The clock of the Invalides struck one.
Then Caderousse sat astride the coping, and drawing up his ladder passed it over the wall; then he began to descend, or rather to slide down by the two stanchions, which he did with an ease which proved how accustomed he was to the exercise.
But, once started, he could not stop.
In vain did he see a man start from the shadow when he was halfway down--in vain did he see an arm raised as he touched the ground. Before he could defend himself that arm struck him so violently in the back that he let go the ladder, crying,
"Help!"
A second blow struck him almost immediately in the side, and he fell, calling,
"Help, murder!"
Then, as he rolled on the ground, his adversary seized him by the hair, and struck him a third blow in the chest.
This time Caderousse endeavored to call again, but he could only utter a groan, and he shuddered as the blood flowed from his three wounds.
The assassin, finding that he no longer cried out, lifted his head up by the hair; his eyes were closed, and the mouth was distorted.
The murderer, supposing him dead, let fall his head and disappeared.
Then Caderousse, feeling that he was leaving him, raised himself on his elbow, and with a dying voice cried with great effort,
"Murder!
I am dying!
Help, reverend sir,--help!"
This mournful appeal pierced the darkness.
The door of the back-staircase opened, then the side-gate of the garden, and Ali and his master were on the spot with lights.
Chapter 83.
The Hand of God.
Caderousse continued to call piteously,
"Help, reverend sir, help!"
"What is the matter?" asked Monte Cristo.
"Help," cried Caderousse; "I am murdered!"
"We are here;--take courage."
"Ah, it's all over!
You are come too late--you are come to see me die.
What blows, what blood!"
He fainted.
Ali and his master conveyed the wounded man into a room.
Monte Cristo motioned to Ali to undress him, and he then examined his dreadful wounds.
"My God!" he exclaimed, "thy vengeance is sometimes delayed, but only that it may fall the more effectually."
Ali looked at his master for further instructions.
"Bring here immediately the king's attorney, M. de Villefort, who lives in the Faubourg St. Honore.
As you pass the lodge, wake the porter, and send him for a surgeon."
Ali obeyed, leaving the abbe alone with Caderousse, who had not yet revived.
When the wretched man again opened his eyes, the count looked at him with a mournful expression of pity, and his lips moved as if in prayer.
"A surgeon, reverend sir--a surgeon!" said Caderousse.
"I have sent for one," replied the abbe.
"I know he cannot save my life, but he may strengthen me to give my evidence."
"Against whom?"
"Against my murderer."
"Did you recognize him?"
"Yes; it was Benedetto."
"The young Corsican?"
"Himself."
"Your comrade?"
"Yes.
After giving me the plan of this house, doubtless hoping I should kill the count and he thus become his heir, or that the count would kill me and I should be out of his way, he waylaid me, and has murdered me."
"I have also sent for the procureur."
"He will not come in time; I feel my life fast ebbing."