“Oh, M. Rouletabille, where was the difference? He had a bullet in his heart.”
At last, Pere Bernier was going to tell us of the body. Had he seen it? Who was it? One would have said that this seemed of secondary importance in the eyes of Rouletabille. The reporter seemed engrossed only with the problem of finding how the body had come to be there. How had that man happened to be killed?
But, indeed, Pere Bernier knew only very little. The whole thing had been as sudden as a rifle shot—so it seemed to him—and he was behind the door. He told us that he was going to his lodge and felt so drowsy that he had intended to throw himself down on the bed for a few moments, when he and Mere Bernier heard such a commotion issue from the apartment of M. Darzac that they were seized with terror. It was as if the furniture were being thrown about and blows were rained upon the walls.
“What is the matter?” cried Mere Bernier, and the same instant they heard the voice of Mme. Darzac, shouting, “Help! help!” This was the cry that we, too, had heard in the New Château. Pere Bernier, leaving his wife almost fainting from horror, rushed to the door of M. Darzac’s room and beat against it, crying aloud to him to open, but obtaining no reply. The struggle within was still going on. Bernier heard the labored breathing of two men and he recognized the voice of Larsan when he heard the words: “With this blow, I shall have your life!” Then he heard M. Darzac, who called his wife to his aid in a voice almost stifled, as though he were gagged, “Mathilde! Mathilde!” Evidently he and Larsan must have been engaged in a life and death struggle when, suddenly, the pistol shot had saved him. This pistol shot had frightened Pere Bernier less than the cry which had followed it. One would have thought that Mme. Darzac, who had uttered the cry, had been mortally wounded. Bernier was unable to understand Mme. Darzac’s attitude in the matter. Why did she not open the door and admit him to help her husband? Why did she not draw the shades? Finally, almost immediately after the pistol shot, the door, upon which Pere Bernier had not stopped knocking all the time, was opened. The room was wrapped in darkness, which did not surprise the concierge, for the light of the chandelier which he had perceived under the door during the fight had been suddenly extinguished and at the same moment he had heard the chandelier itself fall heavily to the floor. It was Mme. Darzac who had opened the door and Bernier could distinguish through the gloom the form of M. Darzac leaning over something which the concierge knew was a dying man. Bernier had called to his wife to bring a light, but Mme. Darzac had cried: “No, no! No light! no light! And, above all, be sure that he knows nothing.” And immediately she had rushed to the door of the tower, calling out, “He is coming! he is coming! I hear him! Open the door, Pere Bernier! I must go and meet him!” And Pere Bernier had opened the door, the while she kept on moaning, “Hide yourselves! Go in! Don’t let him know anything!”
Pere Bernier went on:
“You came like a waterspout, M. Rouletabille. And she drew you into Old Bob’s sitting room. You saw nothing. I stayed with M. Darzac. The rattle in the throat of the man on the floor had ceased. M. Darzac still bending over him said to me: ‘Get a sack, Bernier, a sack and a stone, and we will throw him into the sea and no one will ever hear his voice again!’
“Then,” Bernier went on, “I thought of my sack of potatoes; my wife had gathered them up and put them back in the sack after you had emptied them out; I emptied the bag again and brought it to him. We made as little noise as possible. During this time, Madame was, I suppose, telling you the story in Old Bob’s sitting room and we heard M. Sainclair questioning my wife in the lodge. Moving very quietly, we had slipped the body, which M. Darzac had tied up, into the sack. But I said to M. Darzac: ‘Let me beg of you not to throw it into the water. It is not deep enough to hide it. There are days when the sea is so clear that one may look down to the bottom.’ ‘What shall we do, then?’ whispered M. Darzac. I answered: ‘Heaven help us, I don’t know, monsieur! All that I could do for you and for Madame and for humanity against a villain like Frederic Larsan, I have done and willingly. But don’t ask any more of me and may God protect you!’ And I went out of the room and found you in the lodge, M. Sainclair. And then you went for M. Rouletabille at the request of M. Darzac, who had come out of his own apartment. As for my wife, she was almost swooning with terror when she suddenly saw that both M. Darzac and myself were covered with blood. See, messieurs, my hands are red! Pray Heaven, it doesn’t bring us misfortune! But we have done our duty. Oh, he was a miserable wretch!—But do you want me to tell you?—well, one could never keep such a history secret—and, in my opinion, it would be better to go immediately with it to the justice. I have promised to keep silence and I did keep silence so long as I was able, but I’m glad enough to relieve myself of such a burden before you gentlemen who are the friends of Monsieur and Madame—and who may, perhaps, be able to make them listen to reason. Why should they hide the facts? Isn’t it an honor to have killed Larsan!—Pardon me for having spoken his name—I know well, it was not right—but is it not an honor to have saved the whole world from a scoundrel in saving oneself? Ah! hold! a fortune! Mme. Darzac promised me a fortune, if I would keep silence. What do I care for that? Could one have a better fortune than to be of service to the poor lady who has had so many troubles? Never in the world! But, how she looked! Why should she have feared? I asked her when we thought that you had gone to bed and that we three were all alone in the Square Tower with our corpse. I said to her, ‘Tell everyone that you have killed him! All the world will praise you!’ She answered: ‘There has been too much scandal already, Bernier: and as much as it depends on me to do, and as much as is possible, I will hide this new horror forever! It would kill my father!’ I had nothing to say to that, but I wanted to speak. It was upon the tip of my tongue to say, ‘If the business comes out later, one will believe that you did something wrong and monsieur, your father, will die just as surely.’ But it was her idea. She wished that all should be concealed! Well, I promised her. That’s all!”
Bernier turned toward the door, showing us his hands.
“I must rid myself of the blood of the accursed pig!” he said, dryly.
Rouletabille stopped him.