The Sacrificial Altar
by Atherton, Gertrude“Will you not believe me?” shrieked Louis.
“Perhaps, dear boy, when you have slept on it—”
“Oh, don’t talk as if you thought me insane. If you refuse to believe me I shall go from here and give myself up. I intend to do that anyhow, but I wished to confess to you first. That was your right.”
“Do you know what would happen if you went to a police station and denounced yourself? You would first be laughed at and then, if you persisted, sent to a lunatic asylum. It is well you came to me first. Why, the murderer has been hanged. The state would refuse to reopen the case—”
“Surely not!”
“Surely yes.”
“Then it is between you and me?”
“And a doctor if you do not go to bed at once.”
“Oh, but you must believe in me!” Another memory flashed into his stimulated mind, and he confronted M. Cesar with an air of triumph. “The man denied it, did he not? He said he went into the house to steal and found Berthe murdered, and fled. Is it not so?”
“Naturally.”
“Now attend. How do you account for the fact that they found nothing on him—neither the missing gold nor the diamonds wrenched from the bracelet?”
“He had an accomplice, of course. He stood under the window while the man, after he murdered Berthe, dropped the loot out of the window. A brooch was found on the grass. The rear gate was open.”
“Ah no, Monsieur. I flung that brooch out of the window. I have that gold, those diamonds in my desk at home. Come with me.”
For a moment M. Cesar turned gray and the shoulders that had supported a musket so gallantly in 1870 sagged as if old age had suddenly made its perch there. But he shook himself angrily erect. Did he not know Louis and his delusions? Was the poor boy ever actually on the mortal plane? Had not he himself, twice summoned by Seraphine, poured scalding coffee down his throat? Undoubtedly he had loved Berthe and been inspired at last, for during the first hours of his own grief and horror he had dared to intrude upon the high priest at his altar, and met the unseeing eyes of a genius in ecstasy. No wonder he was nearly mad with grief now.