“It’s too romantic to be true,” Dubois made a wry face.
“Because of the loss of his house, the count could have developed an idee fixe,” noticed Clavier. “And then, quite probably, he would began to act exactly in such a way.”
“Are you saying that a revenge-thirsting maniac is walking around my house? In that case, why does he limit himself to servants and not kill me?”
“And who told you that he wouldn’t do that?” the inspector said with police directness. “Before killing you, he just wants to make you quake with fear, that’s all.”
“So what do you think I should do?”
“I would recommend that you leave… for some time. You see, here I can’t guarantee your safety. In rural areas, there is not a large number of police… we can’t assign a gendarme to each inhabitant of the house.”
“In other words, you decline all responsibility?” Dubois sneered.
“No, certainly not. I will do my utmost… but after all, formally, we don’t even have a legally defined crime. There is only a series of accidents—and a hypothesis which would seem even more fantastic to my superiors than to you.”
“Don’t bother, I understood. Well, I can take care of myself.”
“But remember that the danger threatens not only you.”
“If you cannot protect us, at least refrain from condescending to tell me what to do. Besides, as you say, these are only hypotheses in which I don’t much believe. But if this unknown avenger, be it de Montreux or anybody else, intrudes in my house, I will shoot him.”
“In any case, you should warn all inhabitants of the house about the danger.”
“So that they all run away? Superstitious rumors are one thing and a real threat of murder is absolutely another one. No, they are frightened enough even without that.”
“In that case, monsieur Dubois, I must warn them myself.”
“Inspector, you have no formal grounds to consider these deaths criminal. Thus, you have no right to alarm my people, thus causing …”
At this moment came a knock at the door. It was Leroi.
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you, monsieur,” he said, “but the matter is that the servants… they are preparing to depart.”
“What, all of them?” the businessman shouted angrily. “Try to dissuade them!”
“It’s impossible, monsieur, I tried. They want to leave the estate immediately, before the night. So will you allow me to settle with them?”
“And what if not?”
“They say, monsieur, that they will leave now and will return for their money later.”
“Damn! You see, inspector, your efforts aren’t required any more. All right, Leroi, settle with these superstitious idiots and then go to the village and hire somebody for couple of days until new permanent servants can be found.”
“Yes, monsieur. But I am afraid that nobody in the village will agree to work in this house, even for a threefold payment.”
“I need servants, not your guesses! Go!”
“You see, monsieur Dubois,” the inspector said when the majordomo left the room, “all circumstances favor your departure.”
“Like hell! If someone wants to expel me from this house, he won’t achieve it!” the businessman rose from his chair, letting the others know that conversation was ended.
Jeannette met him in tears.
“Jacques!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Let’s leave this damned place! Let’s leave right now!”
“One of my enemies would like it very much. And that’s why we remain here. Don’t be afraid of anything. While you are with me, nothing may threaten you,” for greater persuasiveness he showed Jeannette the loaded pistol, which probably frightened her even more.
It happened that not all the servants left the house: unexpectedly from somewhere Marie appeared. However, Dubois’s satisfaction with this fact almost instantly disappeared: the maid’s usual cheerfulness was gone, and she probably could only increase the despondency of her mistress now. Then Leroi returned—as he had expected, with nothing: no villager would agree to work in de Montreux’s house or even approach it after sunset. For the night, Dubois ordered everyone to lock their doors, and he himself, contrary to his normal practice, remained in Jeannette’s bedroom till morning.
That night in the forest the wolf howled again.
In the morning, having left Jeannette in the care of her maid and having strictly ordered the majordomo to keep watch over both of them, Dubois went to the village and bought several of the strongest padlocks and bolts; then, having employed a temporary worker for an absolutely unreasonable fee, he came back to the estate. Together with Leroi, they went all over house, replacing locks and nailing up doors. Dubois even tapped walls in search of secret passages—a week ago even a thought about something similar would have seemed to him absolute paranoia. Eventually the house began to resemble a fortress not only from outside, but also from within; the locked and boarded up doors gave it a completely dismal and uninhabited look. The worker received his payment and went away with obvious relief; his appearance said: “No locks will save you from de Montreux’s curse!”
Whether it was caused by natural irritation because things were developing so unsuccessfully or the gloomy atmosphere of the house and the events which had happened in it, Dubois for the first time felt really uncomfortable in his house and all day stayed in Jeannette’s company. He managed to brighten up and, perhaps even more importantly, to amuse his concubine so that she stopped asking to leave the house and behaved as though she believed that after the arrival of new servants, everything would go in a different way. At last Jeannette went to her bedroom. Dubois sat on a sofa, leaning back and clamping a cigar between his thick hairy fingers, when suddenly the silence of the house was pierced by a terrifying female cry. The owner of the ill-starred estate jumped up as if stung, pulled out a pistol from a table box, and rushed to a corridor.
Jeannette, mortally pale, lay motionless on the threshold of her bedroom. Having knelt down beside her, Dubois saw with relief that she had only fainted. Suddenly, at the other end of the corridor the scared majordomo appeared.
“What happened?” he shouted.
“She is alive,” Dubois answered and only at this moment thought about the reason for her screaming and fainting. He glanced in the bedroom and felt growing cold inside him.
Marie, whose carefree temperament even the ominous events of the last few days couldn’t trouble, hung under the room ceiling. The overturned chair lay on a floor. Having looked at the terrible face of the strangled girl, Dubois understood that death had already come and any attempts to aid her were useless.
“Damned bastard!” the businessman shouted. “Where are you hiding?! Come out—or are you afraid to meet me face to face?!”
“No, no, monsieur,” said Leroi. He tried to speak calmly, but his voice quavered. “There is nobody here, except us. That’s a suicide, no doubt, a suicide…”
Dubois turned to him. Having seen his face, the majordomo started back.
“Suicide?! Why the hell, in your learned opinion, should she have hanged herself?!”
“Who knows… girls at such an age… some amorous troubles…”
“Go for the doctor,” Dubois restrained himself. “And if upon your return you don’t find me alive, know that it won’t be a suicide.”
Soon after Leroi’s departure, Jeannette came to her senses.
“Is it true that Marie is dead?” she asked. “It didn’t seem real to me.”