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

by Maurice Leblanc

  More and more the solitude and the silence troubled her. The profound silence. A solitude so abnormal that Dorothy reached the point of believing herself to be no longer alone. Some one was watching. Men were following her as she went. It seemed to her that she was exposed to all menaces, that the barrels of guns were leveled at her, that she was about to fall into the trap which her enemy had laid.

  The impression was so strong that Dorothy, who knew her nature and the correctness of her presentiments, reckoned it a certainty resting on irrefutable proofs. She even knew where the ambush was awaiting her. They had guessed that her instinct, her calculations, that all the circumstances of the drama, would bring her back to the tower; and there they were awaiting her.

  She stopped at the entrance of the vault. On the opposite side, above the steps which descended into the immense nave of the donjon, her enemies must be posted. Let her make a few more steps and they would capture her.

  She stood quite still. She no longer doubted that Maître Delarue had been taken, and that, yielding to threats, he had disclosed the fact that the second envelope was in her hands, that second envelope without which the diamonds of the Marquis de Beaugreval would never be discovered.

  A minute or two passed. No single indication allowed her to believe in the actual presence of the enemies she imagined. But the mere logic of the events demanded that they should be there. She must then act as if they were there.

  By one of those imperceptible movements which seemed to have no object, without letting anything in her attitude awake the suspicion in her invisible enemies that she was accomplishing a definite action, she managed to open her purse and extract the envelope. She crumpled it up and reduced it to a tiny ball.

  Then, letting her arm hang down, she went some steps into the vault.

  Behind her, violently, with a loud crash, something fell down. It was the old feudal portcullis, which fell from above, came grating down its grooves, and blocked the entrance with its heavy trellis-work of massive wood.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LAST QUARTER OF A MINUTE

  DOROTHY DID NOT turn round. She was a prisoner.

  “I made no mistake,” she thought. “They are the masters of the field of battle. But what has become of the others?”

  On her right opened the entrance to the staircase which ascended the tower. Perhaps she might have fled up it and availed herself once more of the rope-ladder? But what use would it be? Did not the kidnaping of Montfaucon oblige her to fight to the end, in spite of the hopelessness of the conflict? She must throw herself into the arena, among the ferocious beasts.

  She went on. Though alone and without friends, she found herself quite cool. As she went, she let the little ball of paper roll down her skirt. It rolled along the floor and was lost among the pebbles and dust which covered it.

  As she came to the end of the vault, two arms shot out and two men covered her with their revolvers.

  “Don’t move!”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  One of them repeated harshly:

  “Don’t move, or I shoot.”

  She looked at them. They were two subordinates, poisonous-looking rogues, dressed as sailors. She thought she recognized in them the two individuals who had accompanied d’Estreicher to the Manor. She said to them:

  “The child? What have you done with the child? It was you who carried him off, wasn’t it?” With a sudden movement they seized her arms; and while one kept her covered with his revolver, the other set about the task of searching her. But an imperious voice checked them:

  “Stop that. I’ll do it myself.”

  A third personage whom Dorothy had not perceived, stepped out from the wall where enormous roots of ivy had concealed him.... D’Estreicher!

  For all that he was still rigged out in his disguise of a Russian soldier, he was no longer the same man. Again she found him the d’Estreicher of Roborey and Hillocks Manor. He had resumed his arrogant air and his wicked expression, and did not try to conceal his slight limp. Now that his hair and beard were shaved off, she observed the flatness of the back of his head and the apelike development of his jaw.

  He stood a long while without speaking. Was he tasting the joy of triumph? One would have said rather that he felt a certain discomfort in the presence of his victim, or at least that he was hesitating in his attack. He walked up and down, his hands behind his back, stopped, then walked up and down again.

  He asked her:

  “Have you any weapon?”

  “None,” she declared.

  He told his two henchmen to go bade to their comrades; then once more he began to walk up and down.

  Dorothy studied him carefully, searching his face for something human of which she might take hold. But there was nothing but vulgarity, baseness, and cunning in it. She had only herself to rely on. In the lists formed by the ruins of the great tower, surrounded by a band of scoundrels, commanded by the most implacable of chiefs, watched, coveted, helpless, she had as her unique resource, her subtle intelligence. It was infinitely little, and it was much, since already once before, within the walls of Hillocks Manor, placed in the same situation, and facing the same enemy, she had conquered. It was much because this enemy distrusted himself and so lost some of his advantages.

  For the moment he believed himself sure of success; and his attitude displayed all the insolence of one who believes he has nothing to fear.

  Their eyes met. He began:

  “How pretty she is, the little devil! A morsel fit for a king. It’s a pity she detests me.” And, drawing nearer, he added: “It really is detestation, Dorothy?’

  She recoiled a step. He frowned.

  “Yes: I know... your father.... Bah! Your father was very ill... He would have died in any case. So it wasn’t really I who killed him.”

  She said:

  “And your confederate... a little while ago?... The false Marquis.”

  “Don’t let’s talk about that, I beg you. A measly fellow not worth a single regret... so cowardly and so ungrateful that, finding himself unmasked, he was ready to betray me — as you guessed. For nothing escapes you, Dorothy, and on my word it has been child’s play to you to solve every problem. I who have been working with the narrative of the servant Geoffrey, whose descendant I believe myself to be, have spent years making out what you have unraveled in a few minutes. Not a moment’s hesitation. Not a mistake. You have spotted my game just as if you held my cards in your hand. And what astonishes me most, Dorothy, is your coolness at this moment. For at last, my dear, you know where we stand.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re not on your knees!” he exclaimed. “Truly I was looking to hear your supplications.... I saw you at my feet, dragging yourself along the ground. Instead of that, eyes which meet mine squarely, an attitude of provocation.”

  “I am not provoking you. I am listening.”

  “Then let us regulate our accounts. There are two. The account Dorothy.” He smiled. “We won’t talk about that yet. That comes last. And the account diamonds. At the present moment I should have been the possessor of them if you had not intercepted the indispensable document. Enough of obstacles! Maître Delarue has confessed, with a revolver at his temple, that he gave you back the second envelope. Give it to me.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “All the worse for Montfaucon.”

  Dorothy did not even tremble. Assuredly she saw clearly the situation in which she found herself and understood that the duel she was fighting was much more serious than the first, at the Manor. There she expected help. Here nothing. No matter! With such a personage, there must be no weakening. The victor would be the one who should preserve an unshakable coolness, and should end, at some moment or other, by dominating the adversary.

  “To hold out to the end!” she thought stubbornly. “... To the end.... And not till the last quarter of an hour... but till the last quarter of the last minute.”

  She stared at her enemy
and said in a tone of command:

  “There’s a child here who is suffering. First of all I order you to hand him over to me.”

  “Oh, indeed,” he said ironically. “Mademoiselle orders. And by what right?”

  “By the right given me by the certainty that before long you will be forced to obey me.”

  “By whom, my liege lady?”

  “By my three friends, Errington, Webster, and Dario.”

  “Of course... of course...” he said. “Those gentlemen are stout young fellows accustomed to field sports, and you have every right to count on those intrepid champions.”

  He beckoned to Dorothy to follow him and crossed the arena, covered with stones, which formed the interior of the donjon. To the right of a breach, which formed the opposite entrance, and behind a curtain of ivy stretched over the bushes, were small vaulted chambers, which must have been ancient prisons. One still saw rings affixed to the stones at their base.

  In three of these cells, Errington, Webster, and Dario were stretched out, firmly gagged, bound with ropes, which reduced them to the condition of mummies and fastened them to the rings. Three men, armed with rifles, guarded them. In a fourth cell was the corpse of the false Marquis. The fifth contained Maître Delarue and Montfaucon. The child was rolled up in a rug. Above a strip of stuff, which hid the lower part of his face, his poor eyes, full of tears, smiled at Dorothy.

  She crushed down the sob which rose to her throat. She uttered no word of protest or reproach. One would have said, indeed, that all these were secondary incidents which could not affect the issue of the conflict.

  “Well?” chuckled d’Estreicher. “What do you think of your defenders? And what do you think of the forces at my disposal? Three comrades to guard the prisoners, two others posted as sentinels to watch the approaches. I can be easy in mind, what? But why, my beauty, did you leave them? You were the bond of union. Left to themselves, they let themselves be gathered in stupidly, one by one, at the exit from the donjon. It was no use any one of them struggling... it didn’t work. Not one of my men got a shadow of a scratch. I had more trouble with M. Delarue. I had to oblige him with a bullet through his hat before he’d come down from a tree in which he had perched himself. As for Montfaucon, an angel of sweetness! Consequently, you see, your champions being out of it, you can only count on yourself; and that isn’t much.”

  “It’s enough,” she said. “The secret of the diamonds depends on me and on me only. So you’re going to untie the bonds of my friends and set the child free.”

  “In return for what?”

  “In return for that I will give you the envelope of the Marquis de Beaugreval.”

  He looked at her.

  “Hang it, it’s an attractive offer. Then you’d give up the diamonds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yourself and in the name of your friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me the envelope.”

  “Cut the ropes.”

  An access of rage seized him:

  “Give me the envelope. After all I’m master. Give it me!”

  “No,” she said.

  “I will have it... I will have that envelope!”

  “No,” she said, yet more forcibly.

  He snatched the purse pinned to her bodice, for the top of it showed above its edge.

  “Ah!” he said in a tone of victory. “The notary told me that you had put it in this... as you did the gold medal. At last I am going to learn!”

  But there was nothing in the purse. Disappointed, mad with rage, he shook his fist in Dorothy’s face, shouting:

  “That was the game, was it? Your friends set free, I was done. The envelope, at once!”

  “I have torn it up,” she declared.

  “You lie! One doesn’t tear up a thing like that! One doesn’t destroy a secret like that!”

  She repeated:

  “I tore it up; but I read it first. Cut the bonds of my friends; and I reveal the secret to you.”

  He howled:

  “You lie! You lie! The envelope at once.... Ah, if you think that you can go on laughing at me for very long! I’ve had enough of it! For the last time, the envelope!”

  “No,” she said.

  He rushed towards the cell in which the child was lying, tore the cloak off him, seized his hair with one hand and began to swing him like a bundle he was going to throw to a distance.

  “The envelope! Or I smash his head against the wall!” he shouted at Dorothy.

  He was a loathsome sight. His features were distorted by a horrible ferocity. His confederates gazed at him, laughing.

  Dorothy raised her hand in token of acceptance.

  He set the child on the ground and came back to her. He was covered with sweat.

  “The envelope,” he said once more.

  She explained:

  “In the entrance vault... in this end of it, opening into this place... a little ball on the ground, among the pebbles.”

  He called one of his confederates and repeated the information to him. The man went off, running.

  “It was time!” muttered the ruffian, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Look you, you shouldn’t provoke me. And then why that air of defiance?” he added, as if Dorothy’s coolness shamed him. “Damn it all! Lower your eyes! Am I not master here? Master of your friends... master of you... yes, of you.”

  He repeated this word two or three times, almost to himself and with a look which made Dorothy uneasy. But, hearing his confederate, he turned and called to him sharply.

  “Well?”

  “Here it is.”

  “You’re sure? You’re sure? Ah, here we are. This is the real victory.”

  He unfolded the crumpled envelope and held it in his hands, turning it slowly over and over as if it were the most precious of possessions. It had not been opened; the seals were intact; no one then knew the great secret which he was going to learn.

  He could not prevent himself from saying aloud:

  “No one... no one but me...”

  He unsealed the envelope. It contained a sheet of paper folded in two, on which only three or four lines were written.

  He read those lines and seemed greatly astonished.

  “Oh, it’s devilish clever! And I understand why I found nothing, nor any of those who have searched. The old chap was right: the hiding-place is undiscoverable.”

  He began to walk up and down, in silence, like a man who is weighing alternative actions. Then, returning to the cells, he said to the three guards, his finger pointing to the prisoners:

  “No means of their escaping, is there? The ropes are strong. Then march along to the boat and get ready to start.”

  His confederates hesitated. “Well, what’s the matter with you?” said their leader.

  One of them risked saying:

  “But... the treasure?”

  Dorothy observed their hostile attitude. Doubtless they distrusted one another; and the idea of leaving before the division of the spoil, appeared to endanger their interests.

  “The treasure?” he cried. “What about it? Do you suppose I’m going to swallow it. You’ll get the share you’ve been promised. I’ve sworn it And a big share too.”

  He bullied all three of them, impatient to be alone. “Hurry up! Ah, I was forgetting.... Call your two comrades on duty; and all five of you carry away the false Marquis. We’ll throw him into the sea. In that way he’ll neither be seen nor known. Get on.”

  His confederates discussed the matter for a moment. But their leader maintained his ascendancy over them, and grumbling, with lowering faces, they obeyed his orders.

  “Six o’clock,” he said. “At seven I’ll be with you so that we can get off soon after dark. And have everything ready, mind you! Set the cabin in order.... Perhaps there’ll be an additional passenger.”

  Once more he looked at Dorothy and studied her face while his confederates moved off.

  “A passenger, or rather a lady passenger. What, Dor
othy?”

  Always impassive, she did not answer. But her suffering became keener and keener. The terrible moment drew near.

  He still held the envelope and the letter of the Marquis in his hand. From his pocket he drew a lighter and lit it to read the instructions once more.

  “Admirable!” he murmured almost purring with satisfaction. “A first-class idea!... As well search at the bottom of hell. Ah, that Marquis! What a man!”

  He twisted the paper into a long spill and put its end in the flame. The paper caught fire. At its flame he lit a cigarette with an affectation of nonchalance, and turning toward the prisoners, he waited, with hand outstretched, till there remained of the document only a little ash which was scattered by the breath of the breeze.

  “Look Webster, look Errington and Dario. This is all you’ll ever see of the secret of your ancestor... a little ash.... It’s gone. Confess that you haven’t been very smart. You are three stout fellows and you haven’t been able either to keep the treasure which was waiting for you, nor to defend the pretty cousin whom you admired, open-mouthed. Hang it! There were six of us in the little room in the tower; and it would have been enough for one of you to grip hold of my collar.... I was damned uncomfortable. Instead of that, what a cropper you came. All the worse for you... and all the worse for her!”

  He showed them his revolver.

  “I shan’t need to use this. What?” he said. “You must have noticed that at the slightest movement the cords grow tighter round your throats. If you insist... it’s strangulation pure and simple. A word to the wise. Now, cousin Dorothy, I’m at your service. Follow me. We’re going to perform the impossible in our attempt to come to an understanding.”

  All resistance was futile. She went with him to the other side of the tower across an accumulation of ruins, to a chamber of which there only remained the walls, pierced with loop-holes, which he said was the ancient guardroom.

  “We shall be able to talk comfortably here. Your suitors will be able neither to see nor hear us. The solitude is absolute. Look here’s a grassy bank. Please sit down.”

  She crossed her arms and remained standing, her head straight. He waited, murmured: “As you like”; then, taking the seat he had offered her, he said: