“Ah!” he exclaimed: “this is interesting!” and with a finger he pointed to the inner bolt on the door, the screws of which were wrenched half out, showing that an attempt had been made to force the door. “Did Mme. de Langrune bolt her door every night?” he asked.
“Yes, always,” Dollon answered. “She was very nervous, and if I was the first to come to bid her good morning I always heard her unfasten that bolt when I knocked.”
M. de Presles made no reply. He made one more tour of the room, minutely considering the situation of each single article.
“M. Dollon, will you kindly take me where I can have the use of a table and inkstand, and anything else I may need to get on with my preliminary enquiry?”
“Your clerk is waiting for you in the library, sir,” the steward replied. “He has everything ready for you there.”
“Very well. If it is convenient to you we will join him now.”
M. de Presles followed Dollon down to the library on the ground floor, where his enterprising clerk had already established himself. The magistrate took his seat behind a large table and called to the police sergeant.
“I shall ask you to be present during my enquiry, sergeant. The first investigations will devolve upon you, so it will be well for you to hear all the details the witnesses can furnish me with. I suppose you have taken no steps as yet?”
“Beg pardon, sir: I have sent my men out in all directions, with orders to interrogate all tramps and to detain any who do not give a satisfactory account of their time last night.”
“Good! By the way, while I think of it, have you sent off the telegram I gave you when I arrived—the telegram to the police headquarters in Paris, asking for a detective to be sent down?”
“I took it to the telegraph office myself, sir.”
His mind made easy on this score, the young magistrate turned to Dollon.
“Will you please take a seat, sir?” he said and, disregarding the disapproving looks of his clerk, who had a particular predilection for all the long circumlocutions and red tape of the law, he pretermitted the usual questions as to name and age and occupation of the witnesses, and began his enquiry by questioning the old steward. “What is the exact plan of the château?” was his first enquiry.
“You know it now, sir, almost as well as I do. The passage from the front door leads to the main staircase, which we went up just now, to the first floor where the bedroom of the Marquise is situated. The first floor contains a series of rooms separated by a corridor. On the right is Mlle. Thérèse’s room, and then come guest-chambers which are not occupied now. On the left is the bedroom of the Marquise, followed by her dressing-room on the same side, and after that there is another dressing-room and then the bedroom occupied by M. Charles Rambert.”
“Good. And the floor above: how is that arranged?”
“The second floor is exactly like the first floor, sir, except that there are only servants’ rooms there. They are smaller, and there are more of them.”
“What servants sleep in the house?”
“As a general rule, sir, the two maidservants, Marie the housemaid and Louise the cook, and also Hervé the butler; but Hervé did not sleep in the château last night. He had asked the mistress’s permission to go into the village, and she had given it to him on condition that he did not come back that night.”
“What do you mean?” enquired the magistrate, rather surprised.
“The Marquise was rather nervous, sir, and did not like the idea of anyone being able to get into the house at night; so she was always careful to double-lock the front door and the kitchen door herself every night. She went round all the rooms too every night, and made sure that all the iron shutters were properly fastened, and that it was impossible for anyone to get into the house. When Hervé goes out in the evenings he either sleeps in the village and does not return till the following morning, which is what he did today, or else he asks the coachman to leave the yard door unlocked, and sleeps in a room above the stables which as a rule is not occupied.”
“That is where the other servants sleep, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. The gardeners, the coachman, and the keepers all live in the outbuildings. With regard to myself, I have a small cottage a little farther away in the park.”
M. de Presles sat silent for a few moments, thinking deeply. The only sound in the room was the irritating squeak of the clerk’s quill pen, as he industriously wrote down all the steward’s replies. At last M. de Presles looked up.
“So, on the night of the crime the only persons sleeping in the château were Mme. de Langrune, her granddaughter Mlle. Thérèse, M. Charles Rambert and the two maids. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then it does not seem likely that the crime was committed by anyone living in the château?”
“That is so, sir:—and yet I do not believe that anybody got into the château; only two people had a key of the front door—the Marquise and myself. When I got to the house this morning I found the door open, because Mlle. Thérèse went out early with M. Charles Rambert to meet M. Rambert, senior, at the station, and she opened the door with the keys that the Marquise had given into her care the night before; but
