Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17)

by Maurice Leblanc

  Prince Conrad was lying fast asleep across his bed, like a loose-jointed doll, clad in his uniform, the front of which was covered with stains. He was sleeping so soundly that Paul was able to examine the room at his ease. There was a sort of little lobby between it and the passage, with a door at either end. He locked and bolted both doors, so that they were now alone with Prince Conrad, while it was impossible for them to be heard from the outside.

  “Come on,” said Paul, when they had apportioned the work to be done.

  And he placed a twisted towel over the prince’s face and tried to insert the ends into his mouth while Bernard bound his wrists and ankles with some more towels. All this was done in silence. The prince offered no resistance and uttered not a cry. He had opened his eyes and lay staring at his aggressors with the air of a man who does not understand what is happening to him, but is seized with increasing dread as he becomes aware of his danger.

  “Not much pluck about William’s son and heir,” chuckled Bernard. “Lord, what a funk he’s in! Hi, young-fellow-my-lad, pull yourself together! Where’s your smelling-bottle?”

  Paul had at last succeeded in cramming half the towel into his mouth. He lifted him up and said:

  “Now let’s be off.”

  “What do you propose to do?”

  “Take him away.”

  “Where to?”

  “To France.”

  “To France?”

  “Well, of course. We’ve got him; he’ll have to help us.”

  “They won’t let him through.”

  “And the tunnel?”

  “Out of the question. They’re keeping too close a watch now.”

  “We shall see.”

  He took his revolver and pointed it at Prince Conrad:

  “Listen to me,” he said. “Your head is too muddled, I dare say, to take in any questions. But a revolver is easy to understand, isn’t it? It talks a very plain language, even to a man who is drunk and shaking all over with fright. Well, if you don’t come with me quietly, if you attempt to struggle or to make a noise, if my friend and I are in danger for a single moment, you’re done for. You can feel the barrel of my revolver on your temple: Well, it’s there to blow out your brains. Do you agree to my conditions?”

  The prince nodded his head.

  “Good,” said Paul. “Bernard, undo his legs, but fasten his arms along his body. . . . That’s it. . . . And now let’s be off.”

  The descent of the ladder was easily accomplished and they walked through the shrubberies to the fence which separated the garden from the yard containing the barracks. Here they handed the prince across to each other, like a parcel, and then, taking the same road as when they came, they reached the quarries.

  The night was bright enough to allow them to see their way; and, moreover, they had in front of them a diffused glow which seemed to rise from the guard-house at the entrance to the tunnel. And indeed all the lights there were burning; and the men were standing outside the shed, drinking coffee.

  A soldier was pacing up and down in front of the tunnel, with his rifle on his shoulder.

  “We are two,” whispered Bernard. “There are six of them; and, at the first shot fired, they will be joined by some hundreds of Boches who are quartered five minutes away. It’s a bit of an unequal struggle, what do you say?”

  What increased the difficulty to the point of making it insuperable was that they were not really two but three and that their prisoner hampered them most terribly. With him it was impossible to hurry, impossible to run away. They would have to think of some stratagem to help them.

  Slowly, cautiously, stealing along in such a way that not a stone rolled from under their footsteps or the prince’s, they described a circle around the lighted space which brought them, after an hour, close to the tunnel, under the rocky slopes against which its first buttresses were built.

  “Stay there,” said Paul to Bernard, speaking very low, but just loud enough for the prince to hear. “Stay where you are and remember my instructions. First of all, take charge of the prince, with your revolver in your right hand and with your left hand on his collar. If he struggles, break his head. That will be a bad business for us, but just as bad for him. I shall go back to a certain distance from the shed and draw off the five men on guard. Then the man doing sentry down there will either join the rest, in which case you go on with the prince, or else he will obey orders and remain at his post, in which case you fire at him and wound him . . . and go on with the prince.”

  “Yes, I shall go on, but the Boches will come after me and catch us up.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “If you say so. . . .”

  “Very well, that’s understood. And you, sir,” said Paul to the prince, “do you understand? Absolute submission; if not, the least carelessness, a mere mistake may cost you your life.”

  Bernard whispered in his brother-in-law’s ear:

  “I’ve picked up a rope; I shall fasten it round his neck; and, if he jibs, he’ll feel a sharp tug to recall him to the true state of things. Only, Paul, I warn you that, if he takes it into his head to struggle, I am incapable of killing him just like that, in cold blood.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s too much afraid to struggle. He’ll go with you like a lamb to the other end of the tunnel. When you get there, lock him up in some corner of the château, but don’t tell any one who he is.”

  “And you, Paul?”

  “Never mind about me.”

  “Still . . .”

  “We both stand the same risk. We’re going to play a terribly dangerous game and there’s every chance of our losing it. But, if we win, it means Élisabeth’s safety. So we must go for it boldly. Good-bye, Bernard, for the present. In ten minutes everything will be settled one way or the other.”

  They embraced and Paul walked away.

  As he had said, this one last effort could succeed only through promptness and audacity; and it had to be made in the spirit in which a man makes a desperate move. Ten minutes more would see the end of the adventure. Ten minutes and he would be either victorious or a dead man.

  Every action which he performed from that moment was as orderly and methodical as if he had had time to think it out carefully and to ensure its inevitable success, whereas in reality he was forming a series of separate decisions as he went along and as the tragic circumstances seemed to call for them.

  Taking a roundabout way and keeping to the slopes of the mounds formed by the sand thrown up in the works, he reached the hollow communication-road between the quarries and the garrison-camp. On the last of these rounds, his foot struck a block of stone which gave way beneath him. On stooping and groping with his hands, he perceived that this block held quite a heap of sand and pebbles in position behind it.

  “That’s what I want,” he said, without a moment’s reflection.

  And, giving the stone a mighty kick, he sent the heap shooting into the road with a roar like an avalanche.

  Paul jumped down among the stones, lay flat on his chest and began to scream for help, as though he had met with an accident.

  From where he lay, it was impossible, owing to the winding of the road, to hear him in the barracks; but the least cry was bound to carry as far as the shed at the mouth of the tunnel, which was only a hundred yards away at most. The soldiers on guard came running along at once.

  He counted only five of them. In an almost unintelligible voice, he gave incoherent, gasping replies to the corporal’s questions and conveyed the impression that he had been sent by Prince Conrad to bring back the Comtesse Hermine.

  Paul was quite aware that his stratagem had no chance of succeeding beyond a very brief space of time; but every minute gained was of inestimable value, because Bernard would make use of it on his side to take action against the sixth man, the sentry outside the tunnel, and to make his escape with Prince Conrad. Perhaps that man would come as well. Or else perhaps Bernard would get rid of him without using his revolver and therefor
e without attracting attention.

  And Paul, gradually raising his voice, was spluttering out vague explanations, which only irritated without enlightening the corporal, when a shot rang out, followed by two others.

  For the moment the corporal hesitated, not knowing for certain where the sound came from. The men stood away from Paul and listened. Thereupon he passed through them and walked straight on, without their realizing, in the darkness, that it was he who was moving away. Then, at the first turn, he started running and reached the shed in a few strides.

  Twenty yards in front of him, at the mouth of the tunnel, he saw Bernard struggling with Prince Conrad, who was trying to escape. Near them, the sentry was dragging himself along the ground and moaning.

  Paul saw clearly what he had to do. To lend Bernard a hand and with him attempt to run the risk of flight would have been madness, because their enemies would inevitably have caught them up and in any case Prince Conrad would have been set free. No, the essential thing was to stop the rush of the five other men, whose shadows were already appearing at the bend in the road, and thus to enable Bernard to get away with the prince.

  Half-hidden behind the shed, he aimed his revolver at them and cried:

  “Halt!”

  The corporal did not obey and ran on into the belt of light. Paul fired. The German fell, but only wounded, for he began to command in a savage tone:

  “Forward! Go for him! Forward, can’t you, you funks!”

  The men did not stir a step. Paul seized a rifle from the stack which they had made of theirs near the shed and, while taking aim at them, was able to give a glance backwards and to see that Bernard had at last mastered Prince Conrad and was leading him well into the tunnel.

  “It’s only a question of holding out for five minutes,” thought Paul, “so that Bernard may go as far as possible.”

  And he was so calm at this moment that he could have counted those minutes by the steady beating of his pulse.

  “Forward! Rush at him! Forward!” the corporal kept clamoring, having doubtless seen the figures of the two fugitives, though without recognizing Prince Conrad.

  Rising to his knees, he fired a revolver-shot at Paul, who replied by breaking his arm with a bullet. And yet the corporal went on shouting at the top of his voice:

  “Forward! There are two of them making off through the tunnel! Forward! Here comes help!”

  It was half-a-dozen soldiers from the barracks, who had run up at the sound of the shooting. Paul had now made his way into the shed. He broke a window-pane and fired three shots. The soldiers made for shelter; but others arrived, took their orders from the corporal and dispersed; and Paul saw them scrambling up the adjoining slopes in order to head him off. He fired his rifle a few more times; but what was the good? All hope of resistance had long since disappeared.

  He persevered, however, killing his adversaries at intervals, firing incessantly and thus gaining all the time possible. But he saw that the enemy was maneuvering with the object of first circumventing him and then making for the tunnel and chasing the fugitives.

  Paul set his teeth. He was really aware of each second that passed, of each of those inappreciable seconds which increased Bernard’s distance.

  Three men disappeared down the yawning mouth of the tunnel; then a fourth; then a fifth. Moreover, the bullets were now beginning to rain upon the shed.

  Paul made a calculation:

  “Bernard must be six or seven hundred yards away. The three men pursuing him have gone fifty yards . . . seventy-five yards now. That’s all right.”

  A serried mass of Germans were coming towards the shed. It was evidently not believed that Paul was alone, so quickly did he fire. This time there was nothing for it but to surrender.

  “It’s time,” he thought. “Bernard is outside the danger-zone.”

  He suddenly rushed at the board containing the handles which corresponded with the mine-chambers in the tunnel, smashed the glass with the butt-end of his rifle and pulled down the first handle and the second.

  The earth seemed to shake. A thunderous roar rolled under the tunnel and spread far and long, like a reverberating echo.

  The way was blocked between Bernard d’Andeville and the eager pack that was trying to catch him. Bernard could take Prince Conrad quietly to France.

  Then Paul walked out of the shed, raising his arms in the air and crying, in a cheerful voice:

  “Kamerad! Kamerad!”

  Ten men surrounded him in a moment; and the officer who commanded them shouted, in a frenzy of rage:

  “Let him be shot! . . . At once . . . at once! . . . Let him be shot! . . .”

  CHAPTER XVII. THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR

  BRUTALLY HANDLED THOUGH he was, Paul offered no resistance; and, while they were pushing him with needless violence towards a perpendicular part of the cliff, he continued his inner calculations:

  “It is mathematically certain that the two explosions took place at distances of three hundred and four hundred yards, respectively. I can therefore also take it as certain that Bernard and Prince Conrad were on the far side and that the men in pursuit were on this side. So all is for the best.”

  Docilely and with a sort of chaffing complacency he submitted to the preparations for his execution. The twelve soldiers entrusted with it were already drawn up in line under the bright rays of an electric search-light and were only waiting for the order. The corporal whom he had wounded early in the fight dragged himself up to him and snarled:

  “Shot! . . . You’re going to be shot, you dirty Franzose!”

  He answered, with a laugh:

  “Not a bit of it! Things don’t happen as quickly as all that.”

  “Shot!” repeated the other. “Herr Leutnant said so.”

  “Well, what’s he waiting for, your Herr Leutnant?”

  The lieutenant was making a rapid investigation at the entrance to the tunnel. The men who had gone down it came running back, half-asphyxiated by the fumes of the explosion. As for the sentry, whom Bernard had been forced to get rid of, he was losing blood so profusely that it was no use trying to obtain any fresh information from him.

  At that moment, news arrived from the barracks, where they had just learnt, through a courier sent from the villa, that Prince Conrad had disappeared. The officers were ordered to double the guard and to keep a good lookout, especially at the approaches.

  Of course, Paul had counted on this diversion or some other of the same kind which would delay his execution. The day was beginning to break and he had little doubt that, Prince Conrad having been left dead drunk in his bedroom, one of his servants had been told to keep a watch on him. Finding the doors locked, the man must have given the alarm. This would lead to an immediate search.

  But what surprised Paul was that no one suspected that the prince had been carried off through the tunnel. The sentry was lying unconscious and was unable to speak. The men had not realized that, of the two fugitives seen at a distance, one was dragging the other along. In short, it was thought that the prince had been assassinated. His murderers must have flung his body into some corner of the quarries and then taken to flight. Two of them had succeeded in escaping. The third was a prisoner. And nobody for a second entertained the least suspicion of an enterprise whose audacity simply surpassed imagination.

  In any case there could no longer be any question of shooting Paul without a preliminary inquiry, the results of which must first be communicated to the highest authorities. He was taken to the villa, where he was divested of his German overcoat, carefully searched and lastly was locked up in a bedroom under the protection of four stalwart soldiers.

  He spent several hours in dozing, glad of this rest, which he needed so badly, and feeling very easy in his mind, because, now that Karl was dead, the Comtesse Hermine absent and Élisabeth in a place of safety, there was nothing for him to do but to await the normal course of events.

  At ten o’clock he was visited by a general who endeavored to quest
ion him and who, receiving no satisfactory replies, grew angry, but with a certain reserve in which Paul observed the sort of respect which people feel for noted criminals. And he said to himself:

  “Everything is going as it should. This visit is only a preliminary to prepare me for the coming of a more serious ambassador, a sort of plenipotentiary.”

  He gathered from the general’s words that they were still looking for the prince’s body. They were now in fact looking for it beyond the immediate precincts, for a new clue, provided by the discovery and the revelations of the chauffeur whom Paul and Bernard had imprisoned in the garage, as well as by the departure and return of the motor car, as reported by the sentries, widened the field of investigation considerably.

  At twelve o’clock Paul was provided with a substantial meal. The attentions shown to him increased. Beer was served with the lunch and afterwards coffee.

  “I shall perhaps be shot,” he thought, “but with due formality and not before they know exactly who the mysterious person is whom they have the honor of shooting, not to mention the motives of his enterprise and the results obtained. Now I alone am able to supply the details. Consequently . . .”

  He so clearly felt the strength of his position and the necessity in which his enemies stood to contribute to the success of his plan that he was not surprised at being taken, an hour later, to a small drawing-room in the villa, before two persons all over gold lace, who first had him searched once more and then saw that he was fastened up with more elaborate care than ever.

  “It must,” he thought, “be at least the imperial chancellor coming all the way from Berlin to see me . . . unless indeed . . .”

  Deep down within himself, in view of the circumstances, he could not help foreseeing an even more powerful intervention than the chancellor’s; and, when he heard a motor car stop under the windows of the villa and saw the fluster of the two gold-laced individuals, he was convinced that his anticipations were being fully confirmed.