The Eight Strokes of the Clock Read Online Free PDF

him.
    Sixty seconds passed. Then M. d’Aigleroche walked up to them and said:
    “Whether the story be true or not, you can’t call a husband a criminal for avenging his honour and killing his faithless wife.”
    “No,” replied Rénine, “but I have told only the first version of the story. There is another which is infinitely more serious … and more probable, one to which a more thorough investigation would be sure to lead.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean this. It may not be a matter of a husband taking the law into his own hands, as I charitably supposed. It may be a matter of a ruined man who covets his friend’s money and his friend’s wife and who, with this object in view, to secure his freedom, to get rid of his friend and of his own wife, draws them into a trap, suggests to them that they should visit that lonely tower and kills them by shooting them from a distance safely under cover.”
    “No, no,” the count protested. “No, all that is untrue.”
    “I don’t say it isn’t. I am basing my accusation on proofs, but also on intuitions and arguments which up to now have been extremely accurate. All the same, I admit that the second version may be incorrect. But, if so, why feel any remorse? One does not feel remorse for punishing guilty people.”
    “One does for taking life. It is a crushing burden to bear.”
    “Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden that M. d’Aigleroche afterwards married his victim’s widow? For that, sir, is the crux of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was M. d’Aigleroche penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wife rich? Or were they both in love with each other and did M. d’Aigleroche plan with her to kill his first wife and the husband of his second wife? These are problems to which I do not know the answer. They have no interest for the moment; but the police, with all the means at their disposal, would have no great difficulty in elucidating them.”
    M. d’Aigleroche staggered and had to steady himself against the back of a chair. Livid in the face, he spluttered:
    “Are you going to inform the police?”
    “No, no,” said Rénine. “To begin with, there is the statute of limitations. Then there are twenty years of remorse and dread, a memory which will pursue the criminal to his dying hour, accompanied no doubt by domestic discord, hatred, a daily hell … and, in the end, the necessity of returning to the tower and removing the traces of the two murders, the frightful punishment of climbing that tower, of touching those skeletons, of undressing them and burying them. That will be enough. We will not ask for more. We will not give it to the public to batten on and create a scandal, which would recoil upon M. d’Aigleroche’s niece. No, let us leave this disgraceful business alone.”
    The count resumed his seat at the table, with his hands clutching his forehead, and asked:
    “Then why …?”
    “Why do I interfere?” said Rénine. “What you mean is that I must have had some object in speaking. That is so. There must indeed be a penalty, however slight, and our interview must lead to some practical result. But have no fear: M. d’Aigleroche will be let off lightly.”
    The contest was ended. The count felt that he had only a small formality to fulfill, a sacrifice to accept; and, recovering some of his self-assurance, he said, in an almost sarcastic tone:
    “What’s your price?”
    Rénine burst out laughing:
    “Splendid! You see the position. Only, you make a mistake in drawing me into the business. I’m working for the glory of the thing.”
    “In that case?”
    “You will be called upon at most to make restitution.”
    “Restitution?”
    Rénine leant over the table and said:
    “In one of those drawers is a deed awaiting your signature. It is a draft agreement between you and your niece, Hortense Daniel, relating to her private fortune, which fortune was squandered and for which you