Eight Strokes of the Clock — The Lady with the Hatchet, part 2
* * * * * He was shown into a large study furnished with magnificent book-cases containing old volumes in costly bindings.
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau was a man still in the prime of life, wearing a slightly grizzled beard and, by his affable manners and genuine distinction, commanding confidence and liking.
"M. de Lourtier," said Renine, "I have ventured to call on your excellency because I read in last year's newspapers that you used to know one of the victims of the lady with the hatchet, Honorine Vernisset."
"Why, of course we knew her!"
cried M. de Lourtier.
"My wife used to employ her as a dressmaker by the day.
Poor girl!"
"M. de Lourtier, a lady of my acquaintance has disappeared as the other six victims disappeared."
"What!"
exclaimed M. de Lourtier, with a start.
"But I have followed the newspapers carefully.
There was nothing on the 18th of October."
"Yes, a woman of whom I am very fond, Madame Hortense Daniel, was abducted on the 17th of October."
"And this is the 22nd!"
"Yes; and the murder will be committed on the 24th."
"Horrible!
Horrible!
It must be prevented at all costs...."
"And I shall perhaps succeed in preventing it, with your excellency's assistance."
"But have you been to the police?"
"No. We are faced by mysteries which are, so to speak, absolute and compact, which offer no gap through which the keenest eyes can see and which it is useless to hope to clear up by ordinary methods, such as inspection of the scenes of the crimes, police enquiries, searching for finger-prints and so on.
As none of those proceedings served any good purpose in the previous cases, it would be waste of time to resort to them in a seventh, similar case.
An enemy who displays such skill and subtlety would not leave behind her any of those clumsy traces which are the first things that a professional detective seizes upon."
"Then what have you done?"
"Before taking any action, I have reflected.
I gave four days to thinking the matter over."
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau examined his visitor closely and, with a touch of irony, asked: "And the result of your meditations ...?"
"To begin with," said Renine, refusing to be put out of countenance, "I have submitted all these cases to a comprehensive survey, which hitherto no one else had done.
This enabled me to discover their general meaning, to put aside all the tangle of embarrassing theories and, since no one was able to agree as to the motives of all this filthy business, to attribute it to the only class of persons capable of it."
"That is to say?"
"Lunatics, your excellency."
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau started: "Lunatics?
What an idea!"
"M. de Lourtier, the woman known as the lady with the hatchet is a madwoman."
"But she would be locked up!"
"We don't know that she's not.
We don't know that she is not one of those half-mad people, apparently harmless, who are watched so slightly that they have full scope to indulge their little manias, their wild-beast instincts.
Nothing could be more treacherous than these creatures.
Nothing could be more crafty, more patient, more persistent, more dangerous and at the same time more absurd and more logical, more slovenly and more methodical.
All these epithets, M. de Lourtier, may be applied to the doings of the lady with the hatchet.
The obsession of an idea and the continual repetition of an act are characteristics of the maniac.
I do not yet know the idea by which the lady with the hatchet is obsessed but I do know the act that results from it; and it is always the same.
The victim is bound with precisely similar ropes.
She is killed after the same number of days.
She is struck by an identical blow, with the same instrument, in the same place, the middle of the forehead, producing an absolutely vertical wound.
An ordinary murderer displays some variety.
His trembling hand swerves aside and strikes awry.
The lady with the hatchet does not tremble.
It is as though she had taken measurements; and the edge of her weapon does not swerve by a hair's breadth.
Need I give you any further proofs or examine all the other details with you?
Surely not.
You now possess the key to the riddle; and you know as I do that only a lunatic can behave in this way, stupidly, savagely, mechanically, like a striking clock or the blade of the guillotine...."
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau nodded his head: "Yes, that is so.
One can see the whole affair from that angle ...
and I am beginning to believe that this is how one ought to see it.
But, if we admit that this madwoman has the sort of mathematical logic which governed the murders of the six victims, I see no connection between the victims themselves.
She struck at random.
Why this victim rather than that?"
"Ah," said Renine.
"Your excellency is asking me a question which I asked myself from the first moment, the question which sums up the whole problem and which cost me so much trouble to solve!
Why Hortense Daniel rather than another?
Among two millions of women who might have been selected, why Hortense?
Why little Vernisset?
Why Miss Williamson?
If the affair is such as I conceived it, as a whole, that is to say, based upon the blind and fantastic logic of a madwoman, a choice was inevitably exercised.
Now in what did that choice consist?
What was the quality, or the defect, or the sign needed to induce the lady with the hatchet to strike?
In a word, if she chose--and she must have chosen--what directed her choice?"
"Have you found the answer?"
Renine paused and replied: "Yes, your excellency, I have.
And I could have found it at the very outset, since all that I had to do was to make a careful examination of the list of victims.
But these flashes of truth are never kindled save in a brain overstimulated by effort and reflection.
I stared at the list twenty times over, before that little detail took a definite shape."
"I don't follow you," said M. de Lourtier-Vaneau.
"M. de Lourtier, it may be noted that, if a number of persons are brought together in any transaction, or crime, or public scandal or what not, they are almost invariably described in the same way.
On this occasion, the newspapers never mentioned anything more than their surnames in speaking of Madame Ladoue, Mlle.
Ardent or Mlle.
Covereau.
On the other hand, Mlle.
Vernisset and Miss Williamson were always described by their Christian names as well: Honorine and Hermione.
If the same thing had been done in the case of all the six victims, there would have been no mystery."
"Why not?"
"Because we should at once have realized the relation existing between the six unfortunate women, as I myself suddenly realized it on comparing those two Christian names with that of Hortense Daniel.
You understand now, don't you?
You see the three Christian names before your eyes...."
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau seemed to be perturbed.
Turning a little pale, he said: "What do you mean?
What do you mean?"
"I mean," continued Renine, in a clear voice, sounding each syllable separately, "I mean that you see before your eyes three Christian names which all three begin with the same initial and which all three, by a remarkable coincidence, consist of the same number of letters, as you may prove.
If you enquire at the Courbevoie laundry, where Mlle.
Covereau used to work, you will find that her name was Hilairie.
Here again we have the same initial and the same number of letters.
There is no need to seek any farther.
We are sure, are we not, that the Christian names of all the victims offer the same peculiarities?
And this gives us, with absolute certainty, the key to the problem which was set us.
It explains the madwoman's choice.
We now know the connection between the unfortunate victims.
There can be no mistake about it.
It's that and nothing else.
And how this method of choosing confirms my theory!
What proof of madness!
Why kill these women rather than any others?
Because their names begin with an H and consist of eight letters!
You understand me, M. de Lourtier, do you not?
The number of letters is eight.
The initial letter is the eighth letter of the alphabet; and the word _huit_, eight, begins with an H. Always the letter H. _And the implement used to commit the crime was a hatchet_.
Is your excellency prepared to tell me that the lady with the hatchet is not a madwoman?"
Renine interrupted himself and went up to M. de Lourtier-Vaneau: "What's the matter, your excellency?
Are you unwell?"
"No, no," said M. de Lourtier, with the perspiration streaming down his forehead.
"No ...
but all this story is so upsetting!
Only think, I knew one of the victims!
And then...."
Renine took a water-bottle and tumbler from a small table, filled the glass and handed it to M. de Lourtier, who sipped a few mouthfuls from it and then, pulling himself together, continued, in a voice which he strove to make firmer than it had been: "Very well.
We'll admit your supposition.
Even so, it is necessary that it should lead to tangible results.
What have you done?"
"This morning I published in all the newspapers an advertisement worded as follows: 'Excellent cook seeks situation.
Write before 5 P. M.
to Herminie, Boulevard Haussmann, etc.' You continue to follow me, don't you, M. de Lourtier?
Christian names beginning with an H and consisting of eight letters are extremely rare and are all rather out of date: Herminie, Hilairie, Hermione.
Well, these Christian names, for reasons which I do not understand, are essential to the madwoman.
She cannot do without them.
To find women bearing one of these Christian names and for this purpose only she summons up all her remaining powers of reason, discernment, reflection and intelligence.
She hunts about.
She asks questions.
She lies in wait.
She reads newspapers which she hardly understands, but in which certain details, certain capital letters catch her eye.
And consequently I did not doubt for a second that this name of Herminie, printed in large type, would attract her attention and that she would be caught to-day in the trap of my advertisement."
"Did she write?"
asked M. de Lourtier-Vaneau, anxiously.
"Several ladies," Renine continued, "wrote the letters which are usual in such cases, to offer a home to the so-called Herminie.
But I received an express letter which struck me as interesting."
"From whom?"
"Read it, M. de Lourtier."
M.
de Lourtier-Vaneau snatched the sheet from Renine's hands and cast a glance at the signature.
His first movement was one of surprise, as though he had expected something different.
Then he gave a long, loud laugh of something like joy and relief.
"Why do you laugh, M. de Lourtier?
You seem pleased."
"Pleased, no. But this letter is signed by my wife."
"And you were afraid of finding something else?"
"Oh no!
But since it's my wife...."
He did not finish his sentence and said to Renine: "Come this way."
He led him through a passage to a little drawing-room where a fair-haired lady, with a happy and tender expression on her comely face, was sitting in the midst of three children and helping them with their lessons.
She rose.
M.
de Lourtier briefly presented his visitor and asked his wife: "Suzanne, is this express message from you?"
"To Mlle.
Herminie, Boulevard Haussmann?
Yes," she said, "I sent it.
As you know, our parlour-maid's leaving and I'm looking out for a new one."
Renine interrupted her: "Excuse me, madame.
Just one question: where did you get the woman's address?"
She flushed.
Her husband insisted: "Tell us, Suzanne.
Who gave you the address?"
"I was rung up."
"By whom?"
She hesitated and then said: "Your old nurse."
"Felicienne?"
"Yes."
M.
de Lourtier cut short the conversation and, without permitting Renine to ask any more questions, took him back to the study: "You see, monsieur, that pneumatic letter came from a quite natural source.
Felicienne, my old nurse, who lives not far from Paris on an allowance which I make her, read your advertisement and told Madame de Lourtier of it.
For, after all," he added laughing, "I don't suppose that you suspect my wife of being the lady with the hatchet."
"No." "Then the incident is closed ...
at least on my side.
I have done what I could, I have listened to your arguments and I am very sorry that I can be of no more use to you...."
He drank another glass of water and sat down.
His face was distorted.
Renine looked at him for a few seconds, as a man will look at a failing adversary who has only to receive the knock-out blow, and, sitting down beside him, suddenly gripped his arm: "Your excellency, if you do not speak, Hortense Daniel will be the seventh victim."
"I have nothing to say, monsieur!
What do you think I know?"
"The truth!
My explanations have made it plain to you.
Your distress, your terror are positive proofs."
"But, after all, monsieur, if I knew, why should I be silent?"
"For fear of scandal.
There is in your life, so a profound intuition assures me, something that you are constrained to hide.
The truth about this monstrous tragedy, which suddenly flashed upon you, this truth, if it were known, would spell dishonour to you, disgrace ...
and you are shrinking from your duty."
M.
de Lourtier did not reply.
Renine leant over him and, looking him in the eyes, whispered: "There will be no scandal.
I shall be the only person in the world to know what has happened.
And I am as much interested as yourself in not attracting attention, because I love Hortense Daniel and do not wish her name to be mixed up in your horrible story."
They remained face to face during a long interval.
Renine's expression was harsh and unyielding.
M.
de Lourtier felt that nothing would bend him if the necessary words remained unspoken; but he could not bring himself to utter them: "You are mistaken," he said.
"You think you have seen things that don't exist."
Renine received a sudden and terrifying conviction that, if this man took refuge in a stolid silence, there was no hope for Hortense Daniel; and he was so much infuriated by the thought that the key to the riddle lay there, within reach of his hand, that he clutched M. de Lourtier by the throat and forced him backwards: "I'll have no more lies!
A woman's life is at stake!
Speak ...
and speak at once!
If not ...!"
M.
de Lourtier had no strength left in him.
All resistance was impossible.
It was not that Renine's attack alarmed him, or that he was yielding to this act of violence, but he felt crushed by that indomitable will, which seemed to admit no obstacle, and he stammered: "You are right.
It is my duty to tell everything, whatever comes of it."
"Nothing will come of it, I pledge my word, on condition that you save Hortense Daniel.
A moment's hesitation may undo us all.
Speak.
No details, but the actual facts."
"Madame de Lourtier is not my wife.
The only woman who has the right to bear my name is one whom I married when I was a young colonial official.
She was a rather eccentric woman, of feeble mentality and incredibly subject to impulses that amounted to monomania.
We had two children, twins, whom she worshipped and in whose company she would no doubt have recovered her mental balance and moral health, when, by a stupid accident--a passing carriage--they were killed before her eyes.
The poor thing went mad ...
with the silent, secretive madness which you imagined.
Some time afterwards, when I was appointed to an Algerian station, I brought her to France and put her in the charge of a worthy creature who had nursed me and brought me up.
Two years later, I made the acquaintance of the woman who was to become the joy of my life.
You saw her just now.
She is the mother of my children and she passes as my wife.
Are we to sacrifice her?
Is our whole existence to be shipwrecked in horror and must our name be coupled with this tragedy of madness and blood?"
Renine thought for a moment and asked: "What is the other one's name?"
"Hermance."
"Hermance!
Still that initial ...
still those eight letters!"
"That was what made me realize everything just now," said M. de Lourtier.
"When you compared the different names, I at once reflected that my unhappy wife was called Hermance and that she was mad ...
and all the proofs leapt to my mind."
"But, though we understand the selection of the victims, how are we to explain the murders?
What are the symptoms of her madness?
Does she suffer at all?"
"She does not suffer very much at present.
But she has suffered in the past, the most terrible suffering that you can imagine: since the moment when her two children were run over before her eyes, night and day she had the horrible spectacle of their death before her eyes, without a moment's interruption, for she never slept for a single second.
Think of the torture of it!
To see her children dying through all the hours of the long day and all the hours of the interminable night!"
"Nevertheless," Renine objected, "it is not to drive away that picture that she commits murder?"
"Yes, possibly," said M. de Lourtier, thoughtfully, "to drive it away by sleep."
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand, because we are talking of a madwoman ...
and because all that happens in that disordered brain is necessarily incoherent and abnormal?"
"Obviously.
But, all the same, is your supposition based on facts that justify it?"
"Yes, on facts which I had, in a way, overlooked but which to-day assume their true significance.
The first of these facts dates a few years back, to a morning when my old nurse for the first time found Hermance fast asleep.
Now she was holding her hands clutched around a puppy which she had strangled.
And the same thing was repeated on three other occasions."
"And she slept?"
"Yes, each time she slept a sleep which lasted for several nights."
"And what conclusion did you draw?"
"I concluded that the relaxation of the nerves provoked by taking life exhausted her and predisposed her for sleep."
Renine shuddered: "That's it!
There's not a doubt of it!
The taking life, the effort of killing makes her sleep.
And she began with women what had served her so well with animals.
All her madness has become concentrated on that one point: she kills them to rob them of their sleep!
She wanted sleep; and she steals the sleep of others!
That's it, isn't it?
For the past two years, she has been sleeping?"
"For the past two years, she has been sleeping," stammered M. de Lourtier.
Renine gripped him by the shoulder: "And it never occurred to you that her madness might go farther, that she would stop at nothing to win the blessing of sleep!
Let us make haste, monsieur!
All this is horrible!"
They were both making for the door, when M. de Lourtier hesitated.
The telephone-bell was ringing.
"It's from there," he said.
"From there?"
"Yes, my old nurse gives me the news at the same time every day."
He unhooked the receivers and handed one to Renine, who whispered in his ear the questions which he was to put.
"Is that you, Felicienne?
How is she?"
"Not so bad, sir."
"Is she sleeping well?"
"Not very well, lately.
Last night, indeed, she never closed her eyes.
So she's very gloomy just now."
"What is she doing at the moment?"
"She is in her room."
"Go to her, Felicienne, and don't leave her."
"I can't. She's locked herself in."
"You must, Felicienne.
Break open the door.
I'm coming straight on....
Hullo!
Hullo!...
Oh, damnation, they've cut us off!"
Without a word, the two men left the flat and ran down to the avenue.
Renine hustled M. de Lourtier into the car: "What address?"
"Ville d'Avray."
"Of course!
In the very center of her operations ...
like a spider in the middle of her web!
Oh, the shame of it!"
He was profoundly agitated.
He saw the whole adventure in its monstrous reality.
