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

by Maurice Leblanc

  “No. It’s empty.”

  “And Raoul?... Raoul?... You’re expecting him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “With some detectives. He went to meet them.”

  He clenched his fists and growled:

  “You little beast, you denounced me.”

  “I denounced you.”

  Not for a second did d’Estreicher think she might be lying. He held the metal disc in his hand; and it would have been easy enough to force it open with his knife. To what end? The disc was empty. He was sure of it. Of a sudden he grasped the full force of the comedy she had played on the pool; it explained to him the odd uneasiness and disquiet he had felt while he was watching that series of actions the connection of which seemed to him strange.

  However he had come. He had plunged blindly, with his head down, into the trap she had audaciously laid for him before his very eyes. Of what miraculous power was she mistress? And how was he going to slip through the meshes of the net which was being drawn tighter and tighter round him?

  “Let’s be getting away,” he said, eager to get out of danger.

  But he was suffering from a lassitude of will, and instead of picking up his victim, he questioned her.

  “The disc is empty. But you know where the medal is?” he questioned.

  “Of course I know,” said Dorothy, who only thought of gaining time and whose furtive eyes were scanning the top of the wall.

  The man’s eyes sparkled:

  “Ah, you do, do you?... You must be a fool to admit it!... Since you know, you’re going to tell, my dear. If not—”

  He drew his revolver.

  She said mockingly:

  “Just as with Juliet Assire? Twenty’s what you count, isn’t it? You may as well save your breath; it doesn’t work with me.”

  “I swear, dammit!—”

  “Words!”

  No: the battle was certainly not lost. Dorothy, though exhausted, her face smeared with blood, clung to every possible incident with grim tenacity. She felt strongly that, in his fury, d’Estreicher was capable of killing her. But she was quite as clearly aware of his confusion of ideas and of her power over him. He hadn’t the strength to depart and abandon the medal for which he had struggled so desperately. If only his hesitation lasted a few minutes longer, Raoul was bound to appear on the scene.

  At this moment an incident occurred which appeared to excite her keenest interest, for she leant forward to follow it more closely. The old Baron came out of the Manor, carrying a bag, not dressed, as usual, in a blouse, but in a cloth suit, and wearing a felt hat. That showed that he had made a choice, that is to say, an effort of thought. Then there was another such effort. Goliath was not with him. He waited for him, stamped his foot, and when the dog did come, caught him by the collar, looked about him, and took his way to the gate.

  The two confederates barred his path; he muttered some grumbling complaints and tried to get past them. They shoved him back and at last he went off among the trees, without loosing Goliath, but leaving his bag behind him.

  His action was easy to understand; and Dorothy and d’Estreicher alike grasped the fact that the old fellow had wanted to go off on the quest of the treasure. In spite of his madness, he had not forgotten the enterprise. The appointed date was engraved on his memory; and on the day he had fixed, he strapped up his bag and started out like a piece of mechanism which one has wound up and which goes off at the moment fixed.

  D’Estreicher called out to his confederates:

  “Search his bag!”

  Since they found nothing, no medal, no clue, he walked up and down in front of Dorothy for a moment, undecided what course to take and then stopped beside her:

  “Answer me. Raoul loves you. You don’t love him. Otherwise I should have put a stop to your little flirtation a fortnight ago. But all the same you feel some obligations towards him in the matter of the medal and the treasure; and you’ve joined forces. It’s just foolishness, my dear, and I’m going to set your mind at rest about the matter, for there’s a thing you don’t know and I’m going to tell it you. After which I’m sure you’ll speak. Answer me then. With regard to this medal, you must be wondering how I come to be hunting for it, since, as you very well know, I stole it from your father. What do you suppose?”

  “I suppose somebody took it from you.”

  “You’re right. But do you know who it was?”

  “No.”

  “Raoul’s father, George Davernoie.”

  She started and exclaimed:

  “You lie!”

  “I do not!” he declared firmly. “You remember your father’s last letter which cousin Octave read to us at Roborey? The Prince of Argonne related how he heard two men talking under his window and saw a hand slip through it towards the table and sneak the medal. Well, the man who had accompanied the other on the expedition and was waiting below, was George Davernoie. And that rogue, Dorothy, the very next night robbed his comrade.” Dorothy was shaking with indignation and abhorrence:

  “It’s a lie! Raoul’s father take to such a trade? A thief?”

  “Worse than that. For the enterprise had not only robbery for its aim.... And if the man who poured the poison into the glass and whose tattooed arm was seen by the Prince of Argonne, does not deny his acts, he doesn’t forget that the poison was provided by the other.”

  “You lie! You lie! You alone are the culprit! You alone murdered my father!”

  “You don’t really believe that. And look: here’s a letter from him to the old Baron, to his father, that is. I found it among the Baron’s papers. Read it:

  “‘I have at last laid my hand on the indispensable gold piece. On my next leave I’ll bring it to you.’

  “And look at the date. A week after the death of the Prince of Argonne! Do you believe me now, eh? And don’t you think that we might come to an understanding between ourselves, apart from this milksop Raoul?”

  This revelation had tried Dorothy sorely. However, she pulled herself together and putting a good face on it, she asked:

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the gold medal, brought to the Baron, intrusted by him to his old flame for a while, then hidden I don’t know where, belongs to you. Raoul has no right to it. I’ll buy it from you.”

  “At what price?”

  “Any price you like — half the treasure, if you demand it.”

  Dorothy saw on the instant how she could make the most of the situation. Here again was a way of gaining some minutes, decisive minutes perhaps, a painful and costly way, since she risked handing over to him the key to the treasure. But dare she hesitate? D’Estreicher was nearly at the end of his patience. He was beside himself at the notion of the imminent attack with which he was threatened. Let him get carried away by an access of panic and all would be lost by his taking flight.

  “A partnership between us? Never! A sharing of the treasure which would make me your ally? A thousand times, no! I detest you. But an agreement for a few moments? Perhaps.”

  “Your conditions?” he said. “Be quick! Make the most of my allowing you to impose conditions!”

  “That won’t take long. You have a double object — the medal and me. You must choose between them. Which do you want most?”

  “The medal.”

  “If you let me go free, I’ll give it to you.”

  “Swear to me on your honor that you know where it is.”

  “I swear it.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “For about five minutes. A little while ago I did not know. A little fact has just come under my observation which has informed me.”

  He believed her. It was impossible for him to disbelieve her. Everything that she said in that fashion, looking you straight in the face, was the exact truth.

  “Speak.”

  “It’s for you to speak first. Swear that as soon as my promise is fulfilled, I shall be free.”

  The ruffian b
linked. The idea of keeping an oath appeared comic to him; and Dorothy was quite aware that his oath had no value of any kind.

  “I swear it,” he said.

  Then he repeated:— “Speak. I can’t quite make out what you are faking; but it doesn’t strike me as being gospel truth. So I don’t put much faith in it; and don’t you forget it.”

  The conflict between them was now at its height; and what gave that conflict its peculiar character was that both of them saw clearly the adversary’s game. Dorothy had no doubt that Raoul, after an unforeseen delay, was on his way to the Manor, and d’Estreicher, who had no more doubt of it than she, knew that all her actions were based on her expectation of immediate intervention. But there was one trifling fact which rendered their chances of victory equal. D’Estreicher believed himself to be in perfect security because his two confederates, glued to the wicket, were watching the road for the coming of the car; while the young girl had taken the admirable precaution of instructing Raoul to abandon the car and take the paths which were out of sight of the gate. All her hope sprang from this precaution.

  She made her explanation quietly, all the while bearing in mind her keen desire to drag out the interview.

  “I’ve never ceased to believe,” she said “ — and I’m sure that you are of the same opinion that the Baron has never, so to speak, quitted the medal.”

  “I hunted everywhere,” d’Estreicher objected.

  “So did I. But I don’t mean that he kept it on him. I meant that he kept it and still keeps it within reach.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. He has always managed in such a way that he has only to stretch out his hand to grasp it.”

  “Impossible. We should have seen it.”

  “Not at all. Only just now you failed to see anything.”

  “Just now?”

  “Yes. When he was going off, compelled by the bidding of his instinct — when he was going off on the very day he had fixed before he fell ill — —”

  “He was going off without the medal.”

  “With the medal.”

  “They searched his hag.”

  “The bag wasn’t the only thing he was taking with him.”

  “What else was there? Hang it all! You were more than a hundred yards away from him! You saw nothing.”

  “I saw that he was holding something besides his bag.”

  “What?”

  “Goliath.”

  D’Estreicher was silent, struck by that simple word and all it signified.

  “Goliath,” Dorothy went on, “Goliath who never quitted him, Goliath always within reach of his hand, and whom he was holding, whom he is holding at this moment. Look at him. His five fingers are clenched round the dog’s collar. Do you understand? Round its collar!”

  Once more d’Estreicher had no doubt. Dorothy’s declaration immediately appeared to him to meet all the circumstances of the case. Once more she threw light on the affair. Beyond that light: nothing but darkness and contradictions.

  He recovered all his coolness. His will to act instantly revived; and at the same time he saw clearly all the precautions to be taken to minimize the risks of the attempt.

  He drew from his pocket a thin piece of rope, with which he bound Dorothy, and a handkerchief which he tied across her month.

  “If you’ve made a mistake, darling, all the worse for you. You’ll pay for it.”

  And he added in a sarcastic, tone:

  “Moreover, if you haven’t made a mistake, all the worse for you just the same. I’m not the man to lose my prey.”

  He hailed his condeferates:

  “Hi, boys! Is there any one on the road?”

  “Not a soul!”

  “Keep your eyes open! We’ll be off in three minutes. When I whistle, bucket off to the entrance to the caves. I’ll bring the young woman along.” The threat, terrible as it was, did not effect Dorothy. For her the whole drama was unfolding itself down below, between d’Estreicher and the Baron. D’Estreicher ran down from the hillocks, crossed the bridge, and ran towards the old man who was sitting on a bench on the terrace, with Goliath’s head on his knee.

  Dorothy felt her heart beating wildly. Not that she doubted that he would find the medal. It would be found in the dog’s collar — of that she was sure. But it must be that this supreme effort to snatch a last delay could not fail.

  “If the barrel of a gun doesn’t appear above the top of the wall before a minute is up, d’Estreicher is my master.”

  And since she would rather kill herself than submit to that degradation, during that minute her life was at stake.

  The respite accorded by circumstances was longer than that. D’Estreicher, having flung himself on the dog, met with an unexpected resistance from the Baron. The old man thrust him off furiously, while the dog barked and dragged himself free from the ruffian’s grip. The struggle was prolonged. Dorothy followed its phases with alternating fear and hope, backing up Raoul’s grandfather with all the force of her will, cursing the energy and stubbornness of the ruffian. In the end the old Baron grew tired and appeared all at once to lose interest in what might happen. One might have thought that Goliath must have suddenly fallen a victim to the same sense of lassitude. He sat down at his master’s feet and let himself be handled with a kind of indifference. With trembling fingers d’Estreicher caught hold of the collar, and ran his fingers along the nail-studded leather under the dog’s thick coat. His fingers found the buckle.

  But he got no further. The dramatic surprise came at last. A man’s bust rose above the wall, and a voice cried:

  “Hands up!”

  At last Dorothy smiled with an indescribable sensation of joy and deliverance. Her plan, delayed by some obstacle, was a success. Near Saint-Quentin who had been the first to appear, another figure rose above the wall, leveled a gun, and cried:

  “Hands up!”

  Instantly d’Estreicher abandoned his search and looked about him with an air of panic. Two other shouts rang out:

  “Hands up! Hands up!”

  From the points chosen by the young girl two more guns were leveled at him, and the men who aimed, aimed straight at d’Estreicher only. Nevertheless he hesitated. A bullet sang over his head! His hands went up. His confederates were already half-way to the hillocks in their flight. No one paid any attention to them. They ran across the bridge and disappeared in the direction of an isolated hillock which was called the Labyrinth.

  The big gate flew open. Raoul rushed through it, followed by two men whom Dorothy did not know, but who must be the detectives dispatched on his information.

  D’Estreicher did not budge; he kept his hands up; and doubtless he would not have made any resistance, if a false move of the police had not given him the chance. As they reached him they closed round him, covering him for two or three seconds from the fire of the servants on the wall. He took advantage of their error to whip out his revolver and shoot. Four times it cracked. Three bullets went wide. The fourth buried itself in Raoul’s leg; and he fell to the ground with a groan.

  It was a futile outburst of rage and savagery. On the instant the detectives grappled with d’Estrekher, disarmed him, and reduced him to impotence.

  They handcuffed him; and as they did so his eyes sought Dorothy, who was almost out of sight, for she had slipped behind a clump of bushes; and as they sought her they filled with an expression of appalling hate.

  It was Saint-Quentin, followed by the captain, who found Dorothy; and at the sight of her blood-smeared face, they were nearly beside themselves.

  “Silence,” she commanded, to cut short their questions. ‘‘Yes, I’m wounded. But it’s a more nothing. Run to the Baron, captain; catch hold of Goliath, pat him, and take off his collar. In the collar, you will find behind the metal plate, on which his name is engraved, a pocket, forming a lining to it and containing the metal we’re looking for. Bring it to me.”

  The boy hurried off.

  “Saint-Quentin,” Dorothy cont
inued. “Have the detectives seen me?”

  ‘“You must give every one to-understand that I left the Manor some time ago and that you’re to meet me at the market-town, Roche-sur-You. I don’t want to be mixed -up with the ‘inquiry. They’ll examine me; and it “will be a sheer waste of time.”

  ‘“But Monsieur Davernoie?”

  “As soon as you get the chance, tell him. Tell him that I’VE gone for reasons which I will explain later, and that I beg him to keep silent about everything that concerns us. Besides, he is wounded, and his mind is confused, and nobody will think about me. They’re going to hunt through the hillocks, I expect, to get hold of d’Estreicher’s confederates. They musn’t see me. Cover me with blanches;”

  ‘“That’s all right, she said when he had done so. “As soon as it is getting dark, come, all four of you, and carry me down to the caravan and well start as soon as it’s daylight. Perhaps I shall be out of sorts for a few days. Rather too much overwork and excitement — nothing for you to worry about. Do you understand, my boy?”

  “Yes, Dorothy.”

  As she had foreseen, the two detectives, having shut up d’Estreicher at the Manor, passed at no great distance from her, guided by one of the farm-servants. She presently heard them calling out and guessed that they had discovered the entrance to the caves of the Labyrinth, down which d’Estreicher’s confederates had fled.

  “Pursuit is useless,” murmured Dorothy. “The quarry has too long a start.”

  She felt exhausted. But for nothing in the world would she have yielded to her lassitude before the return of the captain. She asked Saint-Quentin how the attack had come to be so long delayed.

  “An accident, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said he. “The detectives made a mistake about the inn; and the farm-servants were late getting back from the fête. It was necessary to collect the whole lot; and the car broke down.”

  Montfaucon came running up. Dorothy went on; “Perhaps, Saint-Quentin, there’ll be the name of a town, or rather of a château, on the medal. In that case, find out all you can about the route and take the caravan there. Did you find it, captain?”

  “Yes, mummy.”