



Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer





                       The Mystery of Orcival

                                 By

                           Emile Gaboriau




I


On Thursday, the 9th of July, 186-, Jean Bertaud and his son, well known
at Orcival as living by poaching and marauding, rose at three o'clock in
the morning, just at daybreak, to go fishing.

Taking their tackle, they descended the charming pathway, shaded by
acacias, which you see from the station at Evry, and which leads from
the burg of Orcival to the Seine.

They made their way to their boat, moored as usual some fifty yards
above the wire bridge, across a field adjoining Valfeuillu, the imposing
estate of the Count de Tremorel.

Having reached the river-bank, they laid down their tackle, and Jean
jumped into the boat to bail out the water in the bottom.

While he was skilfully using the scoop, he perceived that one of the
oar-pins of the old craft, worn by the oar, was on the point of
breaking.

"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 the
park of Valfeuillu, a few rods distant; and, neglectful of Article 391
of the Penal Code, jumped across the wide ditch which surrounds M. de
Tremorel's domain. He thought he would cut off a branch of one of the
old willows, which at this place touch the water with their drooping
branches.

He had scarcely drawn his knife from his pocket, while looking about him
with the poacher's unquiet glance, when he uttered a low cry, "Father!
Here! Father!"

"What's the matter?" responded the old marauder, without pausing from
his 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 had
happened. He threw down his scoop, and, anxiety quickening him, in three
leaps was in the park. He also stood still, horror-struck, before the
spectacle which had terrified Philippe.

On the bank of the river, among the stumps and flags, was stretched a
woman's body. Her long, dishevelled locks lay among the water-shrubs;
her dress--of gray silk--was soiled with mire and blood. All the upper
part 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 can
this woman be? Really one would say, the countess."

"We'll see," said the young man. He stepped toward the body; his father
caught him by the arm.

"What would you do, fool?" said he. "You ought never to touch the body
of 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! Who
knows that they would not accuse us--"

"But, father--"

"If we go and inform Monsieur Courtois, he will ask us how and why we
came to be in Monsieur de Tremorel's park to find this out. What is it
to you, that the countess has been killed? They'll find her body without
you. Come, let's go away."

But Philippe did not budge. Hanging his head, his chin resting upon his
palm, he reflected.

"We must make this known," said he, firmly. "We are not savages; we will
tell Monsieur Courtois that in passing along by the park in our boat, we
perceived the body."

Old Jean resisted at first; then, seeing that his son would, if need be,
go without him, yielded.

They re-crossed the ditch, and leaving their fishing-tackle in the
field, directed their steps hastily toward the mayor's house.

Orcival, situated a mile or more from Corbeil, on the right bank of the
Seine, is one of the most charming villages in the environs of Paris,
despite the infernal etymology of its name. The gay and thoughtless
Parisian, who, on Sunday, wanders about the fields, more destructive
than the rook, has not yet discovered this smiling