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

by Maurice Leblanc

“Go on, Dorothy. Tell me what it is exactly.”’ “Nothing.... Nothing definite at present.

  .. One word, however. The man who was aiming at you this morning, the man in the blouse, is here.”

  “Never! He’s here, do you say? You’ve seen him? With the policemen?”

  She smiled.

  “Not yet. But that may happen. Where have you put those earrings?”

  “At the bottom of the basket, in a little cardboard box with a rubber ring round it.”

  “Good. As soon as the performance is over, stick them in that clump of rhododendrons between the gates and the coach-house.”

  “Have they found out that they’ve disappeared?”

  “Not yet,” said Dorothy. “From the things you told me I believe that the little safe is in the boudoir of the Countess. I heard some of the maids talking; and nothing was said about any robbery. They’d have been full of it.” She added: “Look! there are some of the people from the château in front of the shooting-gallery. Is it that pretty fair lady with the grand air?”

  “Yes. I recognize her.”

  “An extremely kind-hearted woman, according to what the maids said, and generous, always ready to listen to the unfortunate. The people about her are very fond of her... much fonder of her than they are of her husband, who, it appears, is not at all easy to get on with.”

  “Which of them is he? There are three men there.”

  “The biggest... the man in the gray suit... with his stomach sticking out with importance. Look; he has taken a rifle. The two on either side of the Countess are distant relations. The tall one with the grizzled beard which runs up to his tortoiseshell spectacles, has been at the château a month. The other more sallow one, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters, arrived yesterday.”

  “But they look as if they knew you, both of them.”

  “Yes. We’ve already spoken to one another. The bearded nobleman was even quite attentive.”

  Saint-Quentin made an indignant movement. She checked him at once.

  “Keep calm, Saint-Quentin. And let’s go closer to them. The battle begins.”

  The crowd was thronging round the back of the tent to watch the exploits of the owner of the château, whose skill was well known. The dozen bullets which he fired made a ring round the center of the target; and there was a burst of applause.

  “No, no!” he protested modestly. “It’s bad. Not a single bull’s-eye.”

  “Want of practice,” said a voice near him.

  Dorothy had slipped into the front ranks of the throng; and she had said it in the quiet tone of a connoisseur. The spectators laughed. The bearded gentleman presented her to the Count and Countess.

  “Mademoiselle Dorothy, the directress of the circus.”

  “Is it as circus directress that mademoiselle judges a target or as an expert?” said the Count jocosely.

  “As an expert.”

  “Ah, mademoiselle also shoots?”

  “Now and then.”

  “Jaguars?”

  “No. Pipe-bowls.”

  “And mademoiselle does not miss her aim?”

  “Never.”

  “Provided, of course, that she has a first-class weapon?”

  “Oh, no. A good shot can use any kind of weapon that comes to hand... even an old-fashioned contraption like this.”

  She gripped the butt of an old pistol, provided herself with six cartridges, and aimed at the cardboard target cut out by the Count The first shot was a bull’s-eye. The second cut the black circle. The third was a bull’s-eye.

  The Count was amazed.

  “It’s marvelous.... She doesn’t even take the trouble to aim. What do you say to that, d’Estreicher?”

  The bearded nobleman, as Dorothy called him, cried enthusiastically:

  “Unheard of! Marvelous! You could make a fortune, Mademoiselle!”

  Without answering, with the three remaining bullets she broke two pipe-bowls and shattered an empty egg-shell that was dancing on the top of a jet of water.

  And thereupon, pushing aside her admirers, and addressing the astonished crowd, she made the announcement:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to inform you that the performance of Dorothy’s Circus. is about to take place. After exhibitions of marksmanship, chorégraphic displays, then feats of strength and skill and tumbling, on foot, on horseback, on the earth and in the air. Fireworks, regattas, motor races, bull-fights, train hold-ups, all will be on view there. It is about to begin, ladies and gentlemen.”

  From that moment Dorothy was all movement, liveliness, and gayety. Saint-Quentin had marked off a sufficiently large circle, in front of the door of the caravan, with a rope supported by stakes. Round this arena, in which chairs were reserved for the people of the chateau, the spectators were closely packed together on benches and flights of steps and on anything they could lay their hands on.

  And Dorothy danced. First of all on a rope, stretched between two posts. She bounced like a shuttlecock which the battledore catches and drives yet higher; or again she lay down and balanced herself on the rope as on a hammock, walked backwards and forwards, turned and saluted right and left; then leapt to the earth and began to dance.

  An extraordinary mixture of all the dances, in which nothing seemed studied or purposed, in which all the movements and attitudes appeared unconscious and to spring from a series of inspirations of the moment. By turns she was the London dancing-girl, the Spanish dancer with her castanets, the Russian who bounds and twirls, or, in the arms of Saint-Quentin, a barbaric creature dancing a languorous tango.

  And every time all that she needed was just a movement, the slightest movement, which changed the hang of her shawl, or the way her hair was arranged, to become from head to foot a Spanish, or Russian, or English, or Argentine girl. And all the while she was an incomparable vision of grace and charm, of harmonious and healthy youth, of pleasure and modesty, of extreme but measured joy.

  Castor and Pollux, bent over an old drum, beat with their fingers a muffled, rhythmical accompaniment. Speechless and motionless the spectators gazed and admired, spellbound by such a wealth of fantasy and the multitude of images which passed before their eyes. At the very moment when they were regarding her as a guttersnipe turning cartwheels, she suddenly appeared to them in the guise of a lady with a long train, flirting her fan and dancing the minuet. Was she a child or a woman? Was she under fifteen or over twenty?

  She cut short the clamor of applause which burst forth when she came to a sudden stop, by springing on to the roof of the caravan, and crying, with an imperious gesture:

  “Silence! The Captain is waking up!”

  There was, behind the box, a long narrow basket, in the shape of a closed sentry-box. Raising it by one end, she half opened the cover and cried:

  “Now, Captain Montfaucon, you’ve had a good sleep, haven’t you? Come now, Captain, we’re a bit behindhand with our exercises. Make up for it, Captain!”

  She opened the top of the basket wide and disclosed in a kind of cradle, very comfortable, a little boy of seven or eight, with golden curls and red cheeks, who yawned prodigiously. Only half awake, he stretched out his hands to Dorothy who clasped him to her bosom and kissed him very tenderly.

  “Baron Saint-Quentin,” she called out “Catch hold of the Captain. Is his bread and jam ready? Captain Montfaucon will continue the performance by going through his drill.”

  Captain Montfaucon was the comedian of the troupe. Dressed in an old American uniform, his tunic dragged along the ground, and his corkscrew trousers had their bottoms rolled up as high as his knees. This made a costume so hampering that he could not walk ten steps without falling full length. Captain Montfaucon provided the comedy by this unbroken series of falls and the impressive air with which he picked himself up again. When, furnished with a whip, his other hand useless by reason of the slice of bread and jam it held, his cheeks smeared with jam, he put the unbridled One-eyed Magpie through his performance, there was o
ne continuous roar of laughter.

  “Mark time!” he ordered. “Right-about-turn!... Attention, One-eye’ Magpie!” — he could never be induced to say “One-eyed”— “And now the goose-step. Good, one-eye’ Magpie.... Perfect!”

  One-eyed Magpie, promoted to the rank of circus horse, trotted round in a circle without taking the slightest notice of the captain’s orders, who, for his part, stumbling, falling, picking himself up, recovering his slice of bread and jam, did not bother for a moment about whether he was obeyed or not. It was so funny, the phlegm of the little man, and the undeviating course of the beast, that Dorothy herself was forced to laugh with a laughter that re doubled the gayety of the spectators. They «aw that the young girl, in spite of the fact that the performance was undoubtedly repeated every day, always took the same delight in it “Excellent, Captain,” she cried to encourage him. “Splendid! And now, captain, we’ll act ‘The Gipsy’s Kidnaping,’ a drama in a brace of shakes. Baron Saint-Quentin, you’ll be the scoundrelly kidnaper.” Uttering frightful howls, the scoundrelly kidnaper seized her and set her on One-eyed Magpie, bound her on her, and jumped up behind her. Under the double burden the mare staggered slowly off, while Baron Saint-Quentin yelled:

  “Gallop! Hell for leather!”

  The Captain quietly put a cap on a toy gun and aimed at the scoundrelly kidnaper.

  The cap cracked; Saint-Quentin fell off; and in a transport of gratitude the rescued gypsy covered her deliverer with kisses.

  There were other scenes in which Castor and Pollux took part. All were carried through with the same brisk liveliness. All were caricatures, really humorous, of what diverts or charms us, and revealed a lively imagination, powers of observation of the first order, a keen sense of the picturesque and the ridiculous.

  “Captain Montfaucon, take a bag and make a collection. Castor and Pollux, a roll of the drum to imitate the sound of falling water. Baron Saint-Quentin, beware of pickpockets!”

  The Captain dragged through the crowd an enormous bag in which were engulfed pennies and dirty notes; and from the top of the caravan Dorothy delivered her farewell address:

  “Very many thanks, agriculturists and townspeople! It is with regret that we leave this generous locality. But before we depart we take this opportunity of informing you that Mademoiselle Dorothy (she saluted) is not only the directress of a circus and a first-class performer. Mademoiselle Dorothy (she saluted) will also demonstrate her extraordinary excellence in the sphere of clairvoyance and psychic powers. The lines of the hand, the cards, coffee grounds, handwriting, and astrology have no secrets for her. She dissipates the darkness. She solves enigmas. With her magic ring she makes invisible springs burst forth, and above all, she discovers in the most unfathomable places, under the stones of old castles, and in the depths of forgotten dungeons, fantastic treasures whose existence no one suspected. A word to the wise is enough. I have the honor to thank you.”

  She descended quickly. The three boys were packing up the properties.

  Saint-Quentin came to her.

  “We hook it, don’t we, straight away? Those policemen have kept an eye on me the whole time.” She replied:

  “Then you didn’t hear the end of my speech?”

  “What about it?”

  “What about it? Why, the consultations are going to begin — the superlucid clairvoyant Dorothy. Look! here come some clients... the bearded nobleman and the gentleman in velveteen... I like the gentleman in velveteen. He is very polite; and there’s no side about his fawn-colored gaiters — the complete gentleman-farmer.”

  The bearded nobleman was beside himself. He loaded the young girl with extravagant compliments, looking at her the while in an uncommonly equivocal fashion. He introduced himself as “Maxime d’Estreicher,” introduced his companion as “Raoul Davernoie,” and finally, on behalf of the Countess Octave, invited her to come to tea in the château.

  “Alone?” she asked.

  “Certainly not,” protested Raoul Davernoie with a courteous bow. “Our cousin is anxious to congratulate all your comrades. Will you come, mademoiselle?”

  Dorothy accepted. Just a moment to change her frock, and she would come to the chateau.

  “No, no; no toilet!” cried d’Estreicher. “Come as you are.... You look perfectly charming in that slightly scanty costume. How pretty you are like that!”

  Dorothy flushed and said dryly:

  “No compliments, please.”

  “It isn’t a compliment, mademoiselle,” he said a trifle ironically. “It’s the natural homage one pays to beauty.”

  He went off, taking Raoul Davernoie with him.

  “Saint-Quentin,” murmured Dorothy, looking after them. “Keep an eye on that gentleman.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s the man in the blouse who nearly brought you down this morning.”

  Saint-Quentin staggered as if he had received the charge of shot.

  “Are you sore?”

  “Very nearly. He has the same way of walking, dragging his right leg a little.”

  He muttered:

  “He has recognized me!”

  “I think so. When he saw you jumping about during the performance it recalled to his mind the black devil performing acrobatic feats against the face of the cliff. And it was only a step from you to me who shoved the slab over on to his head. I read it all in his eyes and his attitude towards me this afternoon — just in his manner of speaking to me. There was a touch of mockery in it.” Saint-Quentin lost his temper:

  “And we aren’t hurrying off at once! You dare stay?”

  “I dare.”

  “But that man?”

  “He doesn’t know that I penetrated his disguise.

  .. And as long as he doesn’t know—”

  “You mean that your intention is?”

  “Perfectly simple — to tell them their fortunes, amuse them, and puzzle them.”

  “But what’s your object?”

  “I want to make them talk in their turn.”

  “What about?”

  “What I want to know.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. It’s for them to teach me.”

  “And suppose they discover the robbery? Suppose they cross-examine us?”

  “Saint-Quentin, take the Captain’s wooden gun, mount guard in front of the caravan, and when the policemen approach, shoot them down.”

  When she had made herself tidy, she took Saint Quentin with her to the château and on the way made him repeat all the details of his nocturnal expedition. Behind them came Castor and Pollux, then the Captain, who dragged after him by a string a little toy cart loaded with tiny packages.

  They entertained them in the large drawingroom of the chateau. The Coantess, who indeed was, as Dorothy had said, an agreeable and amiable woman, and of a seductive prettiness, stuffed the children with dainties, and was wholly charming to the young girl. For her part, Dorothy seemed quite as much at her ease with her hosts as she had been on the top of the caravan. She had merely hidden her short skirt and bodice under a large blade shawl, drawn in at the waist by a belt. The ease of her manner, her cultivated intonation, her correct speech, to which now and then a slang word gave a certain spiciness, her quickness, and the intelligent expression of her brilliant eyes amazed the Countess and charmed the three men.

  “Mademoiselle,” d’Estreicher exclaimed, “if you can foretell the future, I can assure you that I too can clearly foresee it, and that certain fortune awaits you. Ah, if you would put yourself in my hands and let me direct your career in Paris! I am in touch with all the worlds and I can guarantee your success.”

  She tossed her head:

  “I don’t need any one.”

  “Mademoiselle,” said he, “confess that you do not find me congenial.”

  “Neither congenial nor uncongenial. I don’t really know you.”

  “If you really knew me, you’d have confidence in me.

&nb
sp; “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She took his hand, turned it over, bent over the open palm, and as she examined it said slowly: “Dissipation.... Greedy for money... Conscienceless...”

  “But I protest, mademoiselle! Conscienceless? I? I who am full of scruples.”

  “Your hand says the opposite, monsieur.”

  “Does it also say that I have no luck?”

  “None at all.”

  “What? Shan’t I ever be rich?”

  “I fear not.”

  “Confound it.... And what about my death? Is it a long way off?”

  “Not very.”

  “A painful death?”

  “A matter of seconds.”

  “An accident, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  She pointed with her finger:

  “Look here — at the base of the fore-finger.”

  “What is there?”

  “The gallows.”

  There was an outburst of laughter. D’Estreicher was enchanted. Count Octave clapped his hands.

  “Bravo, mademoiselle, the gallows for this old libertine; it must be that you have the gift of second sight. So I shall not hesitate..

  He consulted his wife with a look of inquiry and continued:

  “So I shall not hesitate to tell you..

  “To tell me,” finished Dorothy mischievously, “the reasons for which you invited me to tea.”

  The Count protested:

  “Not at all, mademoiselle. We invited you to tea solely for the pleasure of becoming acquainted with you.”

  “And perhaps a little from the desire to appeal to my skill as a sorceress.”

  The Countess Octave interposed:

  “Ah, well, yes, mademoiselle. Your final announcement excited our curiosity. Moreover, I will confess that we haven’t much belief in things of this kind and that it is rather out of curiosity that we should like to ask you certain questions.”

  “If you have no faith in my poor skill, madame, we’ll let that pass, and all the same I’ll manage to gratify your curiosity.”

  “By what means?”

  “Merely by reflecting on your words.”

  “What?” said the Countess. “No magnetic passes? No hypnotic sleep?”