THE ROBE

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 126, 31 May 1938, Page 17

THE ROBE

By. . . . JASPER MASKELYNE

PIERRE DULAC looked across the top of the dusty, document-strewn desk into the ancient blue eyes of the notary Vidoq. "My dear Pierre," said Vidoq, with his usual grin, "have you not discovered by now that everything seems strange that is everything that we do not understand. To you the will of Your old-time partner Etienne Tinestin seems extraordinary; to me it> jseems quite normal. "Consider your stories—both of von. You were partners together—illusionists, magicians, conjurers. You were a very practical and logical young man. Etienne was not. He believed ill the occult, in mysterious forces. Off the stage, whenever you were not giving a performance you argued and quarrelled like a pair of dogs. It was only because you were necessary to each other in your profession that you had not split up long : before you did. I "Then, at a crucial moment, for you I had grown to dislike each other in- | tensely, Yvonne appeared; and of course it was necessary, just to make matters worse, that you should both fall in love with her. "But for some reason—and women are strange creatures—Yvonne decided to marry Etienne. This was the end. so far as you were concerned, and off you went in a huff. "Now, Etienne is dead and you have come back. You have received and read the note that he left in my keeping for you, and you think that it is strange. "Personally', I do not. I believe that before he died —and you must know that Etienne knew that the hand of death was approaching for years before lie passed away of the slow disease that killed him—he realised two tilings. The first that you two had parted over Yvonne, who he had discovered since his marriage was ru love with you, and who had married liitn in a fit of pique after a lover's quarrel with you, and secondly that before her appearance your main disagreement in life had been in his belief, And your disbelief, in the occult. "Well, to anyone who did not know Etienne that letter which you hold in your hand might seem strange. But to us who knew him, who were aware of the strangeness of his miud, it seems quite the sort of thing that he would do. However, it is for you to decide, and it is also my duty to inform you that if you do not agree to do what he asks then you may find yourself the loser. What are you going to do ? Will you give me your decision now, or wait until a little later in the evening? You realise that if you are going to agree his wishes must be carried out tonight ?" Dulac nodded. "I will give you my decision in a few minutes," he said. "But first of all I think that I would like to read his letter again." "Right," said Vidoq. "Whilst you are doing so I will sign mv letters." Dulac, opening the letter, which was folded in his hand, commenced to read. The silence of the gas-lit office was only broken by the scratch of the quill pen of the notary as he bent over his desk. Outside the busy day sounds of the little French town began to die away as the shadows of the evening deepened. It seemed to Pierre Dulac as he bent over tHo letter —the last letter—of 'his old-time partner and read the meticulous handwriting which had so often amused him, that he could almost hear the quiet and steely voice of Etienne echoing through the dusty office. "My Dear Pierre," he read. "Although, as you read these words, I shall be lying quietly (I hope) in the little cemetery on the other side of the hill, I .believe that I shall be able to see you. You will have gone to Vidoq's office in response to the letter which, on my instructions he will have written to you, and you will probably be seated in front of his desk reading this and listening to the scratchings of that execrable quill pen of his. "Let me tell you, first of all, that I am sorry we ever quarrelled. Anger is such a waste of energy, and, had I not wasted so much in argument with you it is possible that I might have liyed longer. "When I knew that I was going to die, I realised that the right thing for me to do was to arrange that you should benefit by my death. I knew too that I should tell you that I have known for some time that it was you that Yvonne loved, although, in a fit of temper, she lharried me. When you have finished this letter go and see her; make things right with her, and, neit spring, when the flowers are beginning to bud, and I am merely a memory,-you two can be married. "Now, let us get down to business. > You know that I always loved a little joke, and here is my last effort at humour. Apart from Yvonne our main difference of opinion was over occult matters. I believed in. all sorts of things that made you shudder, whilst you, with your intensely practical and logical mind, only believed in those things which you could see arid understand. "With your permission we will have one final argument. Vidoq will tell you that I have left you a sum of one hundred thousand francs on the following condition: "To-night—that is the 30th November, the day on which I have instructed Vidoq to hand you this letter —you will go. after you have left his office, and see Yvqnne. You will tell' her about this letter a%d that I only wish for your joint happiness. You two will have much to say to each other and the time will, I know, pass very quickly. "Then, at midnight, you will make your way to my house on the outskirts of the wood. You will find that it has been kept cheerful and in order. You will open the door with the key which Vidoq will hand, you and you will go to the" library. "In the library, in the corner, you will find a safe. Unlock it —Vidoq will give you the key —and inside you will find a letter from me giving you some further instructions. Obey these. Then, having done so, leave the house with my best wishes, and next day present yourself to Vidoq once more, who will hand you the sum of one hundred thousand francs, which will enable you and Yvonne —to whom, in the meantime, I have left just enough to keep her going—to be married and live happily ever after. "But, let me warn you, my friend and old-time partner, you will both hear me and possibly see me lh the house —the House' of Mystery, the peasants insist on calling it—and if you do, even you will admit that-at long last I have proved, my argument and convinced you that occult forces do exist; that they must exist, inasmuch as I shall have spoken to you after I am dead. "Ail revoir, Pierre, until to-night, Your departed friend, Etienne Tinestin." Dulac looked tip. Vidoq laid dowll his pen and grinned across the desk. "Well," he said. "Do you agree to the .terms?" Dulac laughed.

Short Story

"Of course," he said. "It's wonderful —one hundred thousand francs and the woman I love! Merely for giving old Etienne another chance to be proved wrong!" Yidoq rose from his chair and walked across to a drawer let into the office wall. He unlocked it and look out two keys. He handed them ttf Pierre. "Here are the keys," he said. "One for the front door of the house and the other for the library safe. Under the terms of the will the fact that you produce to me the letter of instructions, which Etienne has told me is lying in the safe, is sufficient evidence that you have.carried out his wishes, and to-mor-row I shall have the money here for yon." Dulac nodded. "Do you know what is in that letter';" he asked. Yidoq shook his head. "Xo one knows," he replied. "Only Etienne. He wrote the letter and placed it in the safe himself on the day he died." • » » ♦ As the neighbouring church clock midnight Pierre Dulac took an affectionate farewell, of Yvonne at the gate of her little house. "Till to-morrow, my dearest," he said. "How wonderful it is to think that after then nothing shall ever part us, and how much more wonderful to think that this is possible only through the generosity of Etienne. Really he was not such a bad sort after all. lam almost beginning to think pleasantly about his strange ways and fearful rages." "Pierre," she said. "I must tell you. I'm frightened. I've always been afraid of Etienne, and I still fear him. Can there be any truth in these occult theories of his, or is there the possibility that he may still have the power to harm us? The years I Bpent with him wei"« so very unhappy that I cannot I bring myself to believe that he means 1 us well."

Dulac laughed,

"What can he do?" he said comfortingly. "He is dead and buried. I have merely to enter his house, open the safe, read his. letter and do what he asks. Then to-morrow I win you and fortune." She shuddered. "I do not like that house of his," she whispered. "For months before he died he went there each day. No one except the old woman who keeps the place clean was ever allowed to go there." She shuddered again. "The night air is cold, Pierre," she said, "and you must be going if you have made up your mind to do as he has astoed. But I have a favour to ask you. You will do it for me? Very well, it is this. Inside I have a robe. It is a holy robe; it belonged to a monk, a good and kindly man, who spent his life in good deeds. Take this robe with you, and when you get into the house wear it. I shall feel safer, and in any event it will keep you warm!" Dulac smiled. "Anything you like, my dear," he said. "Go and get it. I would wear an old sack if it would make you happier!" Five minutes later he strode off in the direction of the wood on the outskirts of the town. He was whistling, and he bore, over his arm, the monk's robe that Yvonne had given to him. It was a quarter to one when Pierre opened the safe in the library of the deserted house, and saw, lying in front of him on the steel shelf, the sealed letter that Etienne had left. He threw the robe over the nearby chair, took out the letter and read it. "My dear Pierre," he read. "It seems that you have obeyed my instructions and are now in the library reading this letter. Well, my dear friend, my last request is a very simple one. It is this: "At one o'clock I propose to come and .speak to you; so now I suggest that you go upstairs to my rom, which is on the floor above, and where, if my instructions have been obeyed by the old woman who is still paid to kaep this place clean, you will find a big fire and a bottle of wine. Drink a glass and drink to my good health! "At one o'clock precisely you will hear my voice. I «hall speak to you, and your work will be done. To-mor-row tou can go to Viloq and tell him that I was right and you were wrong, that after my death you have heard my voice and spoke to me." "Quite simple, is it not? Well, Pierre . au revoir, for a few minutes I" "Etienne." Dulac closed the door of the safe. A strange feeling of fear began to possess him, but he shrugged his shoulders and left the library. He mounted the dark oak stairway to the room above, and opened the door. The room was large, cheerful and well furnished. The gas chandelier, evidently lit by the caretaker, filled thn room with light, and a great fire burned in the open fireplace. A large grandfather clock at the end of. the long room told Pierre that it was five minutes to one. He helped himself to a glass of wine from the carafe on the table. He stood in the centre of the room and lifted the glass.

"Etienne," he said aloud. "I drink to your good health!" Suddenly there flashed into his mind the thought of Yvonne,- and with it he remembered the robe. He had left it downstairs! He looked at the clock again. It was three minutes to one. Some strange force seemed to possess Dulac. He dashed from the room, down the stairs to the library beneath, seized the robe from the chair oil which he had thrown it, and pulled it on over his head. As he ran back up the stairs, fearful that he should be late, he tied the knotted cords of the monk's robe about his waist.

He reached the room on the floor above, and closed the door behind him. The grandfather clock told him that it was half a minute to one o'clock.

The harsli chime had hardly echoed through the room, and the whirr of the pendulum had not ceased when another sound broke the atmosphere. Dulac stood rooted to the spot in terror as the shrill laughter which he recognised as that of Etienne Tienstin sounded through-the room. Then, to his horror, Pierre heard the sound of his partner's voice.

"Well, my dear rierre," said the voice, "so you havo arrived. I am pleased to see you, my friend, and glad to know that you are so near good fortune. My best wishes to you and to Yvonne . . . but —and this is my final request—l have a little gift for Yvonne, a necklace that I would like her to wear on her wedding day. I have placed it in a safe spot. It is in the grandfather clock at the end of the room. Go and get it, my friend; give it to her, and tell her and the rest that you have spoken to Etienne Tienstin. Farewell, Pierre. Give her the necklace, with mv love."

Dulac shuddered. Then with an effort of will he moved across the room towards the grandfather clock. But as lie reached the 6quare mat on which the clock stood something happened. He trod upon the end of the cord of tlio monk's lube, which trailed in front of his feet, tripped himself and fell.

And as he fell it happened. As his weight came upon the square mat the front of the grandfather clock sprang open, a steel arm flashed out, and in the end of the arm was inserted a knife. It struck out and down, striking at the empty air with terrific force at the spot where Dulac's heart would have bqpn had lie been standing on his feet. But the momentary glimpse of the interior of the clock had showed him tlie mechanism and the gramophone record which, synchronised with the tim- °'. c l° L 'k. had created Etienne Tienetin's "voice."

Dulac got to his feet. Beads of cold sweat stood out upon his forehead as he walked back to the table and poured himself a glass of wine with trembling hand. °

He held the glass aloft. "\vonne," he said, "I drink to you whose thought has saved my life, and to the holy monk whose rob I wore."

Then he ran from the house towards the lights of the t&frn.

(THE END.)