CHAPTER NINETEEN
"THE SNARE IS LAID. BEWARE, LUPIN!"
The power that had impelled Don Luis to battle and victory was so intensethat it suffered, so to speak, no cheek. Disappointment, rage,humiliation, torture, were all swallowed up in an immediate desire foraction and information, together with a longing to continue the chase.The rest was but an incident of no importance, which would soon be verysimply explained.
The petrified taxi-driver was gazing wildly at the peasants coming fromthe distant farms, attracted by the sound of the aeroplane. Don Luis tookhim by the throat and put the barrel of his revolver to the man's temple:
"Tell me what you know--or you're a dead man."
And when the unhappy wretch began to stammer out entreaties:
"It's no use moaning, no use hoping for assistance.... Those people won'tget here in time. So there's only one way of saving yourself: speak! Lastnight a gentleman came to Versailles from Paris in a taxi, left it andtook yours: is that it?"
"Yes."
"The gentleman had a lady with him?"
"Yes."
"And he engaged you to take him to Nantes?"
"Yes."
"But he changed his mind on the way and told you to put him down?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Before we got to Mans, in a little road on the right, with a sort ofcoach-house, looking like a shed, a hundred yards down it. They both gotout there."
"And you went on?"
"He paid me to."
"How much?"
"Five hundred francs. And there was another fare waiting at Nantes that Iwas to pick up and bring back to Paris for a thousand francs more."
"Do you believe in that other fare?"
"No. I think he wanted to put people off the scent by sending them afterme to Nantes while he branched off. Still, I had my money."
"And, when you left them, weren't you curious to see what happened?"
"No."
"Take care! A movement of my finger and I blow out your brains. Speak!"
"Well, yes, then. I went back on foot, behind a bank covered with trees.The man had opened the coach-house and was starting a small limousinecar. The lady did not want to get in. They argued pretty fiercely. Hethreatened and begged by turns. But I could not hear what they said. Sheseemed very tired. He gave her a glass of water, which he drew from a tapin the wall. Then she consented. He closed the door on her and took hisseat at the wheel."
"A glass of water!" cried Don Luis. "Are you sure he put nothing elseinto the glass?"
The driver seemed surprised at the question and then answered:
"Yes, I think he did. He took something from his pocket."
"Without the lady's knowledge?"
"Yes, she didn't see."
Don Luis mastered his horror. After all it was impossible that thevillain had poisoned Florence in that way, at that place, withoutanything to warrant so great a hurry. No, it was more likely that he hademployed a narcotic, a drug of some sort which would dull Florence'sbrain and make her incapable of noticing by what new roads and throughwhat towns he was taking her.
"And then," he repeated, "she decided to step in?"
"Yes; and he shut the door and got into the driver's seat. I wentaway then."
"Before knowing which direction they took?"
"Yes."
"Did you suspect on the way that they thought that they were beingfollowed?"
"Certainly. He did nothing but put his head out of the window."
"Did the lady cry out at all?"
"No."
"Would you know him again if you saw him?"
"No, I'm sure I shouldn't. At Versailles it was dark. And this morning Iwas too far away. Besides, it's curious, but the first time he struck meas very tall, and this morning, on the contrary, he looked quite a shortman, as though bent in two. I can't understand it at all."
Don Luis reflected. It seemed to him that he had asked all the necessaryquestions. Moreover, a gig drawn by a quick-trotting horse wasapproaching the crossroads. There were two others behind it. And thegroups of peasants were now quite near. He must finish the business.
He said to the chauffeur:
"I can see by your face that you intend to talk about me. Don't do that,my man: it would be foolish of you. Here's a thousand-franc note foryou. Only, if you blab, I'll make you repent it. That's all I have tosay to you."
He turned to Davanne, whose machine was beginning to block the traffic,and asked:
"Can we start?"
"Whenever you like. Where are we going?"
Paying no attention to the movements of the people coming from everyside, Don Luis unfolded his map of France and spread it out before him.He experienced a few seconds of anxiety at seeing the complicated tangleof roads and picturing the infinite number of places to which the villainmight carry Florence. But he pulled himself together. He did not allowhimself to hesitate. He refused even to reflect.
He was determined to find out, and to find out everything, at once,without clues, without useless consideration, simply by the marvellousintuition which invariably guided him at any crisis in his life.
And his self-respect also required that he should give Davanne his answerwithout delay, and that the disappearance of those whom he was pursuingshould not seem to embarrass him. With his eyes glued to the map, heplaced one finger on Paris and another on Le Mans and, even before he hadasked himself why the scoundrel had chosen that Paris-Le Mans-Angersroute, he knew the answer to the question.
The name of a town had struck him and made the truth appear like a flashof lightning: Alencon! Then and there, by the light of his memory, hepenetrated the mystery.
He repeated:
"Where are we going? Back again, bearing to the left."
"Any particular place?"
"Alencon."
"All right," said Davanne. "Lend a hand, some of you. I can make an easystart from that field just there."
Don Luis and a few others helped him, and the preparations were soonmade. Davanne tested his engine. Everything was in perfect order.
At that moment a powerful racing car, with a siren yelling like a viciousanimal, came tearing along the Angers Road and promptly stopped. Threemen got out and rushed up to the driver of the yellow taxicab. Don Luisrecognized them. They were Weber, the deputy chief, and the men who hadtaken him to the lockup the night before, sent by the Prefect of Policeto follow up the scoundrel's tracks.
They had a brief interchange of words with the cab-driver, which seemedto put them out; and they kept on gesticulating and plying him with freshquestions while looking at their watches and consulting their road maps.
Don Luis went up to them. He was unrecognizable, with his head wrappedin his aviation cap and his face concealed by his goggles. Changinghis voice:
"The birds have flown, Mr. Deputy Chief," he said.
Weber looked at him in utter amazement,
Don Luis grinned.
"Yes, flown. Our friend from the Ile Saint Louis is an artful dodger,you know. My lord's in his third motor. After the yellow car of whichyou heard at Versailles last night, he took another at LeMans--destination unknown."
The deputy chief opened his eyes in amazement. Who was this person whowas mentioning facts that had been telephoned to police headquarters onlyat two o'clock that morning? He gasped:
"But who are you, Monsieur?"
"What? Don't you know me? What's the good of making appointments withpeople? You strain every nerve to be punctual, and then they ask you whoyou are! Come, Weber, confess that you're doing it to annoy me. Must yougaze on my features in broad daylight? Here goes!"
He raised his mask.
"Arsene Lupin!" spluttered the detective.
"At your service, young fellow: on foot, in the saddle, and in mid air.That's where I'm going now. Good-bye."
And so great was Weber's astonishment at seeing Arsene Lupin, whom he hadtaken to the lockup twelve hours before, standing in front of him, free
,at two hundred and forty miles from Paris, that Don Luis, as he went backto Davanne, thought:
"What a crusher! I've knocked him out in one round. There's no hurry. Thereferee will count ten at least three times before Weber can say'Mother!'"
* * * * *
Davanne was ready. Don Luis climbed into the monoplane. The peasantspushed at the wheels. The machine started.
"North-northeast," Don Luis ordered. "Ninety miles an hour. Tenthousand francs."
"We've the wind against us," said Davanne.
"Five thousand francs extra for the wind," shouted Don Luis.
He admitted no obstacle in his haste to reach Damigni. He now understoodthe whole thing and, harking back to the very beginning, he was surprisedthat his mind had never perceived the connection between the twoskeletons hanging in the barn and the series of crimes resulting from theMornington inheritance. Stranger still, how was it that the almostcertain murder of Langernault, Hippolyte Fauville's old friend, had notafforded him all the clues which it contained? The crux of the sinisterplot lay in that.
Who could have intercepted, on Fauville's behalf, the letters ofaccusation which Fauville was supposed to write to his old friendLangernault, except some one in the village or some one who had lived inthe village?
And now everything was clear. It was the nameless scoundrel who hadstarted his career of crime by killing old Langernault and then theDedessuslamare couple. The method was the same as later on: it was notdirect murder, but anonymous murder, murder by suggestion. LikeMornington the American, like Fauville the engineer, like Marie, likeGaston Sauverand, old Langernault had been craftily done away with andthe Dedessuslamare couple driven to commit suicide in the barn.
It was from there that the tiger had come to Paris, where later he was tofind Fauville and Cosmo Mornington and plot the tragic affair of theinheritance.
And it was there that he was now returning!
There was no doubt about that. To begin with, the fact that he hadadministered a narcotic to Florence constituted an indisputable proof.Was he not obliged to put Florence to sleep in order to prevent her fromrecognizing the landscape at Alencon and Damigni, or the Old Castle,which she had explored with Gaston Sauverand?
On the other hand, the Le Mans-Angers-Nantes route, which had been takento put the police on a false track, meant only an extra hour or two, atmost, for any one motoring to Alencon. Lastly, that coach-house near abig town, that limousine waiting, ready charged with petrol, showed thatthe villain, when he intended to visit his retreat, took the precautionof stopping at Le Mans, in order to go from there, in his limousine, toLangernault's deserted estate.
He would therefore reach his lair at ten o'clock that morning. And hewould arrive there with Florence Levasseur dead asleep!
The question forced itself upon him, the terrible persistentquestion--what did he mean to do with Florence Levasseur?
"Faster! Faster!" cried Don Luis.
Now that he knew the scoundrel's haunt, the man's scheme becamehideously evident to him. Feeling himself hunted down, lost, an objectof hatred and terror to Florence, whose eyes were now opened to the truestate of things, what plan could he have in mind except his invariableplan of murder?
"Faster!" cried Don Luis. "We're making no headway. Go faster,can't you?"
Florence murdered! Perhaps the crime was not yet accomplished. No, itcould not be! Killing takes time. It is preceded by words, by the offerof a bargain, by threats, by entreaties, by a wholly unspeakable scene.But the thing was being prepared, Florence was going to die!
Florence was going to die by the hand of the brute who loved her. For heloved her: Don Luis had an intuition of that monstrous love; and he wasbound to believe that such a love could only end in torture andbloodshed.
Sable ... Sille-le-Guillaume....
The earth sped beneath them. The trees and houses glided by like shadows.
And then Alencon.
It was hardly more than a quarter to two when they landed in a meadowbetween the town and Damigni. Don Luis made inquiries. A number of motorcars had passed along the road to Damigni, including a small limousinedriven by a gentleman who had turned down a crossroad. And this crossroadled to the woods at the back of Langernault's estate, the Old Castle.
Don Luis's conviction was so firm that, after taking leave of Davanne, hehelped him to start on his homeward flight. He had no further need ofhim. He needed nobody. The final duel was at hand.
He ran along, guided by the tracks of the tires in the dust, and followedthe crossroad. To his great surprise this road went nowhere near the wallbehind the barn from which he had jumped a few weeks before. Afterclearing the woods, Don Luis came out into a large untilled space wherethe road turned back toward the estate and ended at an old two-wingedgate protected with iron sheets and bars.
The limousine had gone in that way.
"And I must get in this way, too," thought Don Luis. "I must get in atall costs and immediately, without wasting time in looking for an openingor a handy tree."
Now the wall was thirteen feet high at this spot. Don Luis got in. How hemanaged it, by what superhuman effort, he himself could not have saidafter he had done it.
Somehow or other, by hanging on to invisible projections, by digging aknife which he had borrowed from Davanne into the interstices between thestones, he managed it.
And when he was on the other side he discovered the tracks of the tiresrunning to the left, toward a part of the grounds which he did not know,more undulating than the other and broken up with little hills and ruinedbuildings covered with thick curtains of ivy.
Deserted though the rest of the park was, this portion seemed much moreuncivilized, in spite of the ragged remains of box and laurel hedgesthat stood here and there amidst the nettles and brambles, and theluxuriant swarm of tall wild-flowers, valerian, mullein, hemlock,foxglove, and angelica.
Suddenly, on turning the corner of an old hedge of clipped yews, Don Luissaw the limousine, which had been left, or, rather, hidden there in ahollow. The door was open. The disorder of the inside of the car, the rughanging over the footboard, a broken window, a cushion on the floor, allbore witness to a struggle. The scoundrel had no doubt taken advantage ofthe fact that Florence was asleep to tie her up; and on arriving, when hetried to take her out of the car, Florence must have clutched ateverything that offered.
Don Luis at once verified the correctness of his theory. As he went alongthe very narrow, grass-grown path that led up the slope, he saw that thegrass was uniformly pressed down.
"Oh, the villain!" he thought. "The villain! He doesn't carry his victim,he drags her!"
If he had listened only to his instinct, he would have rushed toFlorence's rescue. But his profound sense of what to do and what to avoidsaved him from committing any such imprudence. At the first alarm, at theleast sound, the tiger would have throttled his prey. To escape thishideous catastrophe, Don Luis must take him by surprise and then andthere deprive him of his power of action. He controlled himself,therefore, and slowly and cautiously mounted the incline.
The path ran upward between heaps of stones and fallen buildings, andamong clumps of shrubs overtopped by beeches and oaks. The place wasevidently the site of the old feudal castle which had given the estateits name; and it was here, near the top, that the scoundrel had selectedone of his retreats.
The trail continued over the trampled herbage. And Don Luis even caughtsight of something shining on the ground, in a tuft of grass. It was aring, a tiny and very simple ring, consisting of a gold circlet and twosmall pearls, which he had often noticed on Florence's finger. And thefact that caught his attention was that a blade of grass passed andrepassed and passed a third time through the inside of the ring, like aribbon that had been rolled round it deliberately.
"It's a clear signal," said Perenna to himself. "The villain probablystopped here to rest; and Florence, bound up; but with her fingers free,was able to leave this evidence of her passage."
So the girl still hoped. She expected assistance. And Don Luis reflectedwith emotion that it was perhaps to him that this last desperate appealwas addressed.
Fifty steps farther--and this detail pointed to the rather curiousfatigue experienced by the scoundrel--there was a second halt and asecond clue, a flower, a field-sage, which the poor little hand hadpicked and plucked of its petals. Next came the print of the five fingersdug into the ground, and next a cross drawn with a pebble. And in thisway he was able to follow, minute by minute, all the successive stages ofthe horrible journey.
The last stopping-place was near. The climb became steeper and rougher.The fallen stones occasioned more frequent obstacles. On the right theGothic arches, the remains of a chapel, stood out against the blue sky.On the left was a strip of wall with a mantelpiece still clinging to it.
Twenty steps farther Don Luis stopped. He seemed to hear something.
He listened. He was not mistaken. The sound was repeated, and it was thesound of laughter. But such an awful laugh! A strident laugh, evil as thelaughter of a devil, and so shrill! It was more like the laugh of awoman, of a madwoman.
Again silence. Then another noise, the noise of an implement striking theground, then silence again.
And this was happening at a distance which Don Luis estimated at ahundred yards.
The path ended in three steps cut in the earth. At the top was a fairlylarge plateau, also encumbered with rubbish and ruins. In the centre,opposite Don Luis, stood a screen of immense laurels planted in asemicircle. The marks of trodden grass led up to it.
Don Luis was a little surprised, for the screen presented an impenetrableoutline. He walked on and found that there had once been a cutting, andthat the branches had ended by meeting again. They were easy to pushaside; and it was through here that the scoundrel must have passed. Toall appearances he was there now, at the end of his journey, not faraway, occupied in some sinister task.
Indeed the air was rent by a chuckle, so close by that Don Luis gave astart and felt as if the scoundrel were laughing beforehand at hisintervention. He remembered the letter with the words written in red ink:
There's still time, Lupin. Retire from the contest. If not, it means yourdeath, too. When you think that your object is attained, when your handis raised against me and you utter words of triumph, at the same momentthe ground will open beneath your feet. The place of your death ischosen. The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin!
The whole letter passed through his brain, with its formidable threat.And he felt a shiver of fear. But no fear could stay the man that he was.He had already taken hold of the branches with his hands and was clearinga way for himself.
He stopped. A last bulwark of leaves hid him from sight. He pulled someof them aside at the level of his eyes.
And he saw ...
First of all, he saw Florence, alone at this moment, lying on theground, bound, at thirty yards in front of him; and he at onceperceived, to his intense delight, from certain movements of her headthat she was still alive. He had come in time. Florence was not dead.She would not die. That was a certainty against which nothing couldprevail. Florence would not die.
Then he examined the things around. To the right and left of where hestood the screen of laurels curved and embraced a sort of arena in which,among yews that had once been clipped into cones, lay capitals, columns,broken pieces of arches and vaults, obviously placed there to adorn theformal garden that had been laid out on the ruins of the ancientdonjon-keep.
In the middle was a small circular space reached by two narrow paths, oneof which presented the same traces of trodden grass and was acontinuation of that by which Don Luis had come, while the otherintersected the first at right angles and joined the two ends of thescreen of shrubs.
Opposite was a confused heap of broken stones and natural rocks, cementedwith clay, bound together by the roots of gnarled trees, the wholeforming at the back of the picture a small, shallow grotto, full ofcrevices that admitted the light. The floor, which Don Luis could easilydistinguish, consisted of three or four flagstones.
Florence Levasseur lay inside this grotto, bound hand and foot, lookinglike the victim of some mysterious sacrifice about to be performed on thealtar of the grotto, in the amphitheatre of this old garden closed by thewall of tall laurels and overlooked by a pile of ancestral ruins.
In spite of the distance, Don Luis was able to make out every detail ofher pale face. Though convulsed with anguish, it still retained a certainserenity, an expression of waiting and even of expectancy, as ifFlorence, believing, until the last moment, in the possibility of amiracle, had not yet relinquished all hope of life.
Nevertheless, though she was not gagged, she did not call for help.Perhaps she thought that it was useless, and that the road which she hadstrewn with the marks of her passing was more likely to bring assistanceto her side than cries, which the villain would soon have stifled.Strange to say, it seemed to Don Luis as if the girl's eyes wereobstinately fixed on the very spot where he was hiding. Possibly shesuspected his presence. Possibly she foresaw his help.
Suddenly Don Luis clutched one of his revolvers and half raised his arm,ready to take aim. The sacrificer, the butcher, had just appeared, notfar from the altar on which the victim lay.
He came from between two rocks, of which a bush marked the interveningspace, which apparently afforded but a very low outlet, for he stillwalked as though bent double, with his head bowed and his long armsswinging so low as to touch the ground.
He went to the grotto and gave his horrible chuckle:
"You're still there, I see," he said. "No sign of the rescuer? Perseus isa little late, I fear. He'd better hurry!"
The tone of his voice was so shrill that Don Luis heard every word, andso odd, so unhuman, that it gave him a feeling of physical discomfort.He gripped his revolver tightly, prepared to shoot at the firstsuspicious movement.
"He'd better hurry!" repeated the scoundrel, with a laugh. "If not, allwill be over in five minutes. You see that I'm a man of method, eh,Florence, my darling?"
He picked up something from the ground. It was a stick shaped like acrutch. He put it under his left arm and, still bent in two, began towalk like a man who has not the strength to stand erect. Then suddenlyand with no apparent cause to explain his change of attitude, he drewhimself up and used his crutch as he would a cane. He then walked roundthe outside of the grotto, making a careful inspection, the meaning ofwhich escaped Don Luis for the time.
He was of a good height in this position; and Don Luis easilyunderstood why the driver of the yellow taxi, who had seen him undertwo such different aspects, was unable to say whether he was very tallor very short.
But his legs, slack and unsteady, gave way beneath him, as if anyprolonged exertion were beyond his power. He relapsed into hisfirst attitude.
The man was a cripple, smitten with some disease that affected his powersof locomotion. He was excessively thin. Don Luis also saw his pallidface, his cavernous cheeks, his hollow temples, his skin the colour ofparchment: the face of a sufferer from consumption, a bloodless face.
When he had finished his inspection, he came up to Florence and said:
"Though you've been very good, baby, and haven't screamed so far, we'dbetter take our precautions and remove any possibility of a surprise bygiving you a nice little gag to wear, don't you think?"
He stooped over her and wound a large handkerchief round the lower partof her face. Then, bending still farther down, he began to speak to herin a very low voice, talking almost into her ear. But wild bursts oflaughter, horrible to hear, interrupted this whispering.
Feeling the imminence of the danger, dreading some movement on thewretch's part, a sudden murderous attack, the prompt prick of a poisonedneedle, Don Luis had levelled his revolver and, confident of his skill,waited events.
What was happening over there? What were the words spoken? What infamousbargain was the villain proposing to Florence? At what shameful pricecould she obtain her release?<
br />
The cripple stepped back angrily, shouting in furious accents:
"But don't you understand that you are done for? Now that I have nothingmore to fear, now that you have been silly enough to come with me andplace yourself in my power, what hope have you left? To move me, perhaps:is that it? Because I'm burning with passion, you imagine--? Oh, younever made a greater mistake, my pet! I don't care a fig if you do die.Once dead, you cease to count....
"What else? Perhaps you consider that, being crippled, I shall not havethe strength to kill you? But there's no question of my killing you,Florence. Have you ever known me kill people? Never! I'm much too big acoward, I should be frightened, I should shake all over. No, no,Florence, I shan't touch you, and yet--
"Here, look what's going to happen, see for yourself. I tell you thething's managed in my own style.... And, whatever you do, don't beafraid. It's only a preliminary warning."
He had moved away and, helping himself with his hands, holding on to thebranches of a tree, he climbed up the first layers of rock that formedthe grotto on the right. Here he knelt down. There was a small pickaxelying beside him. He took it and gave three blows to the nearest heap ofstones. They came tumbling down in front of the grotto.
Don Luis sprang from his hiding-place with a roar of terror. He hadsuddenly realized the position: The grotto, the accumulation of boulders,the piles of granite, everything was so placed that its equilibrium couldbe shattered at any moment, and that Florence ran the risk of beingburied under the rubbish. It was not a question, therefore, of slayingthe villain, but of saving Florence on the spot.
He was halfway across in two or three seconds. But here, in one of thosemental flashes which are even quicker than the maddest rush, he becameaware that the tracks of trampled grass did not cross the central circusand that the scoundrel had gone round it. Why? That was one of thequestions which instinct, ever suspicious, puts, but which reason has notthe time to answer. Don Luis went straight ahead. And he had no soonerset foot on the place than the catastrophe occurred.
It all happened with incredible suddenness, as though he had tried towalk on space and found himself hurled into it. The ground gave waybeneath him. The clods of grass separated, and he fell.
He fell down a hole which was none other than the mouth of a well fourfeet wide at most, the curb of which had been cut down level with theground. Only this was what took place: as he was running very fast, hisimpetus flung him against the opposite wall in such a way that hisforearms lay on the outer ledge and his hands were able to clutch at theroots of plants.
So great was his strength that he might just have been able to draghimself up by his wrists. But responding to the attack, the scoundrel hadat once hurried to meet his assailant and was now standing at ten pacesfrom Don Luis, threatening him with his revolver:
"Don't move!" he cried, "or I'll smash you!"
Don Luis was thus reduced to helplessness, at the risk of receiving theenemy's fire.
Their eyes met for a few seconds. The cripple's were burning with fever,like the eyes of a sick man.
Crawling along, watching Don Luis's slightest movement, he came andsquatted beside the well. The revolver was levelled in his outstretchedhand. And his infernal chuckle rang out again:
"Lupin! Lupin! That's done it! Lupin's dive!... What a mug you must be! Iwarned you, you know, warned you in blood-red ink. Remember my words:'The place of your death is chosen. The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin!'And here you are! So you're not in prison? You warded off that stroke,you rogue, you! Fortunately, I foresaw events and took my precautions.What do you say to it? What do you think of my little scheme? I said tomyself, 'All the police will come rushing at my heels. But there's onlyone who's capable of catching me, and that's Lupin. So we'll show him theway, we'll lead him on the leash all along a little path scraped clean bythe victim's body.'
"And then a few landmarks, scattered here and there. First, the fairdamsel's ring, with a blade of grass twisted round it; farther on aflower without its petals; farther on the marks of five fingers in theground; next, the sign of the cross.' No mistaking them, was there? Onceyou thought me fool enough to give Florence time to playHop-o'-my-Thumb's game, it was bound to lead you straight to the mouth ofthe well, to the clods of turf which I dabbed across it, last month, inanticipation of this windfall.
"Remember: 'The snare is laid.' And a snare after my own style, Lupin;one of the best! Oh, I love getting rid of people with their kindassistance. We work together like friends and partners. You've caught thenotion, haven't you?
"I don't do my own job. The others do it for me, hanging themselves orgiving themselves careless injections--unless they prefer the mouth of awell, as you seem to do, Lupin. My poor old chap, what a sticky messyou're in! I never saw such a face, never, on my word! Florence, do lookat the expression on your swain's mobile features!"
He broke off, seized with a fit of laughter that shook his outstretchedarm, imparted the most savage look to his face, and set his legs jerkingunder his body like the legs of a dancing doll. His enemy was growingweaker before his eyes. Don Luis's fingers, which had first gripped theroots of the grass, were now vainly clutching the stones of the wall. Andhis shoulders were sinking lower and lower into the well.
"We've done it!" spluttered the villain, in the midst of his convulsionsof merriment. "Lord, how good it is to laugh! Especially when one soseldom does. Yes, I'm a wet blanket, I am; a first-rate man at a funeral!You've never seen me laugh, Florence, have you? But this time it's reallytoo amusing. Lupin in his hole and Florence in her grotto; one dancing ajig above the abyss and the other at her last gasp under her mountain.What a sight!
"Come, Lupin, don't tire yourself! What's the use of those grimaces?You're not afraid of eternity, are you? A good man like you, the DonQuixote of modern times! Come, let yourself go. There's not even anywater in the well to splash about in. No, it's just a nice little slideinto infinity. You can't so much as hear the sound of a pebble when youdrop it in; and just now I threw a piece of lighted paper down and lostsight of it in the dark. Brrrr! It sent a cold shiver down my back!
"Come, be a man. It'll only take a moment; and you've been through worsethan that! ... Good, you nearly did it then. You're making up your mindto it.... I say, Lupin! ... Lupin! ... Aren't you going to say good-bye?Not a smile, not a word of thanks? Au revoir, Lupin, an revoir--"
He ceased. He watched for the appalling end which he had so cleverlyprepared and of which all the incidents were following close on oneanother in accordance with his inflexible will.
It did not take long. The shoulders had gone down; the chin; and then themouth convulsed with the death-grin; and then the eyes, drunk withterror; and then the forehead and the hair: the whole head, in short, haddisappeared.
The cripple sat gazing wildly, as though in ecstasy, motionless, with anexpression of fierce delight, and without a word that could trouble thesilence and interrupt his hatred.
At the edge of the abyss nothing remained but the hands, the obstinate,stubborn, desperate, heroic hands, the poor, helpless hands which alonestill lived, and which, gradually, retreating toward death, yielded andfell back and let go.
The hands had slipped. For a moment the fingers held on like claws. Sonatural was the effort which they made that it looked as if they did noteven yet despair, unaided, of resuscitating and bringing back to thelight of day the corpse already entombed in the darkness. And then theyin their turn gave way. And then--and then, suddenly, there was nothingmore to be seen and nothing more to be heard.
The cripple started to his feet, as though released by a spring, andyelled with delight:
"Oof! That's done it! Lupin in the bottomless pit! One more adventurefinished! Oof!"
Turning in Florence's direction, he once more danced his dance of death.He raised himself to his full height and then suddenly crouched downagain, throwing about his legs like the grotesque, ragged limbs of ascarecrow. And he sang and whistled and belched forth insults and hideousblasphemies.
Then he came back to the yawning mouth of the well and, standing some wayoff, as if still afraid to come nearer, he spat into it three times.
Nor was this enough for his hatred. There were some broken pieces ofstatuary on the ground. He took a carved head, rolled it along the grass,and sent it crashing down the well. A little farther away was a stack ofold, rusty cannon balls. These also he rolled to the edge and pushed in.Five, ten, fifteen cannon balls went scooting down, one after the other,banging against the walls with a loud and sinister noise which the echoswelled into the angry roar of distant thunder.
"There, take that, Lupin! I'm sick of you, you dirty cad!That's for the spokes you put in my wheel, over that damnedinheritance! ... Here, take this, too!... And this!... Andthis!... Here's a chocolate for you in case you're hungry.... Do youwant another? Here you are, old chap! catch!"
He staggered, seized with a sort of giddiness, and had to squat on hishaunches. He was utterly spent. However, obeying a last convulsion, hestill found the strength to kneel down by the well, and leaning over thedarkness, he stammered, breathlessly:
"Hi! I say! Corpse! Don't go knocking at the gate of hell at once!... Thelittle girl's joining you in twenty minutes.... Yes, that's it, at fouro'clock.... You know I'm a punctual man and keep my appointments to theminute.... She'll be with you at four o'clock exactly.
"By the way, I was almost forgetting: the inheritance--you know,Mornington's hundred millions--well, that's mine. Why, of course! Youcan't doubt that I took all my precautions! Florence will explaineverything presently.... It's very well thought out--you'llsee--you'll see--"
He could not get out another word. The last syllables sounded morelike hiccoughs. The sweat poured from his hair and his forehead, andhe sank to the ground, moaning like a dying man tortured by the lastthroes of death.
He remained like that for some minutes, with his head in his hands,shivering all over his body. He appeared to be suffering everywhere, ineach anguished muscle, in each sick nerve. Then, under the influence of athought that seemed to make him act unconsciously, one of his hands creptspasmodically down his side, and, groping, uttering hoarse cries of pain,he managed to take from his pocket and put to his lips a phial out ofwhich he greedily drank two or three mouthfuls.
He at once revived, as though he had swallowed warmth and strength. Hiseyes grew calmer, his mouth shaped itself into a horrible smile. Heturned to Florence and said:
"Don't flatter yourself, pretty one; I'm not gone yet, and I've plenty oftime to attend to you. And then, after that, there'll be no more worries,no more of that scheming and fighting that wears one out. A nice, quiet,uneventful life for me! ... With a hundred millions one can afford totake life easy, eh, little girl? ... Come on, I'm feeling much better!"
The Teeth of the Tiger Page 19
