked that particular hiding place. The one just under our eyes within reach of our hands. How could one imagine that a thief would leave 60,000 francs in an open cardboard box in which he places his hat when he comes in with an absent-minded air? That's just the one place we don't look in. Well played, Monsieur Dutrouille. The inspector who remained incredulous repeated. No, no, impossible. We were with him and he could not imagine the fire himself. Everything was prepared beforehand on the supposition that there might be an alarm. The hat box, the tissue paper, the bank notes. They must all have been steeped in some inflammable liquid. He must have thrown a match, a chemical preparation or what not into it, as we were leaving. But we should have seen him hang it all. And then is it credible that a man who has committed a murder for the sake of 60,000 francs should do away with the money in this way? If the hiding place was such a good one and it was because we never discovered it, why this useless destruction? He got frightened Monsieur Morissot. Remember that his hat is at stake and he knows it. Anything rather than the guillotine. And they, the bank notes, were the only proof which we had against him. How could he have left them where they were? Morissot was flabbergasted. What, the only proof? Well, obviously. But your witnesses, your evidence, all that you were going to tell the chief, mere bluff.  Would you have taken action without my bluff? No. Then what more do you want? Hennin stooped to stir the ashes. But there was nothing left, not even those remnants of stiff paper which still retained their shape. Nothing, he said. It's queer all the same. How deduced did he manage to set the thing alight? He stood up, looking attentively about him. Ortans had a feeling that he was making his supreme effort, and that, after this less struggle in the dark, he would either have devised his plan of victory or admit that he was beaten. Faltering with anxiety, she asked. It's all up, isn't it? No, no, he said thoughtfully. It's not all up. It was, a few seconds ago. But now there's a gleam of light. And one that gives me hope. God grant that it may be justified. We must go slowly, he said. It is only an attempt, but a fine, a very fine attempt. And it may succeed. He was silent for a moment. Then, with an amused smile and a click of the tongue, he said. An infernally clever fellow that didrui. His trick of burning the notes, what a imagination, and what coolness. A pretty dance the beggar has led me. He's a master. He fetched the broom from the kitchen, and swept a part of the ashes into the next room, returning with a head-box of the same size and appearance as the one which had been burned. After crumpling the tissue paper with which it was filled, he placed the head-box on the little table and set fire to it with a match. It burst into flames, which he extinguished when they had consumed half the cardboard and nearly all the paper. Then he took from an inner pocket of his waistcoat a bundle of banknotes and selected six which he burned almost completely, arranging the remains and hiding the rest of the notes at the bottom of the box, among the ashes and the blackened bits of paper. M. Morissot, he said, when he had done, I am asking for your assistance for the last time. Tell him just this. You are unmasked. The notes did not catch fire. Come with me. And bring him up here. Despite his hesitation and his fear of exceeding his instructions from the head of the detective service, the chief inspector was powerless to throw off the ascendancy which Hrenin had acquired over him. He left the room. Hrenin turned to Ortans. Do you understand my plan of battle? M. Morissot said, but it is a dangerous experiment. Do you think that Dutriy will fall into the trap? Everything depends on the state of his nerves and the degree of demoralization to which he is reduced. A surprise attack may very well do for him. Nevertheless, suppose he recognizes by some sign that the box has been changed. Oh, of course. He has a few chances in his favor. The fellow is much more cunning than the fellow of wriggling out of the trap. On the other hand, however, how uneasy he must be. How the blood must be buzzing in his ears and obscuring his side. No, I don't think that he will avoid the trap. He will give in. He will give in. They exchanged no more words. Hrenin did not move. Ortans was stirred to the very depths of her being. The life of an innocent man hung trembling in the balance. A judgment, a little bad luck. And twelve hours later, Jacques Obrier would be put to death. And together, with a horrible anguish she experienced, in spite of all, a feeling of eager curiosity. What was Prince Hrenin going to do? What would be the outcome of the experiment on which he was venturing? What resistance would Gaston Dutri offer? She lived through one of those minutes of superhuman tension in which life becomes intensified until it reaches its utmost value. They heard footsteps on the stairs, the footsteps of men in a hurry. The sound drew nearer. They were reaching the top floor. Ortans looked at her companion. He had stood up and was listening. His features already transfigured by action. The footsteps were now echoing in the passage. Then, suddenly, he ran to the door and cried, Let's make an end of it. Two or three detectives and a couple of waiters entered. He caught hold of Dutri in the midst of the detectives and pulled him by the arm, gaily exclaiming, Well done, old man. That trick of yours with the table and the water bottle was really splendid. A masterpiece, on my word. Only it didn't come off. What do you mean? What's the matter? Mumbled Gaston Dutri staggering. What I say, the fire burnt only half the tissue paper and the head box. And though some of the banknotes were destroyed, like the tissue paper, the others are there at the bottom.  The long-sought notes, the great proof of the murder. They're there, where you hid them. As chance would have it, they've escaped, burning. Here, look, there are the numbers. You can check them. Oh, you're done for, done for, my beauty. The young man drew himself up stiffly. His eyelids quivered. He did not accept Hanin's invitation to look. He examined neither the head box nor the banknotes. From the first moment, without taking the time to reflect and before his instinct could warn him, he believed what he was told and collapsed heavily into a chair, weeping. The surprise attack to use Hanin's expression had succeeded. On seeing all his plans baffled and the enemy master of his secrets, Hanin had neither the strength nor the perspicacity necessary to defend himself. He threw up the sponge. Hanin gave him no time to breathe.   Here's a fountain pen. The luck has been against you, I admit. It was devilishly well thought out, your trick of the last moment. You had the banknotes which were in your way and which you wanted to destroy. You took a big, round-bellied water bottle and stunned it on the windowsill. It acts as a burning glass concentrating the rays of the sun on the cardboard and tissue paper. All nicely prepared. Ten minutes later, it bursts into flames a splendid idea and like all great discoveries it came quite my chance, what? It reminds one of Newton's apple. One day, the sun passing through the water in that bottle must have set fire to a scrap of cotton or the head of a match. And as you had the sanitary disposal just now you set yourself, now's the time, and stood the bottle in the right position. My congratulations Gaston. Look, here's a sheet of paper, write down. It was I who murdered Monsieur Guillaume. Right, I tell you. Leaning over the young man with all his implacable force of will he compelled him to write guiding his hand and dictating the sentences. Dutraoui exhausted at the end of his strength wrote as he was told. Here's the confession, Mr. Chief Inspector. C'est Rénime. You will be good enough to take it to Monsieur Dutrui. This gentleman, turning to the waiters from the restaurant well, I am sure, consent to serve as witnesses. And seeing that Dutraoui overwhelmed by what had happened, did not move he gave him a shake. Hi you, look alive.  The other watched him, standing in front of him. Obviously, Rénime continued. You're only a simpleton. The hat box was fairly burnt to ashes. So were the notes. That hat box, my dear fellow, is a different one. And those notes belong to me. I even burned six of them to make you swallow the stunt. And you couldn't make out what had happened. What and all you must be. To furnish me with evidence at the last moment when I hadn't a single proof of my own. And such evidence, a written confession written before witnesses.  Goodbye, Dutraoui. Downstairs in the street, Rénime asked Orteens-Danielle to take the car, go to Madeleine-Ubreuille and tell her what had happened. And you asked Orteens. I have a lot to do, urgent appointments. And you deny yourself the pleasure of bringing the good news? It's one of the pleasures that paw upon one. The only pleasure that never flags is that of the fight itself. Afterwards, things cease to be interesting. She took his hand and for a moment held it in both her own. She would have liked to express all her admiration to that strange man who seemed to do good as a sort of game and who did it with something like genius. But she was unable to speak. All these rapid incidents had upset her. Emotion constricted her throat and brought the tears to her eyes. Hénin bowed his head saying Thank you, I have my reward. Recording by Lénie The Eight Strokes of the Clock by Maurice Leblanc Chapter 3 Part 1 The Case of Jean-Louis Monsieur, continued the young girl addressing Serge Hénin, It was while I was spending the Easter holidays at Nice with my father that I made the acquaintance of Jean-Louis D'Ambleval. Hénin interrupted her. Excuse-me mademoiselle, but just now you spoke of this young man That's his name also, she said. Has he two names then? I don't know, I don't know anything about it, she said, with some embarrassment. And that is why, by Orteins' advice, I came to ask for your help. This conversation was taking place in Hénin's flat on the Boulevard Rosemont, to which Orteins had brought her friend, Geneviève Aymar, a slender, pretty little creature with a face overshadowed by an expression of the greatest melancholy. Hénin will be successful. Take my word for it, Geneviève. You will, Hénin, won't you? Please tell me the rest of the story, mademoiselle, he said. Geneviève continued. I was already engaged at the time to a man whom I loathed and detest. My father was trying to force me to marry him and is still trying to do so. Jean-Louis and I felt the keenest sympathy for each other, a sympathy that soon developed into a profound and passionate affection, which, I can assure you, was equally sincere in both sides. On my return to Paris, Jean-Louis, who lives in the country with his mother and his aunt, took rooms in our part of the town. And, as I am allowed to go out by myself, we used to see each other daily. I need not tell you that we were engaged to be married. I told my father so. And this is what he said. I don't particularly like the fellow, whether it's here or another. What I want is that you should get married. So let him come and ask for your hand. If not, you must do as I say. In the middle of June, Jean-Louis went home to arrange matters with his mother and aunt. I received some passionate letters and then just these few words. There are too many obstacles in the way of our happiness. I give up. I am mad with despair. I love you more than ever. Give me. Since then, I have received nothing. No reply to my letters and telegrams. Perhaps he has fallen in love with somebody else, asked Hanin. Or there may be some old connection which he is unable to shake off. Genevieve shook her head. Monsieur, believe me, if our engagement had been broken off for an ordinary reason, I should not have allowed Hortense to trouble you. But it is something quite different. There is a mystery in Jean-Louis's life, or rather an endless number of mysteries which hamper and pursue him. I never saw such distress in a human face and from the first moment of our meeting I was conscious in him of a grief and melancholy which have always persisted, even at times when he was giving himself to our love with the greatest confidence. But your impression must have been confirmed by minor details, by things which happen to strike you like he was peculiar. I don't quite know what to say. These two names, for instance. Yes, there was certainly that. By what name did he introduce himself to you? Jean-Louis Dimbleval. But Jean-Louis Voix? That's what my father calls him. Why? Because that was how he was introduced to my father, at Nice, by a gentleman who knew him. Besides, he carries visiting cards which describe him under either name. Have you never questioned him on this point? Yes, I have, twice. The first time, he said that his aunt's name was Voix and his mother's Dimbleval. And the second time, he told me the contrary. He spoke of his mother as Voix and of his aunt as Dimbleval. I pointed this out. He collared up and I thought it better not to question him any further. Does he live far from Paris? Right down in Brittany at the Manoir del Sevant, five miles from Carré. Renine rose and asked the girl seriously.  I am certain of it and I know too that he represents all my life and all my happiness. He alone can save me. If he can, then I shall be married in a week's time to a man whom I hate. I have promised my father and the bands have been published. We shall leave for Carré, this evening, said Renine. That evening, he and Hortense took the train for Brittany. They reached Carré at ten o'clock in the morning and, after lunch, at half past twelve o'clock they stepped into a car borrowed from a leading resident of the district. You're looking a little pale, my dear, said Renine with a laugh as they alighted by the gate of the garden at El Sevant. I'm very fond of Geneviève, she said. She's the only friend I have and I'm feeling frightened. He called her attention to the fact that the central gate was flanked by two wickets bearing the names of Madame Dimbleval and Madame Vaurois, respectively. Each of these wickets opened on a narrow path which rang among the shrubberies of Box and Occubar to the left and right of the main avenue. The avenue itself led to an old manor house, long, low and picturesque, clumsily built, ugly wings, each in a different style of architecture and each forming the destination of one of the side paths. Madame Dimbleval evidently lived on the left and Madame Vaurois on the right. Ortens and Renine listened. Shrill, hasty voices were disputing inside the house. The sound came through one of the windows of the ground floor which was level with the garden and covered throughout its length with red creepers and white roses. We can't go any farther, sa dortens, it would be indiscreet. All the more reason whispered Renine, look here if we walk straight ahead we shall be seen by the people who are quarreling. The sounds of conflict were by no means abating and when they reached the window next to the front door through the roses and creepers they could both see and hear two old ladies streaking at the top of the faces and shaking their fists at each other. The women were standing in the foreground in a large dining room where the table was not yet cleared and at the farther side of the table sat a young man, doubtless Jean-Louis himself, smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper without appearing to trouble about the two old Herodans. One of these, a thin tall woman was wearing a purple silk dress her hair was dressed in a mass of curls much too yellow for the ravaged face around which they tumbled. The other, who was still thinner but quite short, was bustling round the room in a cotton dressing gown and displayed a red, painted face blazing with anger. A baggage, that's what you are she yelped. The wickedest woman in the world and a thief into the bargain. Ah, a thief? screamed the other. What about that business with the dogs and Franks a piece? Don't you call that thieving?  Who stole the 50 frankenoles from the dressing table? Lord, that I should have to live with such a wretch. The others started with fury at the outrage and, addressing the young man, cried Jean, are you going to sit there and let me be insulted by your hussy of a dim level? And the tall one retorted furiously Hussy, do you hear that, Louis? Look at her, you're vorroi she's got the ears of a superannuated barmaid. Make her stop, can't you?  They turned upon him at once and loaded him with abuse.  The insults rained down upon him. He stopped his ears with his fingers and writhed as he sat at table like a man who has lost all patience and has need to restrain himself lest he should fall upon his enemy. Renin whispered now's the time to go in. In among all those infuriated people protested ortans exactly we shall see them better with their masks off and with a determined step he walked to the door, opened it to the room, followed by ortans. His advent gave rise to a feeling of stupefaction. The two women stopped yelling but were still scarlet in the face and trembling with rage. Jean Louis, who was very pale, stood up. Profiting by the general confusion, Renin said briskly, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Renin. This is Madame Daniel. We are friends of mademoiselle Geneviève Émar and we have come in her name. I have a letter from her address to you, messieurs. Jean Louis, already disconcerted by the newcomer's arrival, lost countenance entirely on hearing the name of Geneviève. Without quite knowing what he was saying and with the intention of responding to Renin's courteous behaviour he tried in his turn to introduce the two ladies and let fall the astounding words. My mother, Madame Dimbleval My mother, Madame Vaurois For some time no one spoke. Renin bowed. Orthans did not know with whom she should take hands with Madame Dimbleval, the mother or with Madame Vaurois, the mother. But what had happened was that Madame Dimbleval and Madame Vaurois both at the same time attempted to snatch the letter which Renin was holding out to Jean Louis while both at the same time mumbled Mademoiselle Émar she has had the coolness, she has had the audacity. Then Jean Louis, recovering his self-possession laid hold of his mother Dimbleval and pushed her out of the room by a door on the left and next of his mother Vaurois and pushed her out of the room by a door on the right. Then, returning to his two visitors he opened the envelope and read in an undertone I am to be married in a week Jean Louis come to my rescue, I beseech you my friend Orthans and Prince Renin will help you to overcome the obstacles that baffle you trust them, I love you Geneviève He was a rather dull looking young man whose very swarthy, lean and bony face certainly bore the expression of melancholy and distress described by Geneviève Indeed, the marks of suffering were visible in all his harassed features as well as in his sad and anxious eyes. He repeated Geneviève's name over and over again while looking about him with a distracted air he seemed to be seeking a course of conduct He seemed on the point of offering an explanation but could find nothing to say The sudden intervention had taken him at a disadvantage like an unforeseen attack which he did not know how to meet Renin felt that the adversary would capitulate at the first summons The man had been fighting so desperately during the last few months and had suffered so severely in the retirement and obstinate silence in which he had taken refuge that he was not thinking of defending himself Moreover, how could he do so now that they had forced their way into the privacy of his odious existence Take my word for it, monsieur declared Renin that it is in your best interests to confine in us We are Geneviève's friends do not hesitate to speak I can hardly hesitate, he said after what you have just heard This is the life I lead, monsieur I will tell you the whole secret so that you may tell it to Geneviève She will then understand why I have not gone back to her and why I have not the right to do so He pushed the chair forward for ordnance The two men sat down, and without any need of further persuasion rather as though he himself felt a certain relief in unburdening himself, he said You must not be surprised, monsieur if I tell my story with a certain flippancy for, as a matter of fact it is a frankly comical story I will not fail to make you laugh Fate often amuses itself by playing this imbecile tricks these monstrous farces which seem as though they must have been invented by the brain of a madman or a drunkard Judge for yourself Twenty-seven years ago the Manoir d'Aussevant which at that time consisted only of the main building was occupied by an old doctor who, to increase his modest means used to receive one or two foreign guests In this way, Madame d'Ambleval spent the summer here one year and Madame Vojois the following summer Now these two ladies did not know each other One of them was married to a Briton of a merchant vessel and the other to a commercial traveler from the Vendée It so happened that they lost their husbands at the same time at a period when each of them was expecting a baby and as they both lived in the country and had places some distance from any town they wrote to the old doctor that they intended to come to his house for their confinement He agreed they arrived almost on the same day in the autumn two small bedrooms were prepared for them behind the room in which we are sitting The doctor had engaged a nurse who slept in this very room Everything was perfectly satisfactory The ladies were putting the finishing touches to their baby clothes and were getting on together splendidly They were determined that their children should be boys and had chosen the names of Jean and Louis respectively One evening the doctor was called out to a case and drove off in his gig with the men servant saying that he would not be back till next day In her master's absence a little girl who served as maid of all work ran out to keep company with her sweetheart These accidents destined it turned to account with diabolical malignity At about midnight Madame Dimleval was seized with the first pains The nurse, Mademoiselle Bousignol had had some training as a midwife and did not lose her head But an hour later Madame Vojois turned cane in the tragedy or I might rather say the tragic comedy was enacted amid the screams and moans of the two patients and the bewildered agitation of the nurse bewailing her fate opening the window to call out for the doctor or falling on her knees to implore the aid of Providence Madame Vojois was the first to bring a son into the world Mademoiselle Bousignol hurriedly carried him in here washed and tended him and laid him in the cradle prepared for him But Madame Dimleval was screaming with pain and the nurse had to attend to her while the newborn child was yelling like a stud pig and the terrified mother, unable to stir from the bed fainted add to this all the wretchedness of darkness and disorder the only lamp without any oil for the servant had neglected to fill it the candles burning out the moaning of the wind the screeching of the owls and you will understand that Mademoiselle Bousignol was scared out of her wits However at five o'clock in the morning after many tragic incidents she came in here with the Dimleval baby likewise a boy who had intended him laid him in his cradle and went off to help Madame Vojois who had come to herself and was crying out while Madame Dimleval had fainted in her turn and when Mademoiselle Bousignol having settled the two mothers but had crazed with fatigue her brain in a whirl returned to the newborn children she realized with horror that she had wrapped them in similar binders thrust their feet into similar wooden socks and laid them both inside in the same cradle so that it was impossible to tell with Dimleval from Jean Vojois to make matters worse when she lifted one of them out of the cradle she found that his hands were cold as ice and that he had seas to breathe he was dead what was his name and what the survivors three hours later the doctor found the two women in a condition of frenzy delirium while the nurse was dragging herself from one bed to the other and treating the two mothers to forgive her she held me out first to one then to the other to receive their caresses for I was the surviving child and they first kissed me and then pushed me away for after all who was I the son of the widowed Madame Dimleval and the late merchant captain or the son of the widowed Madame Vojois and the late commercial traveler there was not a clue by which they could tell that each of the two mothers to sacrifice her rights at least from the legal point of view so that I might be called either Louis Dimleval or Jean Vojois they refused absolutely why Jean Vojois if he's a Dimleval protested the one