"Joker has disappeared!" Pascal cut me short. He emerged from the dark background, planted his awe-inspiring presence beside me, and gave the audience a somber look.
The resolute appearance of the senior Pascal made Pepeline lose the little self-confidence that she had gained during the telling of her tale. She went back to the circle of those standing behind her and vanished among them.
For rhetorical effect, Pascal paused for a moment, creating an almost unbearable tension in the room. Then he smiled benevolently.
"Whatever may have happened then, dear brothers and sisters, today, given our scanty knowledge of the state of affairs, we can no longer trace back every detail of this dark story. If Claudandus did indeed escape that hell in one piece, it does not necessarily follow that afterwards he pitched his tent in the district. I likewise find it hard to believe that of all the adult animals only he happened to have outlived that tragedy. The idea is simply absurd! And then there's the matter of the murder motive. How can a living creature who witnessed such cruel atrocities committed against his own kind turn into a criminal himself—overnight, so to speak—and kill his own brothers and sisters in cold blood? No, no, that doesn't make any sense to me at all. For this reason, I strictly refuse to accept that this mysterious Claudandus is the one we ought to fear. As far as I'm concerned, someone has been skillfully exploiting this confounded, secretive mumbo jumbo of the past for his own purposes. Someone has assumed the identity of the Prophet to more easily cover up his traces in an impenetrable fog of mysticism and naïve belief. And this satanic someone is, in my opinion, none other than our highly esteemed Father Joker! He's been making fools of you for years! He made himself the leader of a religion that he himself dreamed up. Presumably he was so perversely obsessed by his cause that merely egging on his flock of believers to self-flagellation rites was no longer enough. Deranged by religious mania, he adopted the single-minded aim of bringing about what all religious mania ultimately amounts to: perverse bloodshed! Since his followers, however, were not yet ready for fun and games on that level, he himself took the initiative. In order to give the bloody hocus-pocus a touch of eccentricity, he killed only those who were in heat or were pregnant. You were supposed to smell a rat, but only very gradually, then show your tacit understanding, and finally give your consent, even support, to the repulsive business. But thanks to brother Francis, his sinister plans have been defeated!"
Nobody dared contradict. I was no exception. Broken only by the wind moaning through the broken-down window shutters, a breathless silence followed Pascal's plausible interpretation of the facts. Everyone was impressed by his mental acuity and accepted what he had said all too readily. That was the impression anyway.
Little by little, the mumbling in the audience gained the upper hand, but basically everyone agreed that the last word had been spoken on the situation and that the meeting had been brought to conclusion.
Still, something was different this time. Though I had absolutely no counterarguments up my sleeve, at the same time I could have more readily accepted that the earth was flat than that Pascal's all-too-neat solution to the case was correct. Then too, I didn't feel like telling him about my uneasiness. Too much had been spoken, discussed, and argued; too much thought out logically. I had to take things in hand again. After all, up to now my primitive methods had gotten me surprisingly far.
The meeting now gradually broke up. The district residents, still chattering excitedly with one another, left the house. Pascal beamed with satisfaction, and even Bluebeard seemed relieved. And I? Well, suddenly I had a suspicion, and would be damned if I didn't follow it up before the night was over …
"What did you think of my arguments, my friend?" asked Pascal.
"Not bad," I replied coolly.
"Ha, you can't put anything over me, Francis. I can tell by the expression on your face that the cogwheels are turning furiously again in your mind. And quite rightly, too, because to be honest even I don't really believe that crap I was talking about so knowingly. I confess that it was a makeshift solution to calm the meeting down."
"It sounded damned serious, even final."
"That just goes to show you how talented an actor I am. Maybe I should do advertising for pet food, or for the value and benefits of putting animals to sleep."
He roared with laughter. But almost at once he became serious again, and his unfathomable, glowing yellow eyes sized me up.
"Oh Francis, I can't bear to see you go on racking your brains. Today is Christmas. Forget about this miserable thriller for the time being and get a little rest. Who knows, maybe a miracle will happen, and one of your insights will help you hit upon the right solution. I'm convinced of it. I wish you a Merry Christmas—and don't give up believing in miracles!"
He said good-bye, then departed. Bluebeard and I were now completely alone in the room; we looked down at the floor in embarrassment. I noticed that he, too, felt uneasy, however much he preferred Pascal's neat solution to the case. But the affair was still far from over, and Bluebeard knew that pretty damned well.
"A happy holiday, Bluebeard. And thanks for your first-class work; otherwise we'd still be groping around in the dark. May God protect you, brother," I said. The whole time both of us
