The Three Eyes. Leblanc Maurice

the ropes with hatchets. Etienne and Joseph Montgolfier lifted their hats.

      And the balloon rose in space. The people in the crowd raised their arms and filled the air with an immense clamour.

      For a moment, the screen showed us the two brothers, by themselves and enlarged. With the upper part of their bodies leaning from the car, each with one arm round the other's waist and one hand clasping the other's, they seemed to be praying with an air of unspeakable ecstasy and solemn joy.

      Slowly the ascent continued. And it was then that something utterly inexplicable occurred: the balloon, as it rose above the little town and the surrounding hills, did not appear to my uncle and me as an object which we were watching from an increasing depth below. No, it was the little town and the hills which were sinking and which, by sinking, proved to us that the balloon was ascending. But there was also this absolutely illogical phenomenon, that we remained on the same level as the balloon, that it retained the same dimensions and that the two brothers stood facing us, exactly as though the photograph had been taken from the car of a second balloon, rising at the same time as the first with an exactly and mathematically identical movement!

      The scene was not completed. Or rather it was transformed in accordance with the method of the cinematograph, which substitutes one picture for another by first blending them together. Imperceptibly, when it was perhaps some fifteen hundred feet from the ground, the Montgolfier balloon became less distinct and its vague and softened outlines gradually mingled with the more and more powerful outlines of another shape which soon occupied the whole space and which proved to be that of a military aeroplane.

      Several times since then the mysterious screen has shown me two successive scenes of which the second completed the first, thus forming a diptych which displayed the evident wish to convey a lesson by connecting, across space and time, two events which in this way acquired their full significance. This time the moral was clear: the peaceable balloon had culminated in the murderous aeroplane. First the ascent at Annonay. Then a fight in mid-air, a fight between the monoplane which I had seen develop from the old-fashioned balloon and the biplane upon which I beheld it swooping like a bird of prey.

      Was it an illusion or a "faked representation?" For here again we saw the two aeroplanes not in the normal fashion, from below, but as if we were at the same height and moving at the same rate of speed. In that case, were we to admit that an operator, perched on a third machine, was calmly engaged in "filming" the shifting fortunes of the terrible battle? That was impossible, surely!

      But there was no good purpose to be served by renewing these perpetual suppositions over and over again. Why should I doubt the unimpeachable evidence of my eyes and deny the undeniable? Real aeroplanes were manoeuvring before my eyes. A real fight was taking place in the thickness of that old wall.

      It did not last long. The man who was alone was attacking boldly. Time after time his machine-gun flashed forth flames. Then, to avoid the enemy's bullets, he looped the loop twice, each time throwing his aeroplane in such a position that I was able to distinguish on the canvas the three concentric circles that denote the Allied machines. Then, coming nearer and attacking his adversaries from behind, he returned to his gun.

      The Hun biplane – I observed the iron cross – dived straight for the ground and recovered itself. The two men seemed to be sitting tight under their furs and masks. There was a third machine-gun attack. The pilot threw up his hands. The biplane capsized and fell.

      I saw this fall in the most inexplicable fashion. At first, of course, it seemed swift as lightning. And then it became infinitely slow and even ceased, with the machine overturned and the two bodies motionless, head downwards and arms outstretched.

      Then the ground shot up with a dizzy speed, devastated, shell-holed fields, swarming with thousands of French poilus.

      The biplane came down beside a river. From the shapeless fuselage and the shattered wings two legs appeared.

      And the French plane landed almost immediately, a short way off. The victor stepped out, pushed back the soldiers who had run up from every side and, moving a few yards towards his motionless prey, took off his mask and made the sign of the cross.

      "Oh," I whispered, "this is dreadful! And how mysterious!."

      Then I saw that Noël Dorgeroux was on his knees, his face distorted with emotion:

      "What is it, uncle?" I asked.

      Stretching towards the wall his trembling hands, which were clasped together, he stammered:

      "Dominique! I recognize my son! It's he! Oh, I'm terrified!"

      I also, as I gazed at the victor, recovered in my memory the time-effaced image of my poor cousin.

      "It's he!" continued my uncle. "I was right.. the expression of the Three Eyes… Oh! I can't look!.. I'm afraid!"

      "Afraid of what, uncle?"

      "They are going to kill him.. to kill him before my eyes.. to kill him as they actually did kill him.. Dominique! Dominique! Take care!" he shouted.

      I did not shout: what warning cry could reach the man about to die? But the same terror brought me to my knees and made me wring my hands. In front of us, from underneath the shapeless mass, among the heaped-up wreckage, something rose up, the swaying body of one of the victims. An arm was extended, aiming a revolver. The victor sprang to one side. It was too late. Shot through the head, he spun round upon his heels and fell beside the dead body of his murderer.

      The tragedy was over.

      My uncle, bent double, was sobbing pitifully a few paces from my side. He had witnessed the actual death of his son, foully murdered in the great war by a German airman!

      CHAPTER V

      THE KISS

      Bérangère next day resumed her place at meals, looking a little pale and wearing a more serious face than usual. My uncle, who had not troubled about her during the last two days, kissed her absent-mindedly. We lunched without a word. Not until we had nearly ended did Noël Dorgeroux speak to his god-child:

      "Well, dear, are you none the worse for your fall?"

      "Not a bit, god-father; and I'm only sorry that I didn't see.. what you saw up there, yesterday and the day before. Are you going there presently, god-father?"

      "Yes, but I'm going alone."

      This was said in a peremptory tone which allowed of no reply. My uncle was looking at me. I did not stir a muscle.

      Lunch finished in an awkward silence. As he was about to leave the room, Noël Dorgeroux turned back to me and asked:

      "Do you happen to have lost anything in the Yard?"

      "No, uncle. Why do you ask?"

      "Because," he answered, with a slight hesitation, "because I found this on the ground, just in front of the wall."

      He showed me a lens from an eye-glass.

      "But you know, uncle," I said, laughing, "that I don't wear spectacles or glasses of any kind."

      "No more do I!" Bérangère declared.

      "That's so, that's so," Noël Dorgeroux replied, in a thoughtful tone. "But, still, somebody has been there. And you can understand my uneasiness."

      In the hope of making him speak, I pursued the subject:

      "What are you uneasy about, uncle? At the worst, some one may have seen the pictures produced on the screen, which would not be enough, so it seems to me, to enable the secret of your discovery to be stolen. Remember that I myself, who was with you, am hardly any wiser than I was before."

      I felt that he did not intend to answer and that he resented my insistence. This irritated me.

      "Listen, uncle," I said. "Whatever the reasons for your conduct may be, you have no right to suspect me; and I ask and entreat you to give me an explanation. Yes, I entreat you, for I cannot remain in this uncertainty. Tell me, uncle, was it really your son whom you saw die, or were we shown a fabricated picture of his death? Then again, what is the unseen and omnipotent entity which causes these phantoms to follow one another