CHAPTER XVIII

FACILIS DECENSUS AVERNI

Revenge at first though sweet, bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

_Paradise Lost._

Meanwhile Emile swore in a way that would have turned the English dragoons in Flanders green with envy. He was thirsting for vengeance and was busy turning over in his mind how he could best pay Pierre back in his own coin, when he found himself at the General's house. Thanks to Villebois and Riche's skill, Duval's bullet wound was so far healed that he was beginning to use his arm, and the movements and sensation of feeling showed that repair had set in vigorously. He was sitting in an easy chair when Emile was ushered into his presence.

"Well, and pray who are you, and what do you want to see me about at this time in the evening?" said Duval, frowning at him and looking very red in the face.

The General scrutinized the visiting card which Robert had just handed to him on a silver salver. Turning it over he examined it thoughtfully, and glanced up at him with a searching gaze.

"What have you been doing to your head?" he enquired.

Emile twisted his fingers, and played with his hat in a nervous fashion. "I met with an accident in the street, and a man ran out of a house and bound it up for me," he replied, cowed and trembling.

"I suppose you think that is the proper way to call on gentlemen of my rank in the evening, is it?"

Emile was beginning to feel faint, and sat down on a chair near the General.

"Get up, sir, this instant. How dare you sit down in the presence of a General of the French army, and without leave too? Parbleu, in my younger days you would have been arrested immediately, and severely punished. Ma foi, the service must be going to the devil. Get up this instant, do you hear me, sir?" he said, as the wretched man was too bewildered and confused to obey the General's orders.

"If you please, mon Général, I have the honour to inform you that--that your son has killed Professor Delapine, and that he will be arrested to-morrow morning for murder."

"What the devil do you mean, sir? Are you mad or what?"

"A thousand pardons, mon Général, I am telling you the naked truth. I have just come from Dr. Villebois's house, and I overheard him say that the moment Dr. Roux's report is presented to-morrow morning at the Parquet, your son, Monsieur Pierre Gaston Duval, will be arrested on the charges of arson and murder."

"What!" exclaimed the General, bounding out of his chair, and seizing the bully by his coat collar and shaking him violently. "Do you mean to tell me that--that----" he burst out in a voice that became incoherent with mingled rage and horror, "that--that--the police intend to--to arrest my son on a charge of murder?"

"It is true, mon Général, I heard Dr. Villebois and Dr. Roux both say so."

The General's eyes nearly started out of his head, and a profuse perspiration collected on his brow. An awful horror seized him, and his chest heaved with convulsive emotion. "My God! to think it has come to this! My only son, the pride of my heart, the heir to all my property, the sole survivor of my family, and to end in disgrace like this," and burying his face in his hands, he sobbed convulsively. Emile toyed with his hat more nervously than ever, and watched the General intently not to miss the effect which his speech had on him.

At length after a painful pause that seemed interminable, Duval stood up, and fastened his eyes with a searching gaze on Emile, while his face twitched convulsively, and assumed a look which terrified him almost out of his wits.

"What were you doing in Delapine's house to overhear this conversation? Were you invited there?"

"Oh! no, mon Général. I was paid by M. Pierre to watch the house and bring him all the news I could glean."

The General's feelings were working up to the boiling point, and his fury was passing beyond all his powers of control. Emile was on the point of making a bolt for it, but the furious gleam of Duval's eyes rooted him to the spot.

"You infernal sneak, you vile informer, you--you miserable reptile," said the General, with a look of withering contempt on his face, his voice rising in pitch until it almost ended in a shriek, "out with you before I shoot you dead," and suiting his actions to his words, he opened a drawer and pulled out a large army revolver.

But Emile did not wait for Duval to raise the weapon. Before the General had time to cock it, Emile had already bolted out of the room, and hurrying down the stairs, ran out of the front gate as fast as his legs could carry him.

Duval rushed after him and fired several shots, but his wounded arm prevented him from taking a steady aim, and Emile was speedily out of range.

The General returned to his room, and lay down on the sofa in a state of complete exhaustion. Nearly half an hour had elapsed before he was sufficiently recuperated to ring the bell and order the carriage to be got ready. He slowly went upstairs, and put on his uniform assisted by his valet.

"Buckle on my sword as well, Robert, I don't feel my real self without my trusty sword and revolver."

Robert appeared terribly scared at the appearance of his master, but knew him too well to venture on any remark, or to let him perceive that he saw it.

"You need not wait up for me, Robert," he said in a calm and measured voice which presented a marked contrast to his previous excited and furious tones, and now bore traces of strong determination mingled with unutterable sadness. "I don't like to say so, Robert, but I feel somehow that I may be addressing you for the last time. You will have no reason to forget me, Robert, you have been a faithful servant to me, and I have not forgotten you in my will."

"Oh! mon Général, do not talk like that," said Robert, weeping, "I cannot bear to think that misfortune could overtake you."

The General was deeply moved at the old servant's words, and pouring out a glass of brandy, handed it to him.

Robert for the moment was too astonished to drink it, and looked at his master for some explanation of his altogether unusual conduct.

"Drink it, drink it, my good fellow," said Duval, "I do not like leaving without some slight token of my regard for you," and so saying he filled another glass, and with a nod of approval clinked it against his valet's, and drank to his health.

"May le bon Dieu watch over you," said Robert in a solemn but respectful tone of voice.

"Merci, merci," replied the General nodding to him. "Now leave me, my good man, I am not well," and he shook his head and sighed painfully.

Robert's eyes were filled with tears as he left the room in silence.

It was after nine in the evening when the General arrived at Pierre's rooms. The latter looked out of his window to make sure that it was not a detective, or a member of the police force who stood at the door, and having assured himself on that score, he opened the door and admitted his father.

Duval quietly entered the room without saying a word. He sat down in an armchair and began by looking at Pierre, who was humming a tune, with a steady gaze.

Pierre felt very uncomfortable, and tried to avert his father's looks, but in vain. The silence was beginning to become unbearable, and picking up a newspaper he attempted to read, but the terrible look on his father's face rendered it impossible, and he flung the paper on one side.

"Now, sir, pray explain yourself," said his father very solemnly and slowly in an almost sepulchral voice. "I understand from a man who calls himself Emile Deschamps that you have not only attempted to burn Villebois's house down, but you have actually murdered his guest Professor Delapine, and that to-morrow morning you will be arrested in the name of the law."

"My dear father, what on earth are you talking about? I don't understand a word you're saying."

Pierre opened his cigarette-case, and having selected a cigarette to his satisfaction, proceeded to offer his father one.

"Don't trifle with me, sir. I have come here to demand an answer to my questions, and not to smoke cigarettes with you."

"You can ask me as many questions as you like, but I don't see that I am called upon to answer them," replied Pierre in a huff.

"By God, sir, you shall not leave the room until you have answered them," replied the General, becoming more and more angry.

"Look here, father, I won't have you talk to me as if I were a naughty child. You come here at this absurd hour of the night, and glare at me like a hyæna, and expect me to listen to some yarn about my burning down Villebois's house and murdering Delapine.

"Really, sir," he continued, "you are too funny for words, you ought to have been a comic actor. Ha! ha! ha!" and Pierre shook with laughter.

"How dare you trifle with me in this manner? Are you aware of the seriousness of this charge?" cried Duval in an awful voice.

"For goodness' sake stop, father, this conversation is becoming too tedious, I really can't stand it any longer," replied Pierre in a languid drawl. "By the way, won't you take a glass of port?"

"Hold your tongue, sir! Will you listen to me or not? You have been accused of having set fire to Villebois's house, and of murdering Professor Delapine. I wish to hear from your own lips; is it true or not?"

"Oh, do shut up, father, and don't play the fool with me any more," replied Pierre, his voice rising almost to a scream. "Is it likely that I, your own son, would dream of doing mad acts like that? The thing is too absurd even to argue about."

"Am I to understand then that you are innocent of both these deeds?"

"Most certainly I am. I swear the whole charge is a dastardly lie, and is without a shadow of foundation."

"Are you prepared to swear this to me on oath? Hold up your hand and swear then," said his father, as Pierre nodded assent.

"I swear before God that the whole story is nothing but a filthy lie," said Pierre, holding up his hand, "and I solemnly call God to witness what I say."

"You are lying, you are deceiving me--I can read it in your face."

"May God strike me dead on the spot if I am deceiving you," replied Pierre in a sudden outburst of passion, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang in order to carry conviction, although he was trembling from head to foot.

"Of course," he continued after a moment's reflection, "if you prefer to believe this damned cad whom you call Emile, rather than your own son, I have nothing more to say."

Duval remained silent for a few moments, fixing on him one of those terrible looks which would have cowed a Bengal tiger, and caused him to slink away.

"Come now, father, for goodness' sake change the subject, and don't waste my time with these absurd accusations," said Pierre, with well-feigned anger, although he was quaking with fear.

"Pierre, I ask you for the last time, do you still persist in your statement that it is all a lie?"

"Of course I do; what else could it be?"

"If it is a lie, then explain to me why you have employed a low sneak to watch the house and inform you from hour to hour what is going on there. Is that a lie also?"

Pierre grew very red in the face and tried to avert his father's gaze, but said nothing.

"Answer me, sir," said Duval with another of his searching looks.

"Oh, father, why do you ask me such ridiculous questions?"

"Ridiculous questions indeed. I suppose you will give that reply to the Juge d'Instruction when you are arraigned on the charge of wilful murder, and when the guillotine is staring you in the face? Hein!" and Duval looked at him once more with flashing eyes and tightly clenched teeth.

Pierre merely hung down his head.

"Hold up your head, sir," said Duval in a terrible voice, "and look me full in the face. I see your sense of guilt makes you ashamed to do it."

Pierre got up and made as if he would leave the room.

"Halt!" cried the General in a voice of thunder, and going quickly to the door he locked it and put the key in his pocket. "Now, sir, once for all, did you or did you not kill Delapine, and set fire to Villebois's house?"

Pierre could see from his father's face that prevarication was useless, and however much he denied the deed he would refuse to believe him.

"I see you refuse to believe me even when I do tell the truth. Well, as a matter of fact, I did try an _experiment_ on Delapine when he was in a trance, with a little liquid which Paul Romaine gave me, and the fluid unfortunately proved too strong for him, and it ended fatally."

"Do you imagine for a moment that the jury will believe that story? Did you set fire to the house as an _experiment_ to see whether it would cause the guests to quit the room and leave you free to murder an innocent man? Did you keep away from Villebois's house where you were a 'persona grata,' and a welcome guest, and employ a spy as an _experiment_ to watch the house for you? Hein!"

"I see it is useless to argue with you, father, so I shall hold my tongue."

"You are not only an incendiary and a murderer," said Duval in a voice trembling with emotion, "but what, if possible, is worse, you are a liar! and a coward, sir! I disown you for ever as my son, but I cannot allow you to disgrace my name and that of our family by being put in prison, and handed over to the executioner as a felon," and so saying he quietly drew his loaded revolver and laid it on the table.

Deliberately rising up, he unlocked the door, saying as he did so, "I shall return in a quarter of an hour," and shutting it, locked it on the outside.

Duval went out of the house and paced up and down in front of the window of the room where his son was standing, and nervously looked at his watch from time to time.

Punctually, in a quarter of an hour he returned, and unlocking the door, looked at Pierre with a face of unutterable disgust. His eyelids were raised to their full extent showing the whites all round, while his pupils dilated and glistened with rage and emotion as he stood bolt upright with his head in the air like the brave old soldier that he was.

"Coward," he hissed, "so you have not even the courage to preserve your father's name. Well then, since you have not the courage, I must do it for you," and taking up the revolver he pointed it at Pierre's heart.

But Pierre loved life too well to be despatched without a struggle, and before Duval had time to pull the trigger, his son made a sudden dart at him and dashed the revolver aside, and at the same time closing with the General, threw him on to the ground. Under ordinary circumstances Duval's superior strength would have made it an easy task for him to render Pierre powerless, but the pain in his injured arm became so excruciating that it gave Pierre every advantage over him. Duval still held on to his revolver, and endeavoured to fire at his son's body, but as he was in the act of pulling the trigger during the heat of the struggle, Pierre unintentionally twisted his father's hand round at the moment when the revolver was going off. The trigger fell, and the bullet passed right through Duval's heart. Pierre instantly released him, and getting up observed his father give a few convulsive gasps and fall back dead.

He gazed on him with a wild look of terror, and falling on his neck, gave way to his feelings of grief. But his remorse soon changed to alarm for his own safety, and he fervently thanked his stars that he had sent his servant out for the evening.

His first task was to open the window wide, and then taking his father's money out of his pocket, he scattered a few coins on the floor, and upset some of the furniture. The rest of the money together with his father's gold watch, keys, and revolver, he transferred to his own pockets.

Pierre carefully locked the door on the inside, and climbing out of the window he re-entered the house by the front door, and picking up his valaise and portmanteau (which he had previously packed) straight-way left the house.

A couple of streets further on he hailed a cab and bid the cocher drive to his father's house. He kept the cab waiting while he let himself into the house with Duval's latchkey, and made his way to the library where his father kept the safe.

It was only the work of a few minutes to open the safe and tumble all the bank-notes, securities, and other valuables into a small portmanteau. Hurriedly grasping this, he ran downstairs and re-entered the fiacre.

"Drive to the Quai D'Orsay Station," he called to the cocher. As soon as the fiacre stopped, Pierre went quickly into the lavatory and washed off a few traces of blood which had splashed on his clothes.

"Thank God, no one can recognise me now," he muttered, as he proceeded to shave off his moustache, and adjust a set of false whiskers and a small beard which he had taken the precaution to pack away in his valaise. "Ha! Ha! Why, my own mother wouldn't know me," he added as he peered into the mirror with a look of satisfaction.

An hour later he bid good-bye to Paris, and found himself rapidly travelling in the direction of Bordeaux.