The Mystery of Choice

ced a gendarme with a bared sab

idered most important, such as ashes from the Red Admiral's pipe, footprints in a dusty vegetable bin, bottles smelling of Pouldu cider, and dust-oh, lots of dust!-but I was not an expert, only a stupid, eve

d wheat which only grows inland, and which, everybody in St. Gildas knew, Yves Terrec wore in his sabots. I was perfectly satisfied; and when, three hours later, a hoarse shouting from the Bannalec Road brought me to the window, I was not surprised to see Yves Terrec, bloody, dishevelled, hatless, with his strong arms bound behind him, walking with bent head between two mounted gendarmes. The crowd around him swelled every minute, crying: "Parricide! parricide! Death to the murderer!" As he passed my window I saw great clots of mud on his dusty sabots, from the heels of which projected wisps of red wheat str

lid. The interior was wadded with the red wheat straws, and on this wadding lay two curious glass jars, two or three small vials, several empty bottles labelled chloroform, a collecting jar of cyanide of potassium, and a book. In a farther co

of the chest, and sat down to read the letters. They were

contents of the first

, June

s Blowzer's How to catch British Butterflies, with notes and tables, and an introduction by Sir Thomas Sniffer. The price of this wor

rs,

ey & T

Square, Lo

ney had been received and the book would be forwarded. The third engage

the Berlin Entomological Society, whose note Blowzer refers to on page 630, in his How to catch British Butterflies. We have just received an answer from Professor Schweineri, which we translate into French-(s

s sin

ey & T

d slip read

Fradley

it cythyl. I have used it with great success everywhere. It is as certain as a magnet. I beg to present you three small jars, and would be pleased to have you forward two

rs,

ch Schw

D.D., D.

my pocket with the others. Then I opened Blowzer's valuable w

gh all the other pages were perfectly clean, this particular page was thumbed black, and

e, even for an enthusiastic collector, but also very uncertain. Once in five hundred times would the splendid butterfly leave the tops of his favourite oak trees to circle about the fetid bait offered. I have found cythyl a perfectly sure bait to draw this beautiful butterfly to the ground, where it can be easily captured. An ounce of cythyl placed in a yellow sau

the two jars. They were labelled "Cythyl." One was full, the other nearly full. "The rest mu

d, and the hallway was choked with gendarmes and peasants. On every side they greeted me cordially, announcing that the real murderer was caught; but I pushed by them without a word and ran upstairs to find Lys. She opened her doo

ness the dog-cart and drive you to the convent in Quimperlé. Wait

iss me," she said innocently; t

wings; for the chrysalis had given up its silent tenant, the butterfly symbol of immortality. Then a great fear fell upon me. I know now that it was the fear of the Black Priest, but neither then nor for years after did I know that the Black Priest had ever lived on earth. As I bent over the box I heard a confused murmur outside the house whic

they howled.

plendid butterfly by its closed fore wings and lifted it unharmed between my thumb a

nt of the huge empty fireplace. They were the Brigadier Durand, Max Fortin, the chemist of Quimperlé, and the Purple

said, "do you know mu

pecialty," he

eard of such a t

yl? Oh, yes! We us

aid. "Has i

an odour. It is curious," he continued, looking at me, "it is very curious you should h

gine so now

ore tha

ertainly hither and thither, and then, to my astonishment, sailed majestically back into the café and alighted on the

ied to the Brigadier Durand;

rward in his chair, his face ghastl

re stood the Brigadier Durand, one hand supporting the hearthstone, one hand raised in horror. There stood Max Fortin, the chemist, rigid with excitement, and below, in the hollow bed

way, and rolled his head muttering; "Bait for butterflies! Cythyl! Oh, no, no, no! You can

lé to claim my bride, carried him to Quimper,

that I had hold of, whether it was a salmon, a grilse, or a sea trout, I may not say, because I have promised Lys, and

E FU

d-swe

orland stretchi

moaning in a

gull'

by th

sullen in th

in long strips

atis

te

E FU

he keepers of the

one. Presently he moved on again, pausing at times, and turning ri

ring what his errand might be, followed, passing silently over the rotting forest mould. Once or twice he heard me, for I saw him stop shor

things that die alone in the world. Undertaker, sexton, mute, and gravedigger in one, this thing, robed in black and orange

felt winds, and I heard the dry leaves rattle in the tree tops, and the thud of acorns on th

ulleys toward a brown tuft of withered grass above. I dared not help him; besides,

r of death and decay in this little forest world, where I had waited for spring when Lys moved amon

ry wave of wind. The wind brought sadness with it, the scent of lifeless

rost-blighted, lay massed above the mud. I saw their p

ir. Overhead a crow rose heavily and flapped out into the moorland; the wind rattled the stark blackthorns; a single drop of rain touched my cheek. I looked into the stream for some

ds with a silken rustle. I put out my hand and touched a ye

the wood. Some little field mouse torn by weasel or kestrel, some crushed mole, some tiny dead pile of fur or feather, lay not far off, st

e leafless branches, and I saw a small snake, head raised, swim from a submerged clot of weeds into the shadow of

tuck to him, and his progress was impeded by it. Once I saw a small brown and white spider, striped like a zebra, running swiftly in his tracks, but the sexton tur

hing moves in the blue above, floating like a moat; then another, then others. These specks

vous with Death, but never wait

s the clover with the bees. Death in a scented garden, the tokens of the plague on a fair young breast, the gray flag of fear in the face of one who reels into the arms of Destruction, the sexton scrambl

the winter wheat, like green scenery in a theatre, stretching for miles across the cliffs, crude as painted grass. And as I cr

darted unde

in burst out across the moors, and the trees dashed their stark limbs together till

ng that the Purple Emperor was dead; but the wind tore the words from her white lips, and f

d in my soul, and I raised her fr

the ground and seek shelter under a little dead sky

in. It passed us twice, still singing, and as it passed again

MESS

gray me

ke paint

obe is

do yo

ies and c

d

ies and c

d

do yo

gray me

the awf

inted

W

MESS

-wi

l there is to see

all there is

isc

ill to say thy

W

and he placed his middle finger over a smoot

d of dry seaweed and u

e edges of the shot-hole, first with

the skull ag

icked it up

ithout offering to take it from him. After a moment

f. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so I brought this over

are there altoget

list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's

p my gun and started across the cliffs,

ked, lighting my pipe. "

the little chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here.

cover to my pipe

pper-box arrangement over the glowin

the brass tube has preserved it. It is as fres

at the

0.' The Brigadier Durand has i

in French!"

n solemnly, "it is

reton language was never w

riests," sai

priest who ever wrote the

e a glance

e Black Prie

odd

itated, and finally shut his teeth obstinat

eless; for it is easier to move the stars from their courses than to ma

t, which he was trampling as though it were heather. As I spoke we came in sight

n see him; he stands just be

raight down, following a sun-bake

the Mayor of St. Gildas, called to me, and I tucked my

itched voice; "there is but one more, and I am opp

and returned the salute

cking at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of hi

d his tremendous mustache, and ho

d, "I am in favour

what-for the thirty-

cliffs to the horizon. I followed his eyes. On the dark glistening cliffs, silhouetted against

at list, Dur

rewed the head and dumped out a scroll of thick yellow paper closely covered with writing on both sides. At a nod

translate it, won't you? You and Max Fortin m

the three Bannalec men were digging, gave a

en were removing a square piece of sail-cloth f

ambered down the gravel sides of the pit and walked over to the men of Bannalec. They saluted me

?" said I

ight," th

n, rusted bits of iron and steel. Looking closer, I saw that this mound was composed of rusty bayonets, sab

ns bore the royal arms of England; the belt plate was embla

nglish regiment, the 27th Foot, which landed and sto

these are the bones

d the men

it above, and I handed the belt plate and buttons

icking my face as I emerged from the pit, "I suppose you kno

, who passed here in a dog-cart on his way to Quimper ab

lics?" I as

, was standing there where Max Fortin stands, and do you know what he answered? He spat up

ved from one year's end to the other without bein

Englishman offer

rancs for the

s and the relic buyers on the

ed and sixty is

dead can never

here to kill your fathers and

d," said Tregunc, coming up from the beach below,

ear, Jean Marie?" I asked, tu

nd twenty fran

? My wife wished me to ask you. I think it would be worth one hundred francs a month to you and to me. Come

zing at me, his

," I said, smiling, "i

mbling for his pipe in a sil

Tregunc started across the moors toward St. Gildas, taking off h

" said the mayor, after a moment's

r your salary except play dominoes

and winked at Max Fortin, and I slipped my arm t

iff," I said; "come on, Le Bihan,

w of the cliff, and I threw myself up

against the cliff, polishing his glasses and examining us with vague, near-sighted eyes; and Le B

ipe, and while lighting it I shall tell you what I have heard about t

oduced a tobacco pouch, a bit of flint and tinder, and a long-stemmed pipe fitted with a microscopical bowl of baked clay. To fill such a pipe requires ten

d I, lightin

from the island of Groix-three shiploads-and they stormed the fort and sacked St. Julien yonder, and they started to burn St. Gildas-you can see the marks of their bullets on my house yet;

h skull?" I asked, f

ling his pipe, and now he bega

etween his defective teeth-"the thirty-ninth skull is no bus

the missing skull?"

et it aglow, applied it to his pipe, took the prescribed four puffs, knoc

ng skull?"

aid I im

began to read, translating from the Bre

liffs of

l 13,

ying in Kerselec Forest, the bodies of thirty-eight English soldiers of the 27th, 50th, an

and glanced at

Le Bihan

hat the brand should even burn into the bone of the skull. The traitor was then led out and bidden to kneel. He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix. Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office to aid him in discovering the password to the fort. This password he extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the habit of ro

claimed, "Ma

ather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed. The priest w

nded the manuscript back to Durand. The gendarme

y-ninth skull is the sku

in. "I hope they

eed," said the mayor querulous

gun. M?me came and pushe

og," observed Du

d Le Bihan. "It would be curious to see whethe

I didn't read to you," said the mayor

" I replied

cutioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my curse. My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her des

ou believe it was really

"at the request of Monsieur le Maire.

g out the scroll to me, "it

uriously ov

. This is a wonderfully interesting discovery, for now, at last, the mystery of the Black Pr

shall be buried in the pit below whe

t would be useless. But still I said, "It w

y, then," said the enligh

sh soldiers toward the St. Gildas cemetery, on the cliffs to the east, where already a knot of white-coiffed wom

ssassins; they are dead

the Mayor of St. Gildas, lo

ed by the priest-she and her descendants," I said, touching Le Bihan on the

aid Le Bihan, looki

en they were ance

the curse?" a

" I la

the Purple Emperor,"

shoulders and kicked at a smooth bit of rock which la

himself crazy because he was descended fr

t," said Max

mayor. "I only-- Hello! w

rily giving another kick. The smooth bit of rock dislodge

ngo, its the noddle of the Black Priest! See!

ated. There was a pause, during which I looke

"I don't like it! The scroll says he will come back to St. Gildas w

an't get out. For Heaven's sake, Le Bihan, what is t

r gave m

You are an Englishman, Mons

er. You know I

said the Mayor of St.

and deliberately pushed the skull till it ro

end it to Paris. Don't look so gloomy, Fortin, unless you believe in were-wolves and ghosts. H

, tremulous voice, "it's time we got out

ed Max Fortin, p

sunny pasture now, and I hastened after t

d terror. "The skull is rolling uphill again!" and he burst

een before I pushed it over the edge. For a second I stared at it; a singular chilly feeling crept up my spinal column, and I turned and walked away, sweat starting from t

lay th

d the skull over the edge of the pit and watched it roll to the bottom; and as it struck the bottom of t

d; but the dog only fled the faster, a

ith that dog!" I thought. He had n

could not see the skull. I looked down. The

till facing it, one, ten, twenty paces, my eyes almost starting from my head, as though I expected to see the thing roll up from the bottom of the pit under my very gaze. At last I turned my back to the pit and strode out across the gorse-covered moorland toward my home. As I reached the road