The Golden Triangle: The Return of Arsène Lupin

by Maurice Leblanc

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE FOURTH ACT

  "Captain," said Don Luis, "you've scored two fine blunders. The firstwas your not telling me that Gregoire was a woman. The second . . ."

  But Don Luis saw that the officer was too much dejected for him to careabout completing his charge. He put his hand on Patrice Belval'sshoulder:

  "Come," he said, "don't upset yourself. The position's not as bad as youthink."

  "Coralie jumped out of the window to escape that man," Patrice muttered.

  "Your Coralie is alive," said Don Luis, shrugging his shoulders. "InSimeon's hands, but alive."

  "Why, what do you know about it? Anyway, if she's in that monster'shands, might she not as well be dead? Doesn't it mean all the horrors ofdeath? Where's the difference?"

  "It means a danger of death, but it means life if we come in time; andwe shall."

  "Have you a clue?"

  "Do you imagine that I have sat twiddling my thumbs and that an old handlike myself hasn't had time in half an hour to unravel the mysterieswhich this cabin presents?"

  "Then let's go," cried Patrice, already eager for the fray. "Let's haveat the enemy."

  "Not yet," said Don Luis, who was still hunting around him. "Listen tome. I'll tell you what I know, captain, and I'll tell it you straightout, without trying to dazzle you by a parade of reasoning and withouteven telling you of the tiny trifles that serve me as proofs. The barefacts, that's all. Well, then . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Little Mother Coralie kept the appointment at nine o'clock. Simeon wasthere with his female accomplice. Between them they bound and gagged herand brought her here. Observe that, in their eyes, it was a safe spotfor the job, because they knew for certain that you and I had notdiscovered the trap. Nevertheless, we may assume that it was aprovisional base of operations, adopted for part of the night only, andthat Simeon reckoned on leaving Little Mother Coralie in the hands ofhis accomplice and setting out in search of a definite place ofconfinement, a permanent prison. But luckily--and I'm rather proud ofthis--Ya-Bon was on the spot. Ya-Bon was watching on his bench, in thedark. He must have seen them cross the embankment and no doubtrecognized Simeon's walk in the distance. We'll take it that he gavechase at once, jumped on to the deck of the barge and arrived here atthe same time as the enemy, before they had time to lock themselves in.Four people in this narrow space, in pitch darkness, must have meant afrightful upheaval. I know my Ya-Bon. He's terrible at such times.Unfortunately, it was not Simeon whom he caught by the neck with thatmerciless hand of his, but . . . the woman. Simeon took advantage ofthis. He had not let go of Little Mother Coralie. He picked her up inhis arms and went up the companionway, flung her on the deck and thencame back to lock the door on the two as they struggled."

  "Do you think so? Do you think it was Ya-Bon and not Simeon who killedthe woman?"

  "I'm sure of it. If there were no other proof, there is this particularfracture of the wind-pipe, which is Ya-Bon's special mark. What I do notunderstand is why, when he had settled his adversary, Ya-Bon didn'tbreak down the door with a push of his shoulder and go after Simeon. Ipresume that he was wounded and that he had not the strength to make thenecessary effort. I presume also that the woman did not die at once andthat she spoke, saying things against Simeon, who had abandoned herinstead of defending her. This much is certain, that Ya-Bon broke thewindow-panes . . ."

  "To jump into the Seine, wounded as he was, with his one arm?" saidPatrice.

  "Not at all. There's a ledge running along the window. He could set hisfeet on it and get off that way."

  "Very well. But he was quite ten or twenty minutes behind Simeon?"

  "That didn't matter, if the woman had time, before dying, to tell himwhere Simeon was taking refuge."

  "How can we get to know?"

  "I've been trying to find out all the time that we've been chatting. . . and I've just discovered the way."

  "Here?"

  "This minute; and I expected no less from Ya-Bon. The woman told him ofa place in the cabin--look, that open drawer, probably--in which therewas a visiting-card with an address on it. Ya-Bon took it and, in orderto let me know, pinned the card to the curtain over there. I had seen italready; but it was only this moment that I noticed the pin that fixedit, a gold pin with which I myself fastened the Morocco Cross toYa-Bon's breast."

  "What is the address?"

  "Amedee Vacherot, 18, Rue Guimard. The Rue Guimard is close to this,which makes me quite sure of the road they took."

  The two men at once went away, leaving the woman's dead body behind. AsDon Luis said, the police must make what they could of it.

  As they crossed Berthou's Wharf they glanced at the recess and Don Luisremarked:

  "There's a ladder missing. We must remember that detail. Simeon has beenin there. He's beginning to make blunders too."

  The car took them to the Rue Guimard, a small street in Passy. No. 18was a large house let out in flats, of fairly ancient construction. Itwas two o'clock in the morning when they rang.

  A long time elapsed before the door opened; and, as they passed throughthe carriage-entrance, the porter put his head out of his lodge:

  "Who's there?" he asked.

  "We want to see M. Amedee Vacherot on urgent business."

  "That's myself."

  "You?"

  "Yes, I, the porter. But by what right . . . ?"

  "Orders of the prefect of police," said Don Luis, displaying a badge.

  They entered the lodge. Amedee Vacherot was a little,respectable-looking old man, with white whiskers. He might have been abeadle.

  "Answer my questions plainly," Don Luis ordered, in a rough voice, "anddon't try to prevaricate. We are looking for a man called SimeonDiodokis."

  The porter took fright at once:

  "To do him harm?" he exclaimed. "If it's to do him harm, it's no useasking me any questions. I would rather die by slow tortures than injurethat kind M. Simeon."

  Don Luis assumed a gentler tone:

  "Do him harm? On the contrary, we are looking for him to do him aservice, to save him from a great danger."

  "A great danger?" cried M. Vacherot. "Oh, I'm not at all surprised! Inever saw him in such a state of excitement."

  "Then he's been here?"

  "Yes, since midnight."

  "Is he here now?"

  "No, he went away again."

  Patrice made a despairing gesture and asked:

  "Perhaps he left some one behind?"

  "No, but he intended to bring some one."

  "A lady?"

  M. Vacherot hesitated.

  "We know," Don Luis resumed, "that Simeon Diodokis was trying to find aplace of safety in which to shelter a lady for whom he entertained thedeepest respect."

  "Can you tell me the lady's name?" asked the porter, still on his guard.

  "Certainly, Mme. Essares, the widow of the banker to whom Simeon used toact as secretary. Mme. Essares is a victim of persecution; he isdefending her against her enemies; and, as we ourselves want to help thetwo of them and to take this criminal business in hand, we must insistthat you . . ."

  "Oh, well!" said M. Vacherot, now fully reassured. "I have known SimeonDiodokis for ever so many years. He was very good to me at the time whenI was working for an undertaker; he lent me money; he got me my presentjob; and he used often to come and sit in my lodge and talk about heapsof things. . . ."

  "Such as relations with Essares Bey?" asked Don Luis, carelessly. "Orhis plans concerning Patrice Belval?"

  "Heaps of things," said the porter, after a further hesitation. "He isone of the best of men, does a lot of good and used to employ me indistributing his local charity. And just now again he was risking hislife for Mme. Essares."

  "One more word. Had you seen him since Essares Bey's death?"

  "No, it was the first time. He arrived a little before one o'clock. Hewas out of breath and spoke in a low voice, listening to the sounds ofthe street outside: 'I've been followed,' said he;
'I've been followed.I could swear it.' 'By whom?' said I. 'You don't know him,' said he. 'Hehas only one hand, but he wrings your neck for you.' And then hestopped. And then he began again, in a whisper, so that I could hardlyhear: 'Listen to me, you're coming with me. We're going to fetch a lady,Mme. Essares. They want to kill her. I've hidden her all right, butshe's fainted: we shall have to carry her. . . . Or no, I'll go alone.I'll manage. But I want to know, is my room still free?' I must tellyou, he has a little lodging here, since the day when he too had to hidehimself. He used to come to it sometimes and he kept it on in case hemight want it, for it's a detached lodging, away from the othertenants."

  "What did he do after that?" asked Patrice, anxiously.

  "After that, he went away."

  "But why isn't he back yet?"

  "I admit that it's alarming. Perhaps the man who was following him hasattacked him. Or perhaps something has happened to the lady."

  "What do you mean, something happened to the lady?"

  "I'm afraid something may have. When he first showed me the way weshould have to go to fetch her, he said, 'Quick, we must hurry. To saveher life, I had to put her in a hole. That's all very well for two orthree hours. But, if she's left longer, she will suffocate. The want ofair . . ."

  Patrice had leapt upon the old man. He was beside himself, maddened atthe thought that Coralie, ill and worn-out as she was, might be at thepoint of death in some unknown place, a prey to terror and suffering.

  "You shall speak," he cried, "and this very minute! You shall tell uswhere she is! Oh, don't imagine that you can fool us any longer! Whereis she? You know! He told you!"

  He was shaking M. Vacherot by the shoulders and hurling his rage intothe old man's face with unspeakable violence.

  Don Luis, on the other hand, stood chuckling.

  "Splendid, captain," he said, "splendid! My best compliments! You'remaking real progress since I joined forces with you. M. Vacherot will gothrough fire and water for us now."

  "Well, you see if I don't make the fellow speak," shouted Patrice.

  "It's no use, sir," declared the porter, very firmly and calmly. "Youhave deceived me. You are enemies of M. Simeon's. I shall not sayanother word that can give you any information."

  "You refuse to speak, do you? You refuse to speak?"

  In his exasperation Patrice drew his revolver and aimed it at the man:

  "I'm going to count three. If, by that time, you don't make up your mindto speak, you shall see the sort of man that Captain Belval is!"

  The porter gave a start:

  "Captain Belval, did you say? Are you Captain Belval?"

  "Ah, old fellow, that seems to give you food for thought!"

  "Are you Captain Belval? Patrice Belval?"

  "At your service; and, if in two seconds from this you haven't told me. . ."

  "Patrice Belval! And you are M. Simeon's enemy? And you want to . . . ?"

  "I want to do him up like the cur he is, your blackguard of a Simeon. . . and you, his accomplice, with him. A nice pair of rascals! . . .Well, have you made up your mind?"

  "Unhappy man!" gasped the porter. "Unhappy man! You don't know whatyou're doing. Kill M. Simeon! You? You? Why, you're the last man whocould commit a crime like that!"

  "What about it? Speak, will you, you old numskull!"

  "You, kill M. Simeon? You, Patrice? You, Captain Belval? You?"

  "And why not? Speak, damn it! Why not?"

  "You are his son."

  All Patrice's fury, all his anguish at the thought that Coralie was inSimeon's power or else lying in some pit, all his agonized grief, allhis alarm: all this gave way, for a moment, to a terrible fit ofmerriment, which revealed itself in a long burst of laughter.

  "Simeon's son! What the devil are you talking about? Oh, this beatseverything! Upon my word, you're full of ideas, when you're trying tosave him! You old ruffian! Of course, it's most convenient: don't killthat man, he's your father. He my father, that putrid Simeon! SimeonDiodokis, Patrice Belval's father! Oh, it's enough to make a chap splithis sides!"

  Don Luis had listened in silence. He made a sign to Patrice:

  "Will you allow me to clear up this business, captain? It won't take memore than a few minutes; and that certainly won't delay us." And,without waiting for the officer's reply, he turned to the old man andsaid slowly, "Let's have this out, M. Vacherot. It's of the highestimportance. The great thing is to speak plainly and not to lose yourselfin superfluous words. Besides, you have said too much not to finish yourrevelation. Simeon Diodokis is not your benefactor's real name, is it?"

  "No, that's so."

  "He is Armand Belval; and the woman who loved him used to call himPatrice?"

  "Yes, his son's name."

  "Nevertheless, this Armand Belval was a victim of the same murderousattempt as the woman he loved, who was Coralie Essares' mother?"

  "Yes, but Coralie Essares' mother died; and he did not."

  "That was on the fourteenth of April, 1895."

  "The fourteenth of April, 1895."

  Patrice caught hold of Don Luis' arm:

  "Come," he spluttered, "Coralie's at death's door. The monster hasburied her. That's the only thing that matters."

  "Then you don't believe that monster to be your father?" asked Don Luis.

  "You're mad!"

  "For all that, captain, you're trembling! . . ."

  "I dare say, I dare say, but it's because of Coralie. . . . I can't evenhear what the man's saying! . . . Oh, it's a nightmare, every word ofit! Make him stop! Make him shut up! Why didn't I wring his neck?"

  He sank into a chair, with his elbows on the table and his head in hishands. It was really a horrible moment; and no catastrophe would haveoverwhelmed a man more utterly.

  Don Luis looked at him with feeling and then turned to the porter:

  "Explain yourself, M. Vacherot," he said. "As briefly as possible, won'tyou? No details. We can go into them later. We were saying, on thefourteenth of April, 1895 . . ."

  "On the fourteenth of April, 1895, a solicitor's clerk, accompanied bythe commissary of police, came to my governor's, close by here, andordered two coffins for immediate delivery. The whole shop got to work.At ten o'clock in the evening, the governor, one of my mates and I wentto the Rue Raynouard, to a sort of pavilion or lodge, standing in agarden."

  "I know. Go on."

  "There were two bodies. We wrapped them in winding-sheets and put theminto the coffins. At eleven o'clock my governor and my fellow-workmenwent away and left me alone with a sister of mercy. There was nothingmore to do except to nail the coffins down. Well, just then, the nun,who had been watching and praying, fell asleep and something happened. . . oh, an awful thing! It made my hair stand on end, sir. I shallnever forget it as long as I live. My knees gave way beneath me, I shookwith fright. . . . Sir, the man's body had moved. The man was alive!"

  "Then you didn't know of the murder at that time?" asked Don Luis. "Youhadn't heard of the attempt?"

  "No, we were told that they had both suffocated themselves with gas.. . . It was many hours before the man recovered consciousnessentirely. He was in some way poisoned."

  "But why didn't you inform the nun?"

  "I couldn't say. I was simply stunned. I looked at the man as he slowlycame back to life and ended by opening his eyes. His first words were,'She's dead, I suppose?' And then at once he said, 'Not a word about allthis. Let them think me dead: that will be better.' And I can't tell youwhy, but I consented. The miracle had deprived me of all power of will.I obeyed like a child. . . . He ended by getting up. He leant over theother coffin, drew aside the sheet and kissed the dead woman's face overand over again, whispering, 'I will avenge you. All my life shall bedevoted to avenging you and also, as you wished, to uniting ourchildren. If I don't kill myself, it will be for Patrice and Coralie'ssake. Good-by.' Then he told me to help him. Between us, we lifted thewoman out of the coffin and carried it into the little bedroom nextdoor. Then we went into the garden, took some
big stones and put theminto the coffins where the two bodies had been. When this was done, Inailed the coffins down, woke the good sister and went away. The man hadlocked himself into the bedroom with the dead woman. Next morning theundertaker's men came and fetched away the two coffins."

  Patrice had unclasped his hands and thrust his distorted featuresbetween Don Luis and the porter. Fixing his haggard eyes upon thelatter, he asked, struggling with his words:

  "But the graves? The inscription saying that the remains of both liethere, near the lodge where the murder was committed? The cemetery?"

  "Armand Belval wished it so. At that time I was living in a garret inthis house. I took a lodging for him where he came and lived by stealth,under the name of Simeon Diodokis, since Armand Belval was dead, andwhere he stayed for several months without going out. Then, in his newname and through me, he bought his lodge. And, bit by bit, we dug thegraves. Coralie's and his. His because, I repeat, he wished it so.Patrice and Coralie were both dead. It seemed to him, in this way, thathe was not leaving her. Perhaps also, I confess, despair had upset hisbalance a little, just a very little, only in what concerned his memoryof the woman who died on the fourteenth of April, 1895, and his devotionfor her. He wrote her name and his own everywhere: on the grave and alsoon the walls, on the trees and in the very borders of the flower-beds.They were Coralie Essares' name and yours. . . . And for this, for allthat had to do with his revenge upon the murderer and with his son andwith the dead woman's daughter, oh, for these matters he had all hiswits about him, believe me, sir!"

  Patrice stretched his clutching hands and his distraught face towardsthe porter:

  "Proofs, proofs, proofs!" he insisted, in a stifled voice. "Give meproofs at once! There's some one dying at this moment by thatscoundrel's criminal intentions, there's a woman at the point of death.Give me proofs!"

  "You need have no fear," said M. Vacherot. "My friend has only onethought, that of saving the woman, not killing her. . . ."

  "He lured her and me into the lodge to kill us, as our parents werekilled before us."

  "He is trying only to unite you."

  "Yes, in death."

  "No, in life. You are his dearly-loved son. He always spoke of you withpride."

  "He is a ruffian, a monster!" shouted the officer.

  "He is the very best man living, sir, and he is your father."

  Patrice started, stung by the insult:

  "Proofs," he roared, "proofs! I forbid you to speak another word untilyou have proved the truth in a manner admitting of no doubt."

  Without moving from his seat, the old man put out his arm towards an oldmahogany escritoire, lowered the lid and, pressing a spring, pulled outone of the drawers. Then he held out a bundle of papers:

  "You know your father's handwriting, don't you, captain?" he said. "Youmust have kept letters from him, since the time when you were at schoolin England. Well, read the letters which he wrote to me. You will seeyour name repeated a hundred times, the name of his son; and you willsee the name of the Coralie whom he meant you to marry. Your wholelife--your studies, your journeys, your work--is described in theseletters. And you will also find your photographs, which he had taken byvarious correspondents, and photographs of Coralie, whom he had visitedat Salonica. And you will see above all his hatred for Essares Bey,whose secretary he had become, and his plans of revenge, his patience,his tenacity. And you will also see his despair when he heard of themarriage between Essares and Coralie and, immediately afterwards, hisjoy at the thought that his revenge would be more cruel when hesucceeded in uniting his son Patrice with Essares' wife."

  As the old fellow spoke, he placed the letters one by one under the eyesof Patrice, who had at once recognized his father's hand and satgreedily devouring sentences in which his own name was constantlyrepeated. M. Vacherot watched him.

  "Have you any more doubts, captain?" he asked, at last.

  The officer again pressed his clenched fists to his temples:

  "I saw his face," he said, "above the skylight, in the lodge into whichhe had locked us. . . . It was gloating over our death, it was a facemad with hatred. . . . He hated us even more than Essares did. . . ."

  "A mistake! Pure imagination!" the old man protested.

  "Or madness," muttered Patrice.

  Then he struck the table violently, in a fit of revulsion:

  "It's not true, it's not true!" he exclaimed. "That man is not myfather. What, a scoundrel like that! . . ."

  He took a few steps round the little room and, stopping in front of DonLuis, jerked out:

  "Let's go. Else I shall go mad too. It's a nightmare, there's no otherword for it, a nightmare in which things turn upside down until thebrain itself capsizes. Let's go. Coralie is in danger. That's the onlything that matters."

  The old man shook his head:

  "I'm very much afraid . . ."

  "What are _you_ afraid of?" bellowed the officer.

  "I'm afraid that my poor friend has been caught up by the person who wasfollowing him . . . and then how can he have saved Mme. Essares? Thepoor thing was hardly able to breathe, he told me."

  Hanging on to Don Luis' arm, Patrice staggered out of the porter's lodgelike a drunken man:

  "She's done for, she must be!" he cried.

  "Not at all," said Don Luis. "Simeon is as feverishly active asyourself. He is nearing the catastrophe. He is quaking with fear and notin a condition to weigh his words. Believe me, your Coralie is in noimmediate danger. We have some hours before us."

  "But Ya-Bon? Suppose Ya-Bon has laid hands upon him?"

  "I gave Ya-Bon orders not to kill him. Therefore, whatever happens,Simeon is alive. That's the great thing. So long as Simeon is alive,there is nothing to fear. He won't let your Coralie die."

  "Why not, seeing that he hates her? Why not? What is there in that man'sheart? He devotes all his existence to a work of love on our behalf;and, from one minute to the next, that love turns to execration."

  He pressed Don Luis' arm and, in a hollow voice, asked:

  "Do you believe that he is my father?"

  "Simeon Diodokis is your father, captain," replied Don Luis.

  "Ah, don't, don't! It's too horrible! God, but we are in the valley ofthe shadow!"

  "On the contrary," said Don Luis, "the shadow is lifting slightly; and Iconfess that our talk with M. Vacherot has given me a little light."

  "Do you mean it?"

  But, in Patrice Belval's fevered brain, one idea jostled another. Hesuddenly stopped:

  "Simeon may have gone back to the porter's lodge! . . . And we sha'n'tbe there! . . . Perhaps he will bring Coralie back!"

  "No," Don Luis declared, "he would have done that before now, if itcould be done. No, it's for us to go to him."

  "But where?"

  "Well, of course, where all the fighting has been . . . where the goldlies. All the enemy's operations are centered in that gold; and you maybe sure that, even in retreat, he can't get away from it. Besides, weknow that he is not far from Berthou's Wharf."

  Patrice allowed himself to be led along without a word. But suddenly DonLuis cried:

  "Did you hear?"

  "Yes, a shot."

  At that moment they were on the point of turning into the Rue Raynouard.The height of the houses prevented them from perceiving the exact spotfrom which the shot had been fired, but it came approximately from theEssares house or the immediate precincts. Patrice was filled withalarm:

  "Can it be Ya-Bon?"

  "I'm afraid so," said Don Luis, "and, as Ya-Bon wouldn't fire, some onemust have fired a shot at him. . . . Oh, by Jove, if my poor Ya-Bon wereto be killed . . . !"

  "And suppose it was at her, at Coralie?" whispered Patrice.

  Don Luis began to laugh:

  "Oh, my dear captain, I'm almost sorry that I ever mixed myself up inthis business! You were much cleverer before I came and a good dealclearer-sighted. Why the devil should Simeon attack your Coralie,considering that she's already in his power?"
>
  They hurried their steps. As they passed the Essares house they saw thateverything was quiet and they went on until they came to the lane, downwhich they turned.

  Patrice had the key, but the little door which opened on to the gardenof the lodge was bolted inside.

  "Aha!" said Don Luis. "That shows that we're warm. Meet me on the quay,captain. I shall run down to Berthou's Wharf to have a look round."

  During the past few minutes a pale dawn had begun to mingle with theshades of night. The embankment was still deserted, however.

  Don Luis observed nothing in particular at Berthou's Wharf; but, when hereturned to the quay above, Patrice showed him a ladder lying right atthe end of the pavement which skirted the garden of the lodge; and DonLuis recognized the ladder as the one whose absence he had noticed fromthe recess in the yard. With that quick vision which was one of hisgreatest assets, he at once furnished the explanation:

  "As Simeon had the key of the garden, it was obviously Ya-Bon who usedthe ladder to make his way in. Therefore he saw Simeon take refuge thereon returning from his visit to old Vacherot and after coming to fetchCoralie. Now the question is, did Simeon succeed in fetching LittleMother Coralie, or did he run away before fetching her? That I can'tsay. But, in any case . . ."

  Bending low down, he examined the pavement and continued:

  "In any case, what is certain is that Ya-Bon knows the hiding-placewhere the bags of gold are stacked and that it is there most likely thatyour Coralie was and perhaps still is, worse luck, if the enemy, givinghis first thought to his personal safety, has not had time to removeher."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Look here, captain, Ya-Bon always carries a piece of chalk in hispocket. As he doesn't know how to write, except just the letters formingmy name, he has drawn these two straight lines which, with the line ofthe wall, make a triangle . . . the golden triangle."

  Don Luis drew himself up:

  "The clue is rather meager. But Ya-Bon looks upon me as a wizard. Henever doubted that I should manage to find this spot and that thosethree lines would be enough for me. Poor Ya-Bon!"

  "But," objected Patrice, "all this, according to you, took place beforeour return to Paris, between twelve and one o'clock, therefore."

  "Yes."

  "Then what about the shot which we have just heard, four or five hourslater?"

  "As to that I'm not so positive. We may assume that Simeon squattedsomewhere in the dark. Possibly at the first break of day, feelingeasier and hearing nothing of Ya-Bon, he risked taking a step or two.Then Ya-Bon, keeping watch in silence, would have leaped upon him."

  "So you think . . ."

  "I think that there was a struggle, that Ya-Bon was wounded and thatSimeon . . ."

  "That Simeon escaped?"

  "Or else was killed. However, we shall know all about it in a fewminutes."

  He set the ladder against the railing at the top of the wall. Patriceclimbed over with Don Luis' assistance. Then, stepping over the railingin his turn, Don Luis drew up the ladder, threw it into the garden andmade a careful examination. Finally, they turned their steps, throughthe tall grasses and bushy shrubs, towards the lodge.

  The daylight was increasing rapidly and the outlines of everything werebecoming clearer. The two men walked round the lodge, Don Luis leadingthe way. When he came in sight of the yard, on the street side, heturned and said: "I was right."

  And he ran forward.

  Outside the hall-door lay the bodies of the two adversaries, clutchingeach other in a confused heap. Ya-Bon had a horrible wound in the head,from which the blood was flowing all over his face. With his right handhe held Simeon by the throat.

  Don Luis at once perceived that Ya-Bon was dead and Simeon Diodokisalive.