LITMIR.BIZ

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at each step, made some exclamation.

      "I can't understand it," muttered he; "a murder in my commune! a commune where, in the memory of men, no crime has been committed!"

      And he directed a suspicious glance toward the two Bertauds. The road which led toward the chateau of M. de Tremorel was an unpleasant one, shut in by walls a dozen feet high. On one side is the park of the Marchioness de Lanascol; on the other the spacious garden of Saint Jouan. The going and coming had taken time; it was nearly eight o'clock when the mayor, the justice, and their guides stopped before the gate of M. de Tremorel.

      The mayor rang. The bell was very large; only a small gravelled court of five or six yards separated the gate from the house; nevertheless no one appeared.

      The mayor rang more vigorously, then with all his strength; but in vain.

      Before the gate of Mme. de Lanascol's chateau, nearly opposite, a groom was standing, occupied in cleaning and polishing a bridle-bit. "It's of no use to ring, gentlemen," said this man; "there's nobody in the chateau."

      "How! nobody?" asked the mayor, surprised.

      "I mean," said the groom, "that there is no one there but the master and mistress. The servants all went away last evening by the 8.40 train to Paris, to the wedding of the old cook, Madame Denis. They ought to return this morning by the first train. I was invited myself—"

      "Great God!" interrupted M. Courtois, "then the count and countess remained alone last night?"

      "Entirely alone, Monsieur Mayor."

      "It is horrible!"

      M. Plantat seemed to grow impatient during this dialogue. "Come," said he, "we cannot stay forever at the gate. The gendarmes do not come; let us send for the locksmith." Philippe was about to hasten off, when, at the end of the road, singing and laughing were heard. Five persons, three women and two men, soon appeared.

      "Ah, there are the people of the chateau," cried the groom, whom this morning visit seemed to annoy, "they ought to have a key."

      The domestics, seeing the group about the gate, became silent and hastened their steps. One of them began to run ahead of the others; it was the count's valet de chambre.

      "These gentlemen perhaps wish to speak to Monsieur the Count?" asked he, having bowed to M. Plantat.

      "We have rung five times, as hard as we could," said the mayor.

      "It is surprising," said the valet de chambre, "the count sleeps very lightly. Perhaps he has gone out."

      "Horror!" cried Philippe. "Both of them have been murdered!" These words shocked the servants, whose gayety announced a reasonable number of healths drunk to the happiness of the newly wedded pair. M. Courtois seemed to be studying the attitude of old Bertaud.

      "A murder!" muttered the valet de chambre. "It was for money then; it must have been known—"

      "What?" asked the mayor.

      "Monsieur the Count received a very large sum yesterday morning."

      "Large! yes," added a chambermaid. "He had a large package of bank-bills. Madame even said to Monsieur that she should not shut her eyes the whole night, with this immense sum in the house."

      There was a silence; each one looked at the others with a frightened air. M. Courtois reflected.

      "At what hour did you leave the chateau last evening?" asked he of the servants.

      "At eight o'clock; we had dinner early."

      "You went away all together?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "You did not leave each other?"

      "Not a minute."

      "And you returned all together?"

      The servants exchanged a significant look.

      "All," responded a chambermaid—"that is to say, no. One left us on reaching the Lyons station at Paris; it was Guespin."

      "Yes, sir; he went away, saying that he would rejoin us at Wepler's, in the Batignolles, where the wedding took place." The mayor nudged the justice with his elbow, as if to attract his attention, and continued to question the chambermaid.

      "And this Guespin, as you call him—did you see him again?"

      "No, sir. I asked several times during the evening in vain, what had become of him; his absence seemed to me suspicious." Evidently the chambermaid tried to show superior perspicacity. A little more, and she would have talked of presentiments.

      "Has this Guespin been long in the house?"

      "Since spring."

      "What were his duties?"

      "He was sent from Paris by the house of the 'Skilful Gardener,' to take care of the rare flowers in Madame's conservatory."

      "And did he know of this money?"

      The domestics again exchanged significant glances.

      "Yes," they answered in chorus, "we had talked a great deal about it among ourselves."

      The chambermaid added: "He even said to me, 'To think that Monsieur the

       Count has enough money in his cabinet to make all our fortunes.'"

      "What kind of a man is this?"

      This question absolutely extinguished the talkativeness of the servants. No one dared to speak, perceiving that the least word might serve as the basis of a terrible accusation. But the groom of the house opposite, who burned to mix himself up in the affair, had none of these scruples. "Guespin," answered he, "is a good fellow. Lord, what jolly things he knows! He knows everything you can imagine. It appears he has been rich in times past, and if he wished—But dame! he loves to have his work all finished, and go off on sprees. He's a crack billiard-player, I can tell you."

      Papa Plantat, while listening in an apparently absent-minded way to these depositions, or rather these scandals, carefully examined the wall and the gate. He now turned, and interrupting the groom:

      "Enough of this," said he, to the great scandal of M. Courtois. "Before pursuing this interrogatory, let us ascertain the crime, if crime there is; for it is not proved. Let whoever has the key, open the gate."

      The valet de chambre had the key; he opened the gate, and all entered the little court. The gendarmes had just arrived. The mayor told the brigadier to follow him, and placed two men at the gate, ordering them not to permit anyone to enter or go out, unless by his orders. Then the valet de chambre opened the door of the house.

II

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      If there had been no crime, at least something extraordinary had taken place at the chateau; the impassible justice might have been convinced of it, as soon as he had stepped into the vestibule. The glass door leading to the garden was wide open, and three of the panes were shattered into a thousand pieces. The carpeting of waxed canvas between the doors had been torn up, and on the white marble slabs large drops of blood were visible. At the foot of the staircase was a stain larger than the rest, and upon the lowest step a splash hideous to behold.

      Unfitted for such spectacles, or for the mission he had now to perform, M. Courtois became faint. Luckily, he borrowed from the idea of his official importance, an energy foreign to his character. The more difficult the preliminary examination of this affair seemed, the more determined he was to carry it on with dignity.

      "Conduct us to the place where you saw the body," said he to Bertaud.

       But Papa Plantat intervened.

      "It would be wiser, I think," he objected, "and more methodical, to begin by going through the house."

      "Perhaps—yes—true,

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