Eight Strokes of the Clock | Page 8

de Halingre used to belong and no doubt still
belongs to the d'Aigleroches. The arms are an eagle on a heap of stones,
on a rock. This at once suggested the connection."
This time the count appeared surprised. He pushed back his decanter
and his glass of sherry and said:
"What's this you're telling me? I had no idea that we had any such
neighbours."
Rénine shook his head and smiled:
"I should be more inclined to believe, sir, that you were not very eager
to admit any relationship between yourself ... and the unknown owner
of the property."
"Then he's not a respectable man?"
"The man, to put it plainly, is a murderer."
"What do you mean?"
The count had risen from his chair. Hortense, greatly excited, said:
"Are you really sure that there has been a murder and that the murder
was done by some one belonging to the house?"
"Quite sure."
"But why are you so certain?"
"Because I know who the two victims were and what caused them to be
killed."
Prince Rénine was making none but positive statements and his method
suggested the belief that he supported by the strongest proofs.

M. d'Aigleroche strode up and down the room, with his hands behind
his back. He ended by saying:
"I always had an instinctive feeling that something had happened, but I
never tried to find out.... Now, as a matter of fact, twenty years ago, a
relation of mine, a distant cousin, used to live at the Domaine de
Halingre. I hoped, because of the name I bear, that this story, which, as
I say, I never knew but suspected, would remain hidden for ever."
"So this cousin killed somebody?"
"Yes, he was obliged to."
Rénine shook his head:
"I am sorry to have to amend that phrase, my dear sir. The truth, on the
contrary, is that your cousin took his victims' lives in cold blood and in
a cowardly manner. I never heard of a crime more deliberately and
craftily planned."
"What is it that you know?"
The moment had come for Rénine to explain himself, a solemn and
anguish-stricken moment, the full gravity of which Hortense
understood, though she had not yet divined any part of the tragedy
which the prince unfolded step by step."
"It's a very simple story," he said. "There is every reason to believe that
M. d'Aigleroche was married and that there was another couple living
in the neighbourhood with whom the owner of the Domaine de
Halingre were on friendly terms. What happened one day, which of
these four persons first disturbed the relations between the two
households, I am unable to say. But a likely version, which at once
occurs to the mind, is that your cousin's wife, Madame d'Aigleroche,
was in the habit of meeting the other husband in the ivy-covered tower,
which had a door opening outside the estate. On discovering the
intrigue, your cousin d'Aigleroche resolved to be revenged, but in such
a manner that there should be no scandal and that no one even should

ever know that the guilty pair had been killed. Now he had
ascertained--as I did just now--that there was a part of the house, the
belvedere, from which you can see, over the trees and the undulations
of the park, the tower standing eight hundred yards away, and that this
was the only place that overlooked the top of the tower. He therefore
pierced a hole in the parapet, through one of the former loopholes, and
from there, by using a telescope which fitted exactly in the grove which
he had hollowed out, he watched the meetings of the two lovers. And it
was from there, also, that, after carefully taking all his measurements,
and calculating all his distances, on a Sunday, the 5th of September,
when the house was empty, he killed them with two shots."
The truth was becoming apparent. The light of day was breaking. The
count muttered:
"Yes, that's what must have happened. I expect that my cousin
d'Aigleroche...."
"The murderer," Rénine continued, "stopped up the loophole neatly
with a clod of earth. No one would ever know that two dead bodies
were decaying on the top of that tower which was never visited and of
which he took the precaution to demolish the wooden stairs. Nothing
therefore remained for him to do but to explain the disappearance of his
wife and his friend. This presented no difficulty. He accused them of
having eloped together."
Hortense gave a start. Suddenly, as though the last sentence were a
complete and to her an absolutely unexpected revelation, she
understood what Rénine was trying to convey:
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean that M. d'Aigleroche accused his wife and his friend of eloping
together."
"No, no!"