Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
The Mystery of Orcival
By
Emile Gaboriau
On Thursday, the 9th of July, 186-, Jean Bertaud and his son, well knownat Orcival as living by poaching and marauding, rose at three o'clock inthe morning, just at daybreak, to go fishing.
Taking their tackle, they descended the charming pathway, shaded byacacias, which you see from the station at Evry, and which leads fromthe burg of Orcival to the Seine.
They made their way to their boat, moored as usual some fifty yardsabove the wire bridge, across a field adjoining Valfeuillu, the imposingestate of the Count de Tremorel.
Having reached the river-bank, they laid down their tackle, and Jeanjumped into the boat to bail out the water in the bottom.
While he was skilfully using the scoop, he perceived that one of theoar-pins of the old craft, worn by the oar, was on the point ofbreaking.
"Philippe," cried he, to his son, who was occupied in unravelling a net,"bring me a bit of wood to make a new oar-pin."
"All right," answered Philippe.
There was no tree in the field. The young man bent his steps toward thepark of Valfeuillu, a few rods distant; and, neglectful of Article 391of the Penal Code, jumped across the wide ditch which surrounds M. deTremorel's domain. He thought he would cut off a branch of one of theold willows, which at this place touch the water with their droopingbranches.
He had scarcely drawn his knife from his pocket, while looking about himwith the poacher's unquiet glance, when he uttered a low cry, "Father!Here! Father!"
"What's the matter?" responded the old marauder, without pausing fromhis work.
"Father, come here!" continued Philippe. "In Heaven's name, come here,quick!"
Jean knew by the tone of his son's voice that something unusual hadhappened. He threw down his scoop, and, anxiety quickening him, in threeleaps was in the park. He also stood still, horror-struck, before thespectacle which had terrified Philippe.
On the bank of the river, among the stumps and flags, was stretched awoman's body. Her long, dishevelled locks lay among the water-shrubs;her dress—of gray silk—was soiled with mire and blood. All the upperpart of the body lay in shallow water, and her face had sunk in the mud.
"A murder!" muttered Philippe, whose voice trembled.
"That's certain," responded Jean, in an indifferent tone. "But who canthis woman be? Really one would say, the countess."
"We'll see," said the young man. He stepped toward the body; his fathercaught him by the arm.
"What would you do, fool?" said he. "You ought never to touch the bodyof a murdered person without legal authority."
"You think so?"
"Certainly. There are penalties for it."
"Then, come along and let's inform the Mayor."
"Why? as if people hereabouts were not against us enough already! Whoknows that they would not accuse us—"
"But, father—"
"If we go and inform Monsieur Courtois, he will ask us how and why wecame to be in Monsieur de Tremorel's park to find this out. What is itto you, that the countess has been killed? They'll find her body withoutyou. Come, let's go away."
But Philippe did not budge. Hanging his he