The Perfume of the Lady in Black Read online

‘There go your eyes again! Watch your eyes, Sainclair!’

  He shook my hand and went out. I stayed where I was for a while, thinking. Thinking about what? About this – that I had been wrong to say that Rance had not changed. To begin with, he was letting his moustache grow, which was not at all natural for an American of his type. He was also wearing his hair longer, with a loose strand over his forehead. Moreover, it was two years since I had seen him. Everybody changes in two years. And he used to drink only alcohol, now he drank nothing but water. Then there was Mrs Rance. Well, who and what was Mrs Rance? Was I going crazy too? What did I mean ‘too’? Like the Lady in Black? Like Rouletabille? Did it seem to me that Rouletabille was taking leave of his senses? Oh, so the Lady in Black had bewitched us! Just because the Lady in Black lived immersed in terrible memories we must suffer, too, with that same terror. Insanity is contagious, like cholera.

  What I did during the afternoon up until five o’clock

  I took advantage of the fact that I was not on guard duty to rest in my room, but I slept badly, dreaming that Old Bob and Mr and Mrs Rance were in league against Rouletabille and myself. When I awoke and saw the dismal stone walls of the old castle about me, I was still under the influence of my dream and I could not help thinking:

  ‘What lair is this in which we have taken refuge?’ I went to the window, and saw Mrs Rance and Rouletabille walking across the courtyard together. Our hostess was chatting gaily with the young reporter and twirling a rose between her slender fingers. I went downstairs at once, but when I reached the courtyard, I could not find them anywhere. I eventually saw Rouletabille entering the Square Tower, where he was going on a round of inspection, and I followed him.

  I found him very calm and self-possessed. His look was frank and masterful. Oh, it was always wonderful to see him use those eyes of his! Nothing escaped him. The Square Tower, where the Lady in Black had taken up her abode, was a source of constant worry to him.

  I take this opportunity, shortly before the occurrence of the mysterious attack, to give the reader a plan of the interior of the Square Tower, that is, of the only inhabited floor which was on a level with the courtyard of Charles the Bold.

  Immediately upon entering the tower by the only door, K, you came to a broad corridor, which had originally been part of the guardroom. This room had formerly occupied the entire space 0, 01, 02, 03, and was surrounded by stone walls, which still existed, and in which doors had been cut leading into the other rooms in the old castle. Mrs Rance had had one side of the guardroom partitioned off with the intention of converting it into a spacious bathroom. This room was flanked on two sides by the corridors 0–01 and 01–02. The door leading out of this room, where the Berniers had made their quarters, was placed at S. It was impossible to reach the only door R, giving access to the Darzacs’ suite, without walking past door S. One or other of the Berniers had instructions to be continually on guard in their lodge, and none but themselves was allowed to enter their room. From the lodge a look-out could also be kept on the corridor through the small window, Y, which also had a direct view of the door, V, leading into Old Bob’s suite. When the Darzacs were not in their rooms, the only key to their door (R) was left with the Berniers. It was a new key, made to order in a place known only to Rouletabille, and he had himself put the lock in place the day before.

  Rouletabille would have liked the orders regarding the Darzacs’ suite to extend to that of Old Bob, but Old Bob had objected so strongly to such measures that it was impossible to persuade him. The old fellow refused point-blank to be treated as a prisoner and said that he wished to go in and out of his rooms when he chose without having to ask anybody for the key. His door, therefore, remained unlocked, and he was able to go back and forth between his bedroom or his sitting room and his study in Charles the Bold’s Tower as often as he liked without disturbing or being disturbed by anyone. In order to allow him to do so, it was necessary to leave door K open. He insisted upon it, and his niece upheld him in his decision in such ironic tones at the thought of Rouletabille’s impertinence in wishing to treat Old Bob as he did Professor Stangerson’s daughter, that there was nothing for it but to give in. Drawing her thin lips into a cruel smile, Mrs Rance had said:

  ‘M. Rouletabille, my uncle isn’t afraid of being kidnapped!’

  Rouletabille assumed an indifferent expression and laughed as best he could with Old Bob at the idiotic notion that anybody should want to carry off, as though he were a pretty young woman, an old fellow whose greatest attraction was that he possessed the oldest skull in the world! My friend laughed, but he insisted, nevertheless, that door K should be locked at ten o’clock, and the key left in the possession of the Berniers, who would, if need be, get up and open the door for him at a later hour.

  This arrangement did not please Old Bob much either, for he was in the habit of working until very late in the tower. But, all the same, he did not want to appear to raise objections to everything that poor M. Rouletabille, with his fear of burglars, wanted. It must be said in fairness to Old Bob that if he could not see any sense in the extraordinary measures that Rouletabille seemed to be taking, it was because we had not deemed it advisable to inform him of the resurrection of Larsan-Ballmeyer.

  He had, to be sure, heard something of the misfortunes that had overtaken poor Mlle Stangerson, but he was far from supposing that she was still pursued by them now that she was Madame Darzac. Besides, like most scholars, Old Bob was selfish. Since he was perfectly happy to be the possessor of the oldest skull in the world, he could not see why everybody else should not be happy.

  Rouletabille, enquiring pleasantly after the health of Madame Bernier, who was busy peeling potatoes, of which a huge sack lay on the floor beside her, asked Bernier to open the door of the Darzacs’ rooms.

  It was the first time that I had been there. It struck me as cold and dark. The large, plainly furnished room contained an oak bedstead and a dressing table, which had been placed in one of the two openings, J, in the wall. The wall was so thick and the opening so wide, that it formed a sort of alcove which M. Darzac had converted into a little dressing room. The second window, J1, was smaller. Both windows had iron bars so closely set that it was almost impossible to slip an arm between them. The bed, which stood high off the floor, was placed in the corner between the outside wall and the stone partition between M. and Madame Darzac’s rooms.

  Opposite, in the corner of the tower, between the two windows, was a wardrobe. In the centre of the room stood a flat table on which some books, papers and writing materials were placed. There were also one armchair and three other smaller ones, that was all. It was absolutely impossible to hide in this room, unless you hid in the wardrobe. On account of this, the Berniers had received strict orders to examine the wardrobe thoroughly every time they made up the room, and Rouletabille, who visited the room frequently when it was not occupied by the Darzacs, never failed to inspect it.

  He examined it now, in my presence. When we passed into Madame Darzac’s room we were certain that we had left no one behind us in M. Darzac’s room. As soon as he had stepped into the room after us, Bernier, as was his custom, fastened the bolt across the only door giving access to the Darzacs’ apartments, on the inside. Madame Darzac’s room was smaller than that of her husband, but bright and cheerful. As soon as we had crossed the threshold, I saw that Rouletabille had gone white. Turning his melancholy face towards me, he said:

  ‘There, Sainclair, can’t you smell the perfume of the Lady in Black?’

  I could not. I couldn’t smell anything at all. The window, with iron bars like all the others, was open, and the sea breeze was fluttering the curtains of a kind of hanging closet, which had been arranged in one corner of the room. The other side was taken up by the bed. The shelf, under which hung the clothes rod, was placed so high that everything under it, as well as the curtains, swung clear of the floor, so that it would have been impossible for anyone to hide there, as their feet and the lower part of their le
gs would have been clearly visible.

  The rod was not particularly strong either and so it would have been equally impossible for somebody to hang from it and lift their feet from the floor. Nevertheless, Rouletabille inspected it thoroughly. There was no wardrobe in this room, only a dressing table, writing desk, one armchair, two chairs and the four walls, between which, as far as it was humanly possible to see, there was not a soul but ourselves.

  Rouletabille, having looked under the bed, swept us all out of the room with a commanding gesture, and was the last to leave it. As soon as we were back in the corridor, Bernier locked the door with a little key which he stowed away in an inside pocket in his jacket, which he buttoned up tightly. We inspected the corridors and went through Old Bob’s suite, comprising a sitting room and a bedroom, and which was as plain as the Darzacs’. No one was there. It was filled with only simple furniture: a closet and a bookcase, both practically empty. As we went out, Madame Bernier was seated in her doorway in order to see more clearly while peeling her potatoes.

  We thoroughly inspected the Berniers’ lodge as we had everywhere else. The other floors were uninhabited and were reached by a narrow stairway leading from the ground floor in the corner, 01, and up to the top of the tower. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling of the Berniers’ lodge that opened on to the stairway and Rouletabille asked for a hammer and nails, and fastened the trapdoor down. The stairway was thereby rendered useless.

  Rouletabille’s inspection could not have been more thorough, and it can be said with absolute certainty that when we left the tower, there was no one there but the two Berniers. It may be said, with equal certainty, that nobody was in M. Darzac’s room until Bernier, a few minutes later, as I will explain, opened the door himself for M. Darzac.

  It was about five minutes to five when Rouletabille and I, leaving the Berniers in the corridor, stepped out into the courtyard of Charles the Bold.

  We went up to tower B, and took a seat on the parapet with our faces towards the shore. Our glance was attracted by the red glow of the rocks at Rochers Rouges. Suddenly, on the edge of Barma Grande, which stretches out before the Baoussé Roussé, we saw the funereal figure of Old Bob. He was the only black thing in sight. The red cliff rises out of the sea with an incandescent glow that makes it look as if it had just sprung from the fiery furnace in which it was formed.

  What was that sinister-looking gravedigger doing in that fiery landscape? We could see him waving his skull around and we could hear him laughing and laughing. His laughter tore at our hearts and hurt us.

  From Old Bob our gaze wandered to M. Robert Darzac, who had just walked under the gardener’s gatehouse and was crossing the courtyard of Charles the Bold. He did not see us. He was not laughing. No, indeed, Rouletabille was sorry for him and understood why he was downcast. That same afternoon he had said to my friend:

  ‘Eight days is a long time. I don’t know that I can stand this for eight more days.’

  ‘Where will you go?’ Rouletabille had asked.

  ‘To Rome,’ he replied.

  Evidently, he will not persuade Professor Stangerson’s daughter to follow him anywhere else, and Rouletabille thinks it is the idea that the Pope can sort out his affairs that has put the thought of departure in M. Darzac’s head. Poor M. Darzac. We watched him as far as the door of the Square Tower. There could be no doubt about it, he was completely overcome. His shoulders were more hunched than ever. His hands were thrust into his pockets. He looked displeased with everything. Then…Then, who would have believed it?

  M. Darzac went straight up to the Square Tower, where, of course, he found Bernier, who opened his door for him. As Bernier stood just outside the door, with his key in his pocket (and it was proved later that no bars had been sawn through in their apartment), it was established that when M. Darzac went into his room there was nobody there. That is an absolute fact.

  All that was clearly set forth afterwards by each of us, but if I mention it to you before, it is because I am already haunted by the ‘inexplicable event’ which was being prepared in the shadows and would shortly burst upon us.

  It was now five o’clock.

  The evening, from five o’clock up to the time of the attack in the Square Tower

  Rouletabille and I remained for about an hour longer on the platform of the tower chatting, or should I say, preparing ourselves for what was to come. Suddenly, Rouletabille tapped me on the shoulder, exclaimed, ‘While I think of it!’ and rushed off in the direction of the Square Tower, whither I followed him. I never should have guessed what he had thought of. It was Mother Bernier’s sack of potatoes, which, to the good woman’s stupefaction, he emptied on to the floor. Evidently satisfied with the result of his action, he returned with me to the courtyard of Charles the Bold, while Bernier laughed heartily over the scattered potatoes.

  We caught a glimpse of Madame Darzac at the window of her father’s room in La Louve.

  It was oppressively close. A storm was threatening, which we should have been glad to see breaking upon us at any minute.

  Oh, what a relief that storm would be! The sea was still and heavy, the air was heavy and there was a weight upon our chests. The only light under the heavens was the figure of Old Bob, who had appeared again on the edge of Barma Grande, and was continuing his fantastical cavortings. He seemed to be dancing. No, he was making a speech. But to whom? There was obviously someone on the beach who he was lecturing on prehistory, but his audience was hidden from our view by the intervening trees. At last, however, the audience advanced up the beach in the direction of the ‘black professor’, as Rouletabille called him. It consisted of two people, Mrs Rance, for surely it was she, with her languid grace and her way of leaning on her husband’s arm. Her husband! But no, the other person was not her husband! Who was that young man on whose arm Mrs Rance leaned so languorously?

  Rouletabille looked around for someone who could tell us, Mattoni or Bernier. There was Bernier, standing in the doorway of the Square Tower. Rouletabille gestured to him to join us, and looked in the direction indicated by Rouletabille.

  ‘Do you know who that is with Mrs Rance?’ asked the reporter.

  ‘That young man,’ replied Bernier without hesitation, ‘is Prince Galitch.’

  Rouletabille and I stared at each other. To be sure, we had never seen Galitch from a distance, but, really, I should not have thought he walked that way, and, besides, I had not thought he was so tall. Rouletabille read my thoughts and shrugged.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Bernier, and we continued watching Mrs Rance and her Prince.

  ‘I can tell you one thing,’ said Bernier, before leaving us. ‘I don’t like the look of that Prince. He is too soft, too fair and his eyes are too blue. They say he’s Russian. He comes and goes, and leaves the country without a moment’s notice. The time before last when he was invited to luncheon here, he was late, and Mr and Mrs Rance were waiting for him, since they didn’t like to begin without him, when along comes a telegram saying he hopes they’ll excuse him as he’s missed the train. The message was postmarked Moscow!’

  Thereupon Bernier, with a strange laugh, returned to his post at the door.

  We kept our eyes trained on the beach, and Mrs Rance and her Prince continued their walk in the direction of the Romeo and Juliet cave. Old Bob suddenly stopped gesticulating, climbed down from Barma Grande, went towards the castle, entered it, crossed the first courtyard, and we could see perfectly clearly from our position on the platform of Tower B that he had stopped laughing. Old Bob was the picture of distress. He was silent. He disappeared under the gatehouse; we called out to him, but he did not hear us and continued on. He was carrying the skull with his arms outstretched before him. Suddenly he flew into a rage and rained down curses upon the oldest skull in the world. He went into his study in the Round Tower, and for a long time afterwards we could hear the echoes of his fury. The sound of muffled blows came up to us. It was as if he were fighting someone!

  Six o�
��clock struck on the New Castle clock, and almost immediately there came a rumble of thunder from over the sea. The horizon became pitch-black.

  Then Walter, a stable hand and a good chap, without two ideas of his own in his head, but who for years had been a devoted servant to his master, Old Bob, crossed under the gardener’s gatehouse and came towards us. He handed me a letter, gave another to Rouletabille, and went on his way towards the Square Tower.

  Thereupon Rouletabille asked him why he was going to the Square Tower and he replied that he was taking M. and Madame Darzac’s letters to Bernier. Since Old Jacques had been forbidden to leave his post at the entrance, it was Walter who attended to the distribution of the mail. Rouletabille took the letters from him and said that he would take them over to the Square Tower himself.

  A few drops of rain were falling as we went towards the tower. In the corridor, astride a chair, we found Bernier smoking his pipe.

  ‘Is M. Darzac still here?’ asks Rouletabille.

  ‘He hasn’t budged,’ Bernier replied.

  We knocked at the door and heard the person inside drawing the bolt. According to Rouletabille’s instructions, as soon as anyone entered the room they were to bolt the door after them.

  M. Darzac was busy looking over some papers when we went in. He was seated at the table directly in front of door R and had his back to the window.

  Now follow closely what we did. Rouletabille was grumbling about the letter he had received, which confirmed that morning’s telegram and urged him to hurry back to Paris. His paper was bent on sending him to St Petersburg.

  M. Darzac glanced indifferently through the letters we had just handed him, and put them in his pocket. I handed Rouletabille mine. It was from my friend in Paris, who, after giving me a few unimportant details concerning Brignolles’ departure from Paris, informed me that the fellow was having his mail sent to Sospel, at the Hotel des Alpes. This was very interesting, and both Rouletabille and Darzac were pleased to get the information. We agreed to go to Sospel as soon as possible, and we left the Darzacs’ rooms. The door of Madame Darzac’s room was not closed. I noticed this as we left, but, as I said, Madame Darzac was not in her room. As soon as we were in the corridor, Bernier locked the door. He did so at once. I saw him do it with my own eyes, and saw him put the key in his inside jacket pocket. I swear I saw him do that!