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In the late afternoon Josette had
again to go back to the workshop to put in a couple of hours'
more sewing. She left Louise in the apartment, engrossed in sorting
out the necessary clothes required for the journey, and singing
merrily like a bird. Bastien and Maurice were not expected home
for some hours. Charles-Léon was asleep.
It was past eight o'clock and quite dark when Josette finally
returned home to the Rue Picpus for the evening. Under the big
port-cochère of the apartment house she nearly fell
into the arms of Maurice Reversac, who apparently was waiting
for her.
"Oh, Maurice!" she cried, "how you frightened
me!" And then, "What are you doing here?"
Instead of replying he took her by the wrist and drew her to
the foot of the main staircase, away from the concierge's
lodge, where in an angle of the wall they could be secure from
prying ears and eyes. Here Maurice halted, but he still clung
to her wrist, and leaned against the wall as if exhausted and
breathless.
"Maurice, what is it?"
The staircase was in almost total darkness, only a feeble light
filtrated down from an oil-lamp fixed on one of the landings above.
Josette could not see her friend's face, but she felt the tremor
that shook his arm and she heard the stertorous breath that struggled
through his lips. The sense of doom, of some calamity that threatened
them all, the nameless foreboding that had haunted her all day
held her heart in an icy grip.
"Maurice!" she insisted.
At last he spoke; he murmured his employer's name.
"Maître de Croissy..."
Josette could scarcely repress a cry:
"Arrested?"
He shook his head.
"Not...? Dead...? When? How? What is it, Maurice? In God's
name, tell me!"
"Murdered!"
"Murd-"
She clapped her hand to her mouth and dug her teeth into it to
smother the scream which would have echoed up the well of the
stairs. Louise's apartment was only up two flights. She would
have heard.
"Tell me!" Josette gasped rather than spoke. She did
not really understand. What Maurice had just said was so impossible.
Inconceivable! She had expected a cataclysm.... Yes. All day she
had felt like the dread hand of Doom hovering over them all. But
not this! In Heaven's name, not this! Murdered? Bastien? Why,
Maurice must be crazy! And she said it aloud, too.
"You are crazy, Maurice!"
"I thought I was just now."
"You've been dreaming," she insisted. For still she
did not believe.
"Murdered, I tell you! Dead!"
"Where?"
"In the office...."
"Then let us go...."
She wanted to run... out... at once, but Maurice got hold of
her and held her so that she could not go.
"Wait, Josette! Let me tell you first."
"Let me go, Maurice! I don't believe it. Let me go!"
Maurice had already pulled himself together. He had contrived
to steady his voice, and now, with a perfectly firm grip, he pulled
Josette's hand under his arm and led her out into the street.
There would be no holding her back if she was determined to go.
The rain-storm had turned to a nasty drizzle and it was very cold.
The few passers-by who hurried along the narrow street had their
coat collars buttoned closely round their necks. A very few lights
glimmered here and there in the windows of the houses on either
side. Street lamps were no longer lighted these days in the side
streets for reasons of economy.
Out in the open Maurice put his arm round Josette's shoulder
and instinctively she nestled against him. Almost paralysed with
horror, she was shivering with cold and her teeth were chattering,
but there was a feeling of comfort and of protection in Maurice's
arm which seemed to steady her. Also she wanted to hear every
word that he said, and he did not dare raise his voice above a
whisper. They walked as fast as the unevenness of the cobble-stones
allowed, and now and then they broke into a run; and all the while,
in short jerky sentences, Maurice tried to tell the girl something
of what had happened.
"Maître de Croissy," he said, "had an interview
with Citizen Chabot in the morning.... While he was there Chabot
sent for Bazire... and after that the three of them went together
to Danton's longings..."
"You weren't with them?"
"No... I was waiting at the office. Presently Maître
de Croissy came back alone. He was full of hope... the interview
had gone off very well... better than he expected... Chabot and
Bazire were obviously terrified out of their lives... Maître
de Croissy had left them with Danton, and come on to the office..."
"Yes! and then?"
"About half an hour later, Chabot called at the office...
alone... he brought a document with him... did Madame tell you?"
"Yes! yes!..."
"He stayed a little while talking... talking... explaining
the document... a very long one... of which he wanted three copies
made... with additions... and so on.... He wanted the papers back
by evening..."
Maurice seemed to be gasping for breath. His voice was husky
as if his throat were parched. It was difficult to talk coherently
while threading one's way through the narrow streets, and once
or twice he forced Josette to stand still for a moment or two,
to rest against the wall while she listened.
"We went home to dinner after Chabot had gone..." Maurice
went on presently. "I can't tell you just how I felt then...
a kind of foreboding you know..."
"Yes, I know," she said, "I felt it too... last
night..."
"Something in that devil's eyes had frightened me... but
you know Maître de Croissy... he won't listen... once he
has made up his mind... and he laughed at me when I ventured on
a word of warning... you know..."
"Oh, yes!" Josette sighed, "I know!"
"We went back to the office together after dinner. Maître
de Croissy worked on the document all afternoon. It was ready
just when the light gave out. He gave me the paper and told me
to take it to Citizen Chabot. I went. Chabot kept me waiting,
an hour or more. It was nearly eight o'clock when I got back to
the office. The front door was ajar. I remember thinking this
strange. I pushed open the door..."
He paused, and suddenly Josette said quite firmly:
"Don't tell me, Maurice. I can guess."
"What, Josette?'
"Those devils got you out of the way. They meant to filch
the letters from Bastien. They killed him in order to get the
letters."
"The two rooms," Maurice said, "looked as if they
had been shattered by an earthquake."
"They broke everything so as to get the letters, and they
killed him first."
* * * *
They had reached the house in the Rue de la Monnaie. It looked
no different than it had always done. Grim, grey, dilapidated.
Inside the house there was that smell of damp and of mortar like
in a vault. Apparently no one knew anything as yet about what
had occurred on the second floor where Citizen Croissy, the lawyer,
had his office. No one challenged the young man and the girl as
they hurried up the stairs. Josette as she ran was trembling in
every limb, but she knew that the time had come for calmness of
for courage, and with a mighty effort she regained control over
her nerves. She was determined to be a help rather than a hindrance,
even though horror had gripped her like some live and savage beast
by the throat so that she scarcely could breathe, and turned the
dread in her heart to physical nausea.
Maurice had taken the precaution of locking the front door of
the office, but he had the key in his pocket. Before inserting
it in the keyhole he paused to take another look at Josette. If
she had faltered the least bit in the world, if he had perceived
the slightest swaying in her young firm body, he would have picked
her up in his arms where she stood and carried her away - away
from that awful scene behind the door.
He could not see her face, for the stairs were very dark, but
through a dim and ghostly light he perceived the outline of her
head and saw that she held it erect and her shoulders square.
All he said was:
"Shall we go to the Commissariat first?"
But she shook her head. He opened the door and she followed him
in. The small vestibule was in darkness, but the door into the
office was open, and here the light from the oil-lamp which dangled
from the ceiling revealed the prone figure of Bastien de Croissy
on the floor, his torn clothing and the convulsive twist of his
hands. A heavy crowbar lay close beside the body, and all around
there was a litter of broken furniture, wood, glass, a smashed
inkstand with the ink still flowing out of it and staining the
bit of faded carpet; sand and débris of paper and of string
and the smashed drawers of the bureau. The strong-box was also
on the floor with its metal door broken open and money and papers
scattered around. Indeed, the whole place did look as if it had
been shattered by an earthquake.
But Josette did not look at all that. All she saw was Bastien
lying there, his body rigid in the last convulsive twitching of
death. She prayed to God for the strength to go near him, to kneel
beside him and say the prayers for the dead which the Church demanded.
Maurice knelt down beside her, and they drew the dead man's hands
together over his breast, and Josette took her rosary from her
pocket and wound it round the hands; then she and Maurice recited
the prayers for the dead: she with eyes closed lest if she if
she ought to do now that Bastien was gone: for Louise was not
strong and after this she would have no one on whom to lean, only
on her, Josette.
When she and Maurice had finished their prayers they sought among
the débris for the two pewter candlesticks that used to
stand on the bureau. Maurice found them presently; they were all
twisted, but not broken, and close by there were the pieces of
tallow candle that had fallen out of their sconces. He straightened
them out, and with a screw of paper held to the lamp he lighted
the candles and Josette placed them on the floor, one on each
side of the dead man's head.
After which she tiptoed out of the room. Maurice extinguished
the hanging lamp; he followed Josette out through the door and
locked it behind him.
Then the two of them went silently and quickly down the stairs.
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