Part 21 (1/2)

Hortense gave a shudder:

”We shall be too late. Besides, you don't suppose that he's keeping her a prisoner?”

”Certainly not. The place I have in mind is at a cross-roads and is not a safe retreat. But we may discover some clue or other.”

The shades of night were falling from the tall trees when they entered the ancient forest of Brotonne, full of Roman remains and mediaeval relics.

Renine knew the forest well and remembered that near a famous oak, known as the Wine-cask, there was a cave which must be the cave of the Happy Princess. He found it easily, switched on his electric torch, rummaged in the dark corners and brought Hortense back to the entrance:

”There's nothing inside,” he said, ”but here is the evidence which I was looking for. Dalbreque was obsessed by the recollection of the film, but so was Rose Andree. The Happy Princess had broken off the tips of the branches on the way through the forest. Rose Andree has managed to break off some to the right of this opening, in the hope that she would be discovered as on the first occasion.”

”Yes,” said Hortense, ”it's a proof that she has been here; but the proof is three weeks old. Since that time....”

”Since that time, she is either dead and buried under a heap of leaves or else alive in some hole even lonelier than this.”

”If so, where is he?”

Renine p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. Repeated blows of the axe were sounding from some distance, no doubt coming from a part of the forest that was being cleared.

”He?” said Renine, ”I wonder whether he may not have continued to behave under the influence of the film and whether the man of the woods in _The Happy Princess_ has not quite naturally resumed his calling. For how is the man to live, to obtain his food, without attracting attention? He will have found a job.”

”We can't make sure of that.”

”We might, by questioning the woodcutters whom we can hear.”

The car took them by a forest-road to another cross-roads where they entered on foot a track which was deeply rutted by waggon-wheels. The sound of axes ceased. After walking for a quarter of an hour, they met a dozen men who, having finished work for the day, were returning to the villages near by.

”Will this path take us to Routot?” ask Renine, in order to open a conversation with them.

”No, you're turning your backs on it,” said one of the men, gruffly.

And he went on, accompanied by his mates.

Hortense and Renine stood rooted to the spot. They had recognized the butler. His cheeks and chin were shaved, but his upper lip was covered by a black moustache, evidently dyed. The eyebrows no longer met and were reduced to normal dimensions.

Thus, in less than twenty hours, acting on the vague hints supplied by the bearing of a film-actor, Serge Renine had touched the very heart of the tragedy by means of purely psychological arguments.

”Rose Andree is alive,” he said. ”Otherwise Dalbreque would have left the country. The poor thing must be imprisoned and bound up; and he takes her some food at night.”

”We will save her, won't we?”

”Certainly, by keeping a watch on him and, if necessary, but in the last resort, compelling him by force to give up his secret.”

They followed the woodcutter at a distance and, on the pretext that the car needed overhauling, engaged rooms in the princ.i.p.al inn at Routot.

Attached to the inn was a small cafe from which they were separated by the entrance to the yard and above which were two rooms, reached by a wooden outer staircase, at one side. Dalbreque occupied one of these rooms and Renine took the other for his chauffeur.

Next morning he learnt from Adolphe that Dalbreque, on the previous evening, after all the lights were out, had carried down a bicycle from his room and mounted it and had not returned until shortly before sunrise.

The bicycle tracks led Renine to the uninhabited Chateau des Landes, five miles from the village. They disappeared in a rocky path which ran beside the park down to the Seine, opposite the Jumieges peninsula.