Part 112 (1/2)
A child might have followed the track of the wounded man, the blood-stains left in his pa.s.sage were so frequent and so distinct.
These tell-tale marks stopped at Chupin's house. The door was closed; Jean rapped without the slightest hesitation.
The old poacher's eldest son opened the door, and Jean saw a strange spectacle.
The traitor's body had been thrown on the ground, in a corner of the room, the bed was overturned and broken, all the straw had been torn from the mattress, and the wife and sons of the dead man, armed with pickaxes and spades, were wildly overturning the beaten soil that formed the floor of the hovel. They were seeking the hidden treasures.
”What do you want?” demanded the widow, rudely.
”Father Chupin.”
”You can see very plainly that he has been murdered,” replied one of the sons.
And brandis.h.i.+ng his pick a few inches from Jean's head, he exclaimed:
”And you, perhaps, are the a.s.sa.s.sin. But that is for justice to determine. Now, decamp; if you do not----”
Had he listened to the promptings of anger, Jean Lacheneur would certainly have attempted to make the Chupins repent their menaces.
But a conflict was scarcely permissible under the circ.u.mstances.
He departed without a word, and hastened back to the Borderie.
The death of Chupin overturned all his plans, and greatly irritated him.
”I had sworn that the vile wretch who betrayed my father should perish by my hand,” he murmured; ”and now my vengeance has escaped me. Someone has robbed me of it.”
Then he asked himself who the murderer could be.
”Is it possible that Martial a.s.sa.s.sinated Chupin after he murdered Marie-Anne? To kill an accomplice is an effectual way of a.s.suring one's self of his silence.”
He had reached the Borderie, and was about going upstairs, when he thought he heard the sound of voices in the back room.
”That is strange,” he said to himself. ”Who can it be?”
And impelled by curiosity, he went and tapped upon the communicating door.
The abbe instantly made his appearance, hurriedly closing the door behind him. He was very pale, and visibly agitated.
”Who is it?” inquired Jean, eagerly.
”It is--it is. Guess who it is.”
”How can I guess?”
”Maurice d'Escorval and Corporal Bavois.”
”My G.o.d!”
”And it is a miracle that he has not been upstairs.”