The Three Eyes Part 29

And so the man Velmot, the implacable enemy who had not hesitated to torture Ma.s.signac in order to extract my uncle Dorgeroux's formula from him, knew that Berangere was acquainted with the formula! And he had at the same time learnt, what he doubtless did not know before, where Berangere was concealed.

The Chateau de Pre-Bony! Where was this country-house? In what corner of France had Berangere taken refuge after the murder of her G.o.d-father? It could not be very far from Paris, seeing that she had once asked for my a.s.sistance and that, two days ago, she had come to the Yard. But, whatever the distance, how was I to find it? There were a thousand country-houses within a radius of twenty-five miles from Paris.

"And yet," I said to myself, "the solution of the tragedy lies there, in that country-house. All is not lost and all may still be saved, but I have to get there. Though, the miraculous screen is destroyed, Ma.s.signac has given me the means of reconstructing it, but I have to get there. And I have to get there by day break, or Velmot will have Berangere at his mercy."

I spent the whole evening in enquiries. I consulted maps, gazetteers, directories. I asked everywhere; I telephoned. No one was able to supply the least hint as to the whereabouts of the Chateau de Pre-Bony.

It was not until the morning, after an agitated night, that a more methodical scrutiny of recent events gave me the idea of beginning my investigations in the actual district where I knew that Berangere had stayed. I hired a motor-car and had myself driven towards Bougival. I had no great hope. But my fear lest Velmot should discover Berangere's retreat before I did caused me such intense suffering that I never ceased repeating to myself:

"That's it. . . . I'm on the right track. . . . I'm certain to find Berangere; and the villain shall not touch a hair of her head."

My love for the girl suddenly became purged of all the doubts and suspicions that had poisoned it. For the rest, I did not trouble about these details and troubled myself neither to explain her conduct nor to establish the least proof for or against her. Even if her kiss had not already wiped out every disagreeable recollection, the danger which she was incurring was enough to restore all my faith in her and all my affection.

My first enquiries at Ville d'Avray, Marnes and Vaucresson told me nothing. The Chateau de Pre-Bony was unknown. At La Cello-Saint-Cloud I encountered a fresh check. But here, in an inn, I seemed to recover, thanks to the accident of a casual question, the traces of the man Velmot: a tall, white-faced gentleman, I was told, who often motored along the Bougival road and who had been seen prowling outside the village that very morning.

I questioned my informant more closely. It really was Velmot. He had four hours' start of me. _And he knew where to go! And he was in love with Berangere!_ Four hours' start, for that clever and daring scoundrel, who was staking his all on this last throw of the die! Who could stop him? What scruples had he? To seize upon Berangere, to hold her in his power, to compel her to speak: all this was now mere child's play. _And he was in love with Berangere!_

I remember striking the inn-table with my fist and exclaiming, angrily:

"No, no, it's not possible! . . . The house in question is bound to be somewhere near here! . . . They must show me the way!"

Thenceforward I did not experience a moment's hesitation. On the one hand, I was not mistaken in coming to this district. On the other hand, I knew that Velmot, having heard what Ma.s.signac said and knowing the country by having lived in it, had begun his campaign at dawn.

There was a crowd of people outside the inn. Feverishly I put the questions which remained unanswered. At last, some one mentioned a cross-roads which was sometimes known by the name of Pre-Bony and which was on the Saint-Cucufa road, some two or three miles away. One of the roads which branched from it led to a new house, of not very imposing appearance, which was inhabited by a young married couple, the Comte and Comtesse de Roncherolles.

I really had the impression that it was my sheer will-power that had brought about this favourable incident and, so to speak, created, lock, stock and barrel and within my reach, that unknown country-house which it behoved me to visit that very instant.

I made my way there hurriedly. At the moment when I was walking across the garden, a young man alighted from horseback at the foot of the steps.

"Is this the Chateau de Pre-Bony?" I asked.

He flung the reins of his horse to a groom and replied, with a smile:

"At least that is what they call it, a little pompously, at Bougival."

"Oh," I murmured, as though taken aback by an unhoped for piece of news, "it's here . . . and I am in time!"

The young man introduced himself. It was the Comte de Roncherolles.

"May I ask to whom I have the honour . . ."

"Victorien Beaugrand," I replied.

And, without further preamble, confiding in the man's looks, which were frank and friendly, I said:

"I have come about Berangere. She's here, isn't she? She has found a shelter here?"

The Comte de Roncherolles flushed slightly and eyed me with a certain attention. I took his hand:

"If you please, monsieur, the position is very serious. Berangere is being hunted down by an extremely dangerous man."

"Who is that?"

"Velmot."

"Velmot?"

The count threw off all further disguise as useless and repeated:

"Velmot! Velmot! The enemy whom she loathes! . . . Yes, she has everything to fear from the man. Fortunately, he does not know where she is."

"He does know . . . since yesterday," I exclaimed.

"Granted. But he will need time to make his preparations, to plan his move."

"He was seen not far from here, yesterday, by people of the village."

I began to tell him what I knew. He did not wait for me to finish.

Evidently as anxious as myself, he drew me towards a lodge, standing some distance from the house, which Berangere occupied.

He knocked. There was no answer. But the door was open. He entered and went upstairs to Berangere's room. She was not there.

He did not seem greatly surprised.

"She often goes out early," he said.

"Perhaps she is at the house?" I suggested.

"With my wife? No, my wife is not very well and would not be up yet."

"What then?"

"I presume she has gone for her ordinary walk to the ruins of the old castle. She likes the view there, which embraces Bougival and the whole river."

"Is it far?"

"No, just at the end of the park."

Nevertheless the park stretched some way back; and it took us four or five minutes' walk to reach a circular clearing from which we could see a few lengths of broken wall perched on the top of a ridge among some fallen heaps of stone-work.

"There," said the count. "Berangere has been to this bench. She has left the book which she was reading."

"And a scarf too," I said, anxiously. "Look, a rumpled scarf. . . .

And the gra.s.s round about shows signs of having been trampled on.

. . . My G.o.d, I hope nothing has happened to the poor child!"

I had not finished speaking when we heard cries from the direction of the ruins, cries for help or cries of pain, we could not tell which.