The Secret of Sarek Part 64

"How did you know that?" asked Stephane.

"Through my confederate number one, through Elfride, whom I continued to question in a whisper while you were looking out for Vorski's coming and who also, in a few brief words, told me what she knew of Vorski's past."

"When all is said, you only saw Otto that once."

"Two hours later, after Elfride's death and after the fireworks in the hollow oak, we had a second interview, under the Fairies' Dolmen. Vorski was asleep, stupefied with drink, and Otto was mounting guard. You can imagine that I seized the opportunity to obtain particulars of the business and to complete my information about Vorski with the details which Otto for two years had been secretly collecting about a chief whom he detested. Then he unloaded Vorski's and Conrad's revolvers, or rather he removed the bullets, while leaving the cartridges. Then he handed me Vorski's watch and note-book, as well as an empty locket and a photograph of Vorski's mother which Otto had stolen from him some months before, things which helped me next day to play the wizard with the aforesaid Vorski in the crypt where he found me. That is how Otto and I collaborated."

"Very well," said Patrice, "but still you didn't ask him to kill Vorski?"

"Certainly not."

"In that case, how are we to know that . . ."

"Do you think that Vorski did not end by discovering our collaboration, which is one of the obvious causes of his defeat? And do you imagine that Master Otto did not foresee this contingency? You may be sure that there was no doubt of this: Vorski, once unfastened from his tree, would have made away with his accomplice, both from motives of revenge and in order to recover the sisters Archignat's fifty thousand francs. Otto got the start of him. Vorski was there, helpless, lifeless, an easy prey. He struck him a blow. I will go farther and say that Otto, who is a coward, did not even strike him a blow. He will simply have left Vorski on his tree. And so the punishment is complete. Are you appeased now, my friends? Is your craving for justice satisfied?"

Patrice and Stephane were silent, impressed by the terrible vision which Don Luis was conjuring up before their eyes.

"There," he said, laughing, "I was right not to make you p.r.o.nounce sentence over there, when we were standing at the foot of the oak, with the live man in front of us! I can see that my two judges might have flinched a little at that moment. And so would my third judge, eh, All's Well, you sensitive, tearful fellow? And I am like you, my friends. We are not people who condemn and execute. But, all the same, think of what Vorski was, think of his thirty murders and his refinements of cruelty and congratulate me on having, in the last resort, chosen blind destiny as his judge and the loathsome Otto as his responsible executioner. The will of the G.o.ds be done!"

The Sarek coast was making a thinner line on the horizon. It disappeared in the mist in which sea and sky were merged.

The three men were silent. All three were thinking of the isle of the dead, laid waste by one man's madness, the isle of the dead where soon some visitor would find the inexplicable traces of the tragedy, the entrances to the tunnels, the cells with their "death-chambers," the hall of the G.o.d-Stone, the mortuary crypts, Elfride's body, Conrad's body, the skeletons of the sisters Archignat and, right at the end of the island, near the Fairies' Dolmen, where the prophecy of the thirty coffins and the four crosses was written for all to read, Vorski's great body, lonely and pitiable, mangled by the ravens and owls.

A villa near Arcachon, in the pretty village of Les Moulleaux, whose pine-trees run down to the sh.o.r.es of the gulf.

Veronique is sitting in the garden. A week's rest and happiness have restored the colour to her comely face and a.s.suaged all evil memories.

She is looking with a smile at her son, who, standing a little way off, is listening to and questioning Don Luis Perenna. She also looks at Stephane; and their eyes meet gently.

It is easy to see that the affection in which they both hold the boy is a link which unites them closely and which is strengthened by their secret thoughts and their unuttered feelings. Not once has Stephane recalled the avowals which he made in the cell, under the Black Heath; but Veronique has not forgotten them; and the profound grat.i.tude which she feels for the man who brought up her son is mingled with a special emotion and an agitation of which she unconsciously savours the charm.

That day, Don Luis, who, on the evening when the _Crystal Stopper_ brought them all to the Villa des Moulleaux, had taken the train for Paris, arrived unexpectedly at lunch-time, accompanied by Patrice Belval; and during the hour that they have been sitting in their rocking-chairs in the garden, the boy, his face all pink with excitement, has never ceased to question his rescuer:

"And what did you do next? . . . But how did you know? . . . And what put you on the track of that?"

"My darling," says Veronique, "aren't you afraid of boring Don Luis?"

"No, madame," replies Don Luis, rising, going up to Veronique and speaking in such a way that the boy cannot hear, "no, Francois is not boring me; and in fact I like answering his questions. But I confess that he perplexes me a little and that I am afraid of saying something awkward. Tell me, how much exactly does he know of the whole story?"

"As much as I know myself, except Vorski's name, of course."

"But does he know the part which Vorski played?"

"Yes, but with certain differences. He thinks that Vorski is an escaped prisoner who picked up the legend of Sarek and, in order to get hold of the G.o.d-Stone, proceeded to carry out the prophecy touching it. I have kept some of the lines of the prophecy from Francois."

"And the part played by Elfride? Her hatred for you? The threats she made you?"

"Madwoman's talk, I told Francois, of which I myself did not understand the meaning."

Don Luis smiled:

"The explanation is a little arbitrary; and I have a notion that Francois quite well understands that certain parts of the tragedy remain and must remain obscure to him. The great thing, don't you think, is that he should not know that Vorski was his father?"

"He does not know and he never will."

"And then--and this is what I was coming to--what name will he bear himself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whose son will he believe himself to be? For you know as well as I do that the legal reality is this, that Francois Vorski died fifteen years ago, drowned in a shipwreck, and his grandfather with him. And Vorski died last year, stabbed by a fellow-prisoner. Neither of them is alive in the eyes of the law. So . . ."

Veronique nodded her head and smiled:

"So I don't know. The position seems to me, as you say, incapable of explanation. But everything will come out all right."

"Why?"

"Because you're here to do it."

It was his turn to smile:

"I can no longer take credit for the actions which I perform or the steps which I take. Everything is arranging itself _a priori_. Then why worry?"

"Am I not right to?"

"Yes," he said, gravely. "The woman who has suffered all that you have must not be subjected to the least additional annoyance. And nothing shall happen to her after this, I swear. So what I suggest to you is this: long ago, you married against your father's wish a very distant cousin, who died after leaving you a son, Francois. This son your father, to be revenged upon you, kidnapped and brought to Sarek. At your father's death, the name of d'Hergemont became extinct and there is nothing to recall the events of your marriage."

"But my name remains. Legally, in the official records, I am Veronique d'Hergemont."

"Your maiden name disappears under your married name."

"You mean under that of Vorski."

"No, because you did not marry that fellow Vorski, but one of your cousins called . . ."

"Called what?"

"Jean Maroux. Here is a stamped certificate of your marriage to Jean Maroux, a marriage mentioned in your official records, as this other doc.u.ment shows."

Veronique looked at Don Luis in amazement:

"But why? Why that name?"

"Why? So that your son may be neither d'Hergemont, which would have recalled past events, nor Vorski, which would have recalled the name of a traitor. Here is his birth-certificate, as Francois Maroux."

She repeated, all blushing and confused: