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

by Maurice Leblanc

  .. Then another thing terrified me. The hand held a small bottle.... There was on the table a glass of water, for me to drink with a dose of my medicine.... The hand poured several drops from the bottle into the glass. Horror!... Poison beyond a doubt!... But I will not drink my medicine — no, no!... And I write this, this morning, to make sure of being able to recall it... I write that the hand afterwards opened the drawer.... And while it was seizing the medal... I saw.... I saw on the naked arm... above the elbow... words written—”

  Dorothy had to bend lower so shaky and illegible did the writing become; and it was with great difficulty that she was able, syllable by syllable, to decipher it:

  “Three words written... tattooed... as sailors, do.... three words.... Good God!... these three words! The words on the medial!...In robore fortune!”

  That was all. The unfinished sheet showed nothing more but undecipherable characters, which Dorothy did not even try to make out.

  For a long while she sat with bowed head, the tears falling from her half-closed eyes. They perceived that the circumstances in which, in all likelihood, her father had died, had brought back all her grief.

  The Count, however, continued:

  “The fever must have returned... the delirium... and not knowing what he was doing, he must have drunk the poison. Or, at any rate, it is a plausible hypothesis... for what else could it have been that this hand poured into the glass? But I confess that we have not arrived at any certainty in the matter. D’Estreicher and Raoul’s father, at once apprized by me of what had happened, accompanied me to Chartres. Unfortunately, the staff, the surgeon-major and the two nurses had been changed, so that I was brought up short against the official document which ascribed the death to infectious complications. Moreover, ought we to have made further researches? My two cousins were not of that opinion, neither was I? A crime?... How to prove it? By means of these lines in which a side man describe a nightmare which has ridden him? Impossible. Isn’t that your opinion, mademoiselle?”

  Dorothy did not answer; and it put the Count rather out of countenance. He seemed to defend himself — not without a touch of temper:

  “But we could not, Mademoiselle! Owing to the war, we ran against endless difficulties. It was impossible! We had to cling to the one fact which we had actually learned and not venture beyond this actual fact which I will state in these terms: In addition to us four, to us three rather, since Jean d’Argonne, alas! was no more, there was a fourth person attacking the problem which we had set ourselves to solve; and that person, moreover, had a considerable advantage over us. A rival, an enemy had arisen, capable of the most infamous actions to attain his end. What enemy?

  “Events did not allow us to busy ourselves with this affair, and what is more, prevented us from finding you as we should have wished. Two letters that I wrote to you at Bar-le-Duc remained unanswered. Months passed. Georges Davernoie was killed at Verdun, d’Estreicher wounded in Artois, and I myself despatched on a mission to Salonica from which I did not return till after the Armistice. In the following year the work here was begun. The house-warming took place yesterday, and only to-day does chance bring you here.

  “You can understand, Mademoiselle, how amazed we were when we learned, step by step, first that excavations were being made without our knowing anything about it, that the places in which they had been made were explained by the word Fortuna, which bore out exactly the inscription which your father had read twice, on the gold medal and on the arm which stole the gold medal from him. Our confidence in your extraordinary clearsightedness became such that Madame de Chagny and Raoul Davernoie wished you to be informed of the complete history of the affair; and I must admit that the Countess de Chagny displayed remarkable intuition and judgment since the confidence we felt in you was really placed in that Yolande d’Argornne whom her father recommended to us. It is then but natural, mademoiselle, that we should invite you to collaborate with us in our attempt. You take the place of Jean d’Argonne, as Raoul Davernoie has taken the place of Georges Davernoie. Our partnership is unbroken.”

  A shadow rested on the satisfaction that the Count de Chagny was feeling in his eloquence and magnanimous proposal. Dorothy maintained an obstinate silence. Her eyes gazed vacantly before her. She did not stir. Was she thinking that the Count had not taken much trouble to discover the daughter of his kinsman Jean d’Argonne and to rescue her from the life she was leading? Was she still feeling some resentment on account of the humiliation she had suffered in being accused of stealing the earrings?

  The Countess de Chagny questioned her gently:

  “What’s the matter, Dorothy? This letter has filled you with gloom. It’s the death of your father, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Dorothy after a pause in a dull voice. “It’s a terrible business.”

  “You also believe that they murdered him?”

  “Certainly. If not, the medal would have been found. Besides, the last sheets of the letter are explicit.”

  “And it’s your feeling that we ought to have striven to bring the murderer to book?”

  “I don’t ‘know... I don’t know,” said the young girl slowly.

  “But if you think so, we can take the matter up again. You may be sure that we will lend you our assistance.”

  “No,” she said. “I will act alone. It will be best. I will discover the guilty man; and he shall be punished. I promise my father he shall. I swear it.”

  She uttered these words with measured gravity, raising her hand a little.

  “We will help you, Dorothy,” declared the Countess. “For I hope that you won’t leave us.

  .. Here you are at home.”

  Dorothy shook her head. “You are too kind, madame.”

  “It isn’t kindness: it’s affection. You won my heart at first sight, and I beg you to be my friend.”

  “I am, madame — wholly your friend. But—”

  “What? You refuse?” exclaimed the Count de Chagny in a tone of vexation. “We offer the daughter of Jean d’Argonne, our cousin, a life befitting her name and birth and you prefer to go back to that wretched existence!”

  “It is not wretched, I assure you, monsieur. My four children and I are used to it Their health demands it.”

  The Countess insisted: “But we can’t allow it — really! You’re going to stay with us at least some days; and from this evening you will dine and sleep at the château.”

  “I beg you to excuse me, madame. I’m rather tired... I want to be alone.”

  In truth she appeared of a sudden to be worn out with fatigue. One would never have supposed that a smile could animate that drawn, dejected face.

  The Countess de Chagny insisted no longer.

  “Ah well, postpone your decision till to-morrow. Send your four children to dinner this evening. It will give us great pleasure to question them.... Between now and to-morrow you can think it over, and if you persist, I’ll let you go your way. You’ll agree to that, won’t you?”

  Dorothy rose and went towards the door. The Count and Countess went with her. But on the threshold she paused for a moment. In spite of her grief, the mysterious adventure which had during the last hour or two been revealed to her continued to exercise her mind, without, so to speak, her being aware of it; and throwing the first ray of light into the darkness, she asserted:

  “I really believe that all the legends that have been handed down in our families are based on a reality. There must be somewhere about here buried, or hidden, treasure; and that treasure one of these days will become the property of him, or of those who shall be the possessors of the talisman — that is to say, of the gold medal which was stolen from my father. That’s why I should like to know whether any of you, besides my father, has ever heard of a gold medal being mentioned in these legends.”

  It was Raoul Davernoie who answered:

  “That’s a point on which I can give you some information, mademoiselle. A fortnight ago I saw in the hands of my grandfather, with
whom I live at Hillocks Manor in Vendée, a large gold coin. He was studying it; and he put it back in its case at once with the evident intention of hiding it from me.”

  “And he didn’t tell you anything about it?”

  “Not a word. However, on the eve of my departure he said to me: ‘When you come back I’ve an important revelation to make to you. I ought to have made it long ago.’”

  “You believe that he was referring to the matter in hand?”

  “I do. And for that reason on my arrival at Roborey I informed my cousins, de Chagny and d’Estreicher, who promised to pay me a visit at the end of July when I will inform them of what I have learned.”

  “That’s all?”

  “All, mademoiselle; and it appears to me to confirm your hypothesis. We have here a talisman of which there are doubtless several copies.”

  “Yes... yes... there’s no doubt about it,” murmured the young girl. “And the death of my father is explained by the fact that he was the possessor of this talisman.”

  “But,” objected Raoul Davernoie, “was it not enough to steal it from him? Why this useless crime?”

  “Because, remember, the gold medal gives certain indications. In getting rid of my father they reduced the number of those who, in perhaps the near future, will be called upon to share these riches. Who knows whether other crimes have not been committed?”

  “Other crimes? In that case my grandfather is in danger.”

  “He is,” she said simply.

  The Count became uneasy and, pretending to laugh, he said:

  “Then we also are in danger, mademoiselle, since there are signs of recent excavation about Roborey.”’ “You also, Count.”

  “We ought then to be on our guard.”

  “I advise you to.”

  The Count de Chagny turned pale and said in a shaky voice:

  “How? What measures should we take?”

  “I will tell you to-morrow,” said Dorothy. “You shall know to-morrow what you have to fear and what measures you ought to take to defend yourselves.”

  “You promise that?”

  “I promise it.”

  D’Estreicher, who had followed with dose attention every phase of the conversation, without taking part in it, stepped forward:

  “We make all the more point of this meeting tomorrow, mademoiselle, because we still have to solve-together a little additional problem, the problem of the cardboard box. You haven’t forgotten it?”

  “I forget nothing, monsieur,” she said. “Tomorrow, at the hour fixed, that little matter and other matters, the theft of the sapphire earrings among other things, shall be made clear.”

  She went out of the orangery.

  The night was falling. The gates had been, re-opened; and the showmen, having dismantled their shows, were departing. Dorothy found Saint-Quentin waiting for her in great anxiety and the three children lighting a fire. When the dinner-bell rang, she sent them to the château and remained alone to make her meal of the thick soup and some fruit. In the evening, while waiting for them, she strolled through the night towards the parapet which looked down on to the ravine and rested her elbows on it.

  The moon was not visible, but the veil of light clouds, which floated across the heavens, were imbued with its light. For a long while she was conscious of the deep silence, and, bare-headed, she presented her burning brow to the fresh evening airs which ruffled her hair.

  “Dorothy...”

  Her name had been spoken in a low voice by some one who had drawn near her without her hearing him. But the sound of his voice, low as it was, made her tremble. Even before recognizing the outline of d’Estreicher she divined his presence.

  Had the parapet been lower and the ravine less profound she might have essayed flight, such dread did this man inspire in her. However, she braced herself to keep calm and master him.

  “What do you want, monsieur,” she said coldly. “The Count and Countess had the delicacy to respect my desire to keep quiet. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  He did not answer, but she discerned his dark shape nearer and repeated:

  “What do you want?”

  “I only want to say a few words to you,” he murmured.

  “To-morrow — at the château will be soon enough.”

  “No; what I have to say can only he heard by you and me; and I can assure you, mademoiselle, that you can listen to it without being offended. In spite of the incomprehensible hostility that you have displayed towards me from the moment we met, I feel, for my part, nothing but friendliness, admiration, and the greatest respect for you. You need fear neither my words nor my actions. I am not addressing myself to the charming and attractive young girl, but to the woman who, all this afternoon, has dumfounded us by her intelligence. Now, listen to me—”

  “No,” she broke in. “I will not. Your proposals can only be insulting.”

  He went on, in a louder voice; and she could feel that gentleness and respectfulness did not come easy to him; he went on:

  “Listen to me. I order you to listen to me....and to answer at once. I’m no maker of phrases and I’ll come straight to the point, rather crudely if I must, at the risk of shocking you. Here it is: Chance has in a trice thrown you into an affair which I have every right to consider my business and no one else’s. We are stuck with supernumeraries, of whom, when the time comes, I do not mean to take the slightest account. All these people are imbeciles who will never get anywhere. Chagny is a conceited ass.... Davernoie a country bumpkin... so much dead weight that we’ve got to lug about with us, you and I. Then why work for them?... Let’s work for ourselves, for the two of us. Will you? You and I partners, friends, what a job we should make of it! My energy and strength at the service of your intelligence and clearsightedness! Besides... besides, consider all I know! For I, I know the problem! What will take you weeks to discover, what, I’m certain, you’ll never discover, I have at my fingers’ ends. I know all the factors in the problem except one or two which I shall end by adding to them. Help me. Let us search together. It means a fortune, the discovery of fabulous wealth, boundless power.... Will you?”

  He bent a little too far over the young girl; and his fingers brushed the cloak she was wearing. Dorothy, who had listened in silence in order to learn the inmost thoughts of her adversary, started back indignantly at his touch.

  “Be off!.,. Leave me alone!... I forbid you to touch me!... You a friend?... You? You?”

  The repulsion with which he inspired Dorothy set him beside himself, and foaming with rage, he cried furiously: —

  “So... So... you refuse? You refuse, in spite of the secret I have surprised, in spite of what I can do... and what I’m going to do.... For the stolen earrings: it is not merely a matter of Saint-Quentin. You were there, in the ravine, to watch over his expedition. And what is more, as his accomplice, you protected him. And the proof exists, terrible, irrefutable. The box is in the hand of the Countess. And you dare? You! A thief He made a grab at her. Dorothy ducked and slipped along the parapet. But he was able to grip her wrists, and he was dragging her towards him, when of a sudden he let go of her, struck by a ray of light which blinded him.

  Perched on the parapet Montfaucon had switched full on his face the clear light of an electric torch.

  D’Estreicher took himself off. The ray followed him, cleverly guided.

  “Dirty little brat!” he growled. “I’ll get you... And you too, young woman! If to-morrow, at two o’clock, at the chateau, you do not come to heel, the box will be opened in the presence of the police. It’s for you to choose.”

  He disappeared in the shrubbery.

  Toward three o’clock in the morning, the trap, which looked down on the box from the interior of the caravan, was opened, as it had been opened the morning before. A hand reached out and shook Saint-Quentin, who was sleeping under his rugs.

  “Get up. Dress yourself. No noise.”

  He protested.

  “Dorothy, what you wish t
o do is absurd.”

  “Do as you’re told.”

  Saint-Quentin obeyed.

  Outside the caravan he found Dorothy, quite ready. By the light of the moon he saw that she was carrying a canvas bag, slung on a band running ever her shoulder, and a coil of rope.

  She led him to the spot at which the parapet touched the entrance gates. They fastened the rape to one of the bars and slid down it. Then Saint-Quentin climbed up to the parapet and unfastened the rope. They went down the slope into the ravine and along the foot of the cliff to the fissure up which Saint-Quentin had climbed the night before.

  “Let us climb up,” said Dorothy. “You will let down the rope and help me to ascend.”

  The ascent was not very difficult. The window of the pantry was open. They climbed in through it and Dorothy lit her bull’s-eye lantern.

  “Take that little ladder in the corner,” she said. But Saint-Quentin started to reason with her afresh:

  “It’s absurd. It’s madness. We are running into the lion’s maw.”

  “Get on!”

  “But indeed, Dorothy.”

  He got a thump in the ribs.

  “Stop it! And answer me,” she snapped. “You’re sure that d’Estreicher’s is the last bedroom in the left-hand passage.”

  “Certain. As you told me to, I questioned the servants without seeming to do so, after dinner last night.”

  “And you dropped the powder I gave you into his cup of coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he’s sleeping like a log; and we can go straight to him. Not another word!”

  On their way they stopped at a door. It was the dressing-room adjoining the boudoir of the Countess.

  Saint-Quentin set his ladder against it and climbed through the transom.

  Three minutes later he came back.