CHAPTER XVII
SIMEON GIVES BATTLE
It took them some time to loosen Ya-Bon's grip. Even in death theSenegalese did not let go his prey; and his fingers, hard as iron andarmed with nails piercing as a tiger's claws, dug into the neck of theenemy, who lay gurgling, deprived of consciousness and strength.
Don Luis caught sight of Simeon's revolver on the cobbles of the yard:
"It was lucky for you, you old ruffian," he said, in a low voice, "thatYa-Bon did not have time to squeeze the breath out of you before youfired that shot. But I wouldn't chortle overmuch, if I were you. Hemight perhaps have spared you, whereas, now that Ya-Bon's dead, you canwrite to your family and book your seat below. _De profundis_,Diodokis!" And, giving way to his grief, he added, "Poor Ya-Bon! Hesaved me from a horrible death one day in Africa . . . and to-day hedies by my orders, so to speak. My poor Ya-Bon!"
Assisted by Patrice, he carried the negro's corpse into the littlebedroom next to the studio.
"We'll inform the police this evening, captain, when the drama isfinished. For the moment, it's a matter of avenging him and theothers."
He thereupon applied himself to making a minute inspection of the sceneof the struggle, after which he went back to Ya-Bon and then to Simeon,whose clothes and shoes he examined closely.
Patrice was face to face with his terrible enemy, whom he had proppedagainst the wall of the lodge and was contemplating in silence, with afixed stare of hatred. Simeon! Simeon Diodokis, the execrable demon who,two days before, had hatched the terrible plot and, bending over theskylight, had laughed as he watched their awful agony! Simeon Diodokis,who, like a wild beast, had hidden Coralie in some hole, so that hemight go back and torture her at his ease!
He seemed to be in pain and to breathe with great difficulty. Hiswind-pipe had no doubt been injured by Ya-Bon's clutch. His yellowspectacles had fallen off during the fight. A pair of thick, grizzledeyebrows lowered about his heavy lids.
"Search him, captain," said Don Luis.
But, as Patrice seemed to shrink from the task, he himself felt inSimeon's jacket and produced a pocket-book, which he handed to theofficer.
It contained first of all a registration-card, in the name of SimeonDiodokis, Greek subject, with his photograph gummed to it. Thephotograph was a recent one, taken with the spectacles, the comforterand the long hair, and bore a police-stamp dated December, 1914. Therewas a collection of business documents, invoices and memoranda,addressed to Simeon as Essares Bey's secretary, and, among these papers,a letter from Amedee Vacherot, running as follows:
"_Dear M. Simeon_,
"I have succeeded. A young friend of mine has taken a snapshot of Mme. Essares and Patrice at the hospital, at a moment when they were talking together. I am so glad to be able to gratify you. But when will you tell your dear son the truth? How delighted he will be when he hears it!"
At the foot of the letter were a few words in Simeon's hand, a sort ofpersonal note:
"Once more I solemnly pledge myself not to reveal anything to my dearly-beloved son until Coralie, my bride, is avenged and until Patrice and Coralie Essares are free to love each other and to marry."
"That's your father's writing, is it not?" asked Don Luis.
"Yes," said Patrice, in bewilderment. "And it is also the writing of theletters which he addressed to his friend Vacherot. Oh, it's too hideousto be true! What a man! What a scoundrel!"
Simeon moved. His eyes opened and closed repeatedly. Then, coming tohimself entirely, he looked at Patrice, who at once, in a stifled voice,asked:
"Where's Coralie?"
And, as Simeon, still dazed, seemed not to understand and sat gazing athim stupidly, he repeated, in a harsher tone:
"Where's Coralie? What have you done with her? Where have you put her?She must be dying!"
Simeon was gradually recovering life and consciousness. He mumbled:
"Patrice. . . . Patrice. . . ."
He looked around him, saw Don Luis, no doubt remembered his fight to thedeath with Ya-Bon and closed his eyes again. But Patrice's rageincreased:
"Will you attend?" he shouted. "I won't wait any longer! It'll cost youyour life if you don't answer!"
The man's eyes opened again, red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He pointed tohis throat to indicate his difficulty in speaking. At last, with avisible effort, he repeated:
"Patrice! Is it you? . . . I have been waiting for this moment so long!. . . And now we are meeting as enemies! . . ."
"As mortal enemies," said Patrice, with emphasis. "Death stands betweenus: Ya-Bon's death, Coralie's perhaps. . . . Where is she? You mustspeak, or . . ."
"Patrice, is it really you?" the man repeated, in a whisper.
The familiarity exasperated the officer. He caught his adversary by thelapel of his jacket and shook him. But Simeon had seen the pocket-bookwhich he held in his other hand and, without resisting Patrice'sroughness, whined:
"You wouldn't hurt me, Patrice. You must have found some letters; andyou now know the link that binds us together. Oh, how happy I shouldhave been . . . !"
Patrice had released his hold and stood staring at him in horror.Sinking his voice in his turn, he said:
"Don't dare to speak of that: I won't, I won't believe it!"
"It's the truth, Patrice."
"You lie! You lie!" cried the officer, unable to restrain himself anylonger, while his grief distorted his face out of all recognition.
"Ah, I see you have guessed it! Then I need not explain . . ."
"You lie! You're just a common scoundrel! . . . If what you say is true,why did you plot against Coralie and me? Why did you try to murder thetwo of us?"
"I was mad, Patrice. Yes, I go mad at times. All these tragedies haveturned my head. My own Coralie's death . . . and then my life inEssares' shadow . . . and then . . . and then, above all, the gold!. . . Did I really try to kill you both? I no longer remember. Or atleast I remember a dream I had: it happened in the lodge, didn't it, asbefore? Oh, madness! What a torture! I'm like a man in the galleys. Ihave to do things against my will! . . . Then it was in the lodge, wasit, as before? And in the same manner? With the same implements? . . .Yes, in my dream, I went through all my agony over again . . . and thatof my darling. . . . But, instead of being tortured, I was the torturer. . . What a torment!"
He spoke low, inside himself, with hesitations and intervals and anunspeakable air of suffering. Don Luis kept his eyes fixed on him, asthough trying to discover what he was aiming at. And Simeon continued:
"My poor Patrice! . . . I was so fond of you! . . . And now you are myworst enemy! . . . How indeed could it be otherwise? . . . How couldyou forget? . . . Oh, why didn't they lock me up after Essares' death?It was then that I felt my brain going. . . ."
"So it was you who killed him?" asked Patrice.
"No, no, that's just it: somebody else robbed me of my revenge."
"Who?"
"I don't know. . . . The whole business is incomprehensible to me. . . .Don't speak of it. . . . It all pains me. . . . I have suffered so sinceCoralie's death!"
"Coralie!" exclaimed Patrice.
"Yes, the woman I loved. . . . As for little Coralie, I've suffered alsoon her account. . . . She ought not to have married Essares."
"Where is she?" asked Patrice, in agony.
"I can't tell you."
"Oh," cried Patrice, shaking with rage, "you mean she's dead!"
"No, she's alive, I swear it."
"Then where is she? That's the only thing that matters. All the restbelongs to the past. But this thing, a woman's life, Coralie's life. . ."
"Listen."
Simeon stopped and gave a glance at Don Luis;
"Tell him to go away," he said.
Don Luis laughed:
"Of course! Little Mother Coralie is hidden in the same place as thebags of gold. To save her means surrendering the bags of gold."
"Well?" said Patrice, in an almost a
ggressive tone.
"Well, captain," replied Don Luis, not without a certain touch ofbanter in his voice, "if this honorable gentleman suggested that youshould release him on parole so that he might go and fetch your Coralie,I don't suppose you'd accept?"
"No."
"You haven't the least confidence in him, have you? And you're right.The honorable gentleman, mad though he may be, gave such proofs ofmental superiority and balance, when he sent us trundling down the roadto Mantes, that it would be dangerous to attach the least credit to hispromises. The consequence is . . ."
"Well?"
"This, captain, that the honorable gentleman means to propose a bargainto you, which may be couched thus: 'You can have Coralie, but I'll keepthe gold.'"
"And then?"
"And then? It would be a capital notion, if you were alone with thehonorable gentleman. The bargain would soon be concluded. But I'm here. . . by Jupiter!"
Patrice had drawn himself up. He stepped towards Don Luis and said, in avoice which became openly hostile:
"I presume that you won't raise any opposition. It's a matter of awoman's life."
"No doubt. But, on the other hand, it's a matter of three hundredmillion francs."
"Then you refuse?"
"Refuse? I should think so!"
"You refuse when that woman is at her last gasp? You would rather shedied? . . . Look here, you seem to forget that this is my affair, that. . . that . . ."
The two men were standing close together. Don Luis retained thatchaffing calmness, that air of knowing more than he chose to say, whichirritated Patrice. At heart Patrice, while yielding to Don Luis'mastery, resented it and felt a certain embarrassment at accepting theservices of a man with whose past he was so well acquainted.
"Then you actually refuse?" he rapped out, clenching his fists.
"Yes," said Don Luis, preserving his coolness. "Yes, Captain Belval, Irefuse this bargain, which I consider absurd. Why, it's theconfidence-trick! By Jingo! Three hundred millions! Give up a windfalllike that? Never. But I haven't the least objection to leaving you alonewith the honorable gentleman. That's what he wants, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, talk it over between yourselves. Sign the compact. The honorablegentleman, who, for his part, has every confidence in his son, will tellyou the whereabouts of the hiding-place; and you shall release yourCoralie."
"And you? What about you?" snarled Patrice, angrily.
"I? I'm going to complete my little enquiry into the present and thepast by revisiting the room where you nearly met your death. See youlater, captain. And, whatever you do, insist on guarantees."
Switching on his pocket-lamp, Don Luis entered the lodge and walkedstraight to the studio. Patrice saw the electric rays playing on thepanels between the walled-up windows. He went back to where Simeon sat:
"Now then," he said, in a voice of authority. "Be quick about it."
"Are you sure he's not listening?"
"Quite sure."
"Be careful with him, Patrice. He means to take the gold and keep it."
"Don't waste time," said Patrice, impatiently. "Get to Coralie."
"I've told you Coralie was alive."
"She was alive when you left her; but since then . . ."
"Yes, since then . . ."
"Since then, what? You seem to have your doubts."
"It was last night, five or six hours ago, and I am afraid . . ."
Patrice felt a cold shudder run down his back. He would have givenanything for a decisive word; and at the same time he was almoststrangling the old man to punish him. He mastered himself, however:
"Don't let's waste time," he repeated. "Tell me where to go."
"No, we'll go together."
"You haven't the strength."
"Yes, yes, I can manage . . . it's not far. Only, only, listen to me.. . ."
The old man seemed utterly exhausted. From time to time his breathingwas interrupted, as though Ya-Bon's hand were still clutching him by thethroat, and he sank into a heap, moaning.
Patrice stooped over him:
"I'm listening," he said. "But, for God's sake, hurry!"
"All right," said Simeon. "All right. She'll be free in a few minutes.But on one condition, just one. . . . Patrice, you must swear to me onCoralie's head that you will not touch the gold and that no one shallknow . . ."
"I swear it on her head."
"You swear it, yes; but the other one, your damned companion, he'llfollow us, he'll see."
"No, he won't."
"Yes, he will, unless you consent . . ."
"To what? Oh, in Heaven's name, speak!"
"I'll tell you. Listen. But remember, we must go to Coralie's assistance. . . and that quickly . . . otherwise . . ."
Patrice hesitated, bending one leg, almost on his knees:
"Then come, do!" he said, modifying his tone. "Please come, becauseCoralie . . ."
"Yes, but that man . . ."
"Oh, Coralie first!"
"What do you mean? Suppose he sees us? Suppose he takes the gold fromus?"
"What does that matter!"
"Oh, don't say that, Patrice! . . . The gold! That's the one thing!Since that gold has been mine, my life is changed. The past no longercounts . . . nor does hatred . . . nor love. . . . There's only thegold, the bags of gold . . . I'd rather die . . . and let Coralie die. . . and see the whole world disappear . . ."
"But, look here, what is it you want? What is it you demand?"
Patrice had taken the two arms of this man who was his father and whomhe had never detested with greater vehemence. He was imploring him withall the strength of his being. He would have shed tears had he thoughtthat the old man would allow himself to be moved by tears.
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you. Listen. He's there, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"In the studio?"
"Yes."
"In that case . . . he mustn't come out. . . ."
"How do you mean?"
"No, he must stay there until we've done."
"But . . ."
"It's quite easy. Listen carefully. You've only to make a movement, toshut the door on him. The lock has been forced, but there are the twobolts; and those will do. Do you consent?"
Patrice rebelled:
"But you're mad! _I_ consent, _I_? . . . Why, the man saved my life!. . . He saved Coralie!"
"But he's doing for her now. Think a moment: if he were not there, if hewere not interfering, Coralie would be free. Do you accept?"
"No."
"Why not? Do you know what that man is? A highway robber . . . a wretchwho has only one thought, to get hold of the millions. And you havescruples! Come, it's absurd, isn't it? . . . Do you accept?"
"No and again no!"
"Then so much the worse for Coralie. . . . Oh, yes, I see you don'trealize the position exactly! It's time you did, Patrice. Perhaps it'seven too late."
"Oh, don't say that!"
"Yes, yes, you must learn the facts and take your share of theresponsibility. When that damned negro was chasing me, I got rid ofCoralie as best I could, intending to release her in an hour or two. Andthen . . . and then you know what happened. . . . It was eleven o'clockat night . . . nearly eight hours ago. . . . So work it out for yourself. . ."
Patrice wrung his hands. Never had he imagined that a man could betortured to such a degree. And Simeon continued, unrelentingly.
"She can't breathe, on my soul she can't! . . . Perhaps just a verylittle air reaches her, but that is all. . . . Then again I can't tellthat all that covers and protects her hasn't given way. If it has, she'ssuffocating . . . while you stand here arguing. . . . Look here, can itmatter to you to lock up that man for ten minutes? . . . Only tenminutes, you know. And you still hesitate! Then it's you who are killingher, Patrice. Think . . . buried alive!"
Patrice drew himself up. His resolve was taken. At that moment he wouldhave shrunk from no act, however painful. And what Simeon asked was solittl
e.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Give your orders."
"You know what I want," said the other. "It's quite simple. Go to thedoor, bolt it and come back again."
The officer entered the lodge with a firm step and walked through thehall. The light was dancing up and down at the far end of the studio.
Without a word, without a moment's hesitation, he slammed the door, shotboth the bolts and hastened back. He felt relieved. The action was abase one, but he never doubted that he had fulfilled an imperative duty.
"That's it," he said, "Let's hurry."
"Help me up," said the old man. "I can't manage by myself."
Patrice took him under the armpits and lifted him to his feet. But hehad to support him, for the old man's legs were swaying beneath him.
"Oh, curse it!" blurted Simeon. "That blasted nigger has done for me.I'm suffocating too, I can't walk."
Patrice almost carried him, while Simeon, in the last stage of weakness,stammered:
"This way. . . . Now straight ahead. . . ."
They passed the corner of the lodge and turned their steps towards thegraves.
"You're quite sure you fastened the door?" the old man continued. "Yes,I heard it slam. Oh, he's a terrible fellow, that! You have to be onyour guard with him! But you swore not to say anything, didn't you?Swear it again, by your mother's memory . . . no, better, swear it byCoralie. . . . May she die on the spot if you betray your oath!"
He stopped. A spasm prevented his going any further until he had drawn alittle air into his lungs. Nevertheless he went on talking:
"I needn't worry, need I? Besides, you don't care about gold. That beingso, why should you speak? Never mind, swear that you will be silent.Or, look here, give me your word of honor. That's best. Your word, eh?"
Patrice was still holding him round the waist. It was a terrible, longagony for the officer, this slow crawl and this sort of embrace which hewas compelled to adopt in order to effect Coralie's release. As he feltthe contact of the detested man's body, he was more inclined to squeezethe life out of it. And yet a vile phrase kept recurring deep downwithin him:
"I am his son, I am his son. . . ."
"It's here," said the old man.
"Here? But these are the graves."
"Coralie's grave and mine. It's what we were making for."
He turned round in alarm:
"I say, the footprints! You'll get rid of them on the way back, won'tyou? For he would find our tracks otherwise and he would know that thisis the place. . . ."
"Let's hurry. . . . So Coralie is here? Down there? Buried? Oh, howhorrible!"
It seemed to Patrice as if each minute that passed meant more than anhour's delay and as if Coralie's safety might be jeopardized by amoment's hesitation or a single false step.
He took every oath that was demanded of him. He swore upon Coralie'shead. He pledged his word of honor. At that moment there was not anaction which he would not have been ready to perform.
Simeon knelt down on the grass, under the little temple, pointing withhis finger:
"It's there," he repeated. "Underneath that."
"Under the tombstone?"
"Yes."
"Then the stone lifts?" asked Patrice, anxiously. "I can't lift it bymyself. It can't be done. It would take three men to lift that."
"No," said the old man, "the stone swings on a pivot. You'll managequite easily. All you have to do is to pull at one end . . . this one,on the right."
Patrice came and caught hold of the great stone slab, with itsinscription, "Here lie Patrice and Coralie," and pulled.
The stone rose at the first endeavor, as if a counterweight had forcedthe other end down.
"Wait," said the old man. "We must hold it in position, or it will falldown again. You'll find an iron bar at the bottom of the second step."
There were three steps running into a small cavity, barely large enoughto contain a man stooping. Patrice saw the iron bar and, propping up thestone with his shoulder, took the bar and set it up.
"Good," said Simeon. "That will keep it steady. What you must now do isto lie down in the hollow. This was where my coffin was to have been andwhere I often used to come and lie beside my dear Coralie. I wouldremain for hours, flat on the ground, speaking to her. . . . We bothtalked. . . . Yes, I assure you, we used to talk. . . . Oh, Patrice!. . ."
Patrice had bent his tall figure in the narrow space where he was hardlyable to move.
"What am I to do?" he asked.
"Don't you hear your Coralie? There's only a partition-wall betweenyou: a few bricks hidden under a thin layer of earth. And a door. Theother vault, Coralie's, is behind it. And behind that there's a third,with the bags of gold."
The old man was bending over and directing the search as he knelt on thegrass:
"The door's on the left. Farther than that. Can't you find it? That'sodd. You mustn't be too slow about it, though. Ah, have you got it now?No? Oh, if I could only go down too! But there's not room for more thanone."
There was a brief silence. Then he began again:
"Stretch a bit farther. Good. Can you move?"
"Yes," said Patrice.
"Then go on moving, my lad!" cried the old man, with a yell of laughter.
And, stepping back briskly, he snatched away the iron bar. The enormousblock of stone came down heavily, slowly, because of the counterweight,but with irresistible force.
Though floundering in the newly-turned earth, Patrice tried to rise, atthe sight of his danger. Simeon had taken up the iron bar and now struckhim a blow on the head with it. Patrice gave a cry and moved no more.The stone covered him up. The whole incident had lasted but a fewseconds.
Simeon did not lose an instant. He knew that Patrice, wounded as he wasbound to be and weakened by the posture to which he was condemned, wasincapable of making the necessary effort to lift the lid of his tomb. Onthat side, therefore, there was no danger.
He went back to the lodge and, though he walked with some difficulty, hehad no doubt exaggerated his injuries, for he did not stop until hereached the door. He even scorned to obliterate his footprints and wentstraight ahead.
On entering the hall he listened. Don Luis was tapping against the wallsand the partition inside the studio and the bedroom.
"Capital!" said Simeon, with a grin. "His turn now."
It did not take long. He walked to the kitchen on the right, opened thedoor of the meter and, turning the key, released the gas, thus beginningagain with Don Luis what he had failed to achieve with Patrice andCoralie.
Not till then did he yield to the immense weariness with which he wasovercome and allow himself to lie back in a chair for two or threeminutes.
His most terrible enemy also was now out of the way. But it was stillnecessary for him to act and ensure his personal safety. He walked roundthe lodge, looked for his yellow spectacles and put them on, wentthrough the garden, opened the door and closed it behind him. Then heturned down the lane to the quay.
Once more stopping, in front of the parapet above Berthou's Wharf, heseemed to hesitate what to do. But the sight of people passing, carmen,market-gardeners and others, put an end to his indecision. He hailed ataxi and drove to the Rue Guimard.
His friend Vacherot was standing at the door of his lodge.
"Oh, is that you, M. Simeon?" cried the porter. "But what a state you'rein!"
"Hush, no names!" he whispered, entering the lodge. "Has any one seenme?"
"No. It's only half-past seven and the house is hardly awake. But, Lordforgive us, what have the scoundrels done to you? You look as if you hadno breath left in your body!"
"Yes, that nigger who came after me . . ."
"But the others?"
"What others?"
"The two who were here? Patrice?"
"Eh? Has Patrice been?" asked Simeon, still speaking in a whisper.
"Yes, last night, after you left."
"And you told him?"
"That he was your son."
"Then that," mumbled the old man, "is why he did not seem surprised atwhat I said."
"Where are they now?"
"With Coralie. I was able to save her. I've handed her over to them. Butit's not a question of her. Quick, I must see a doctor; there's no timeto lose."
"We have one in the house."
"No, that's no use. Have you a telephone-directory?"
"Here you are."
"Turn up Dr. Geradec."
"What? You can't mean that?"
"Why not? He has a private hospital quite close, on the Boulevard deMontmorency, with no other house near it."
"That's so, but haven't you heard? There are all sorts of rumors abouthim afloat: something to do with passports and forged certificates."
"Never mind that."
M. Vacherot hunted out the number in the directory and rang up theexchange. The line was engaged; and he wrote down the number on themargin of a newspaper. Then he telephoned again. The answer was that thedoctor had gone out and would be back at ten.
"It's just as well," said Simeon. "I'm not feeling strong enough yet.Say that I'll call at ten o'clock."
"Shall I give your name as Simeon?"
"No, my real name, Armand Belval. Say it's urgent, say it's a surgicalcase."
The porter did so and hung up the instrument, with a moan:
"Oh, my poor M. Simeon! A man like you, so good and kind to everybody!Tell me what happened?"
"Don't worry about that. Is my place ready?"
"To be sure it is."
"Take me there without any one seeing us."
"As usual."
"Be quick. Put your revolver in your pocket. What about your lodge? Canyou leave it?"
"Five minutes won't hurt."
The lodge opened at the back on a small courtyard, which communicatedwith a long corridor. At the end of this passage was another yard, inwhich stood a little house consisting of a ground-floor and an attic.
They went in. There was an entrance-hall followed by three rooms,leading one into the other. Only the second room was furnished. Thethird had a door opening straight on a street that ran parallel with theRue Guimard.
They stopped in the second room.
"Did you shut the hall-door after you?"
"Yes, M. Simeon."
"No one saw us come in, I suppose?"
"Not a soul."
"No one suspects that you're here?"
"No."
"Give me your revolver."
"Here it is."
"Do you think, if I fired it off, any one would hear?"
"No, certainly not. Who is there to hear? But . . ."
"But what?"
"You're surely not going to fire?"
"Yes, I am."
"At yourself, M. Simeon, at yourself? Are you going to kill yourself?"
"Don't be an ass."
"Well, who then?"
"You, of course!" chuckled Simeon.
Pressing the trigger, he blew out the luckless man's brains. His victimfell in a heap, stone dead. Simeon flung aside the revolver and remainedimpassive, a little undecided as to his next step. He opened out hisfingers, one by one, up to six, apparently counting the six persons ofwhom he had got rid in a few hours: Gregoire, Coralie, Ya-Bon, Patrice,Don Luis, old Vacherot!
His mouth gave a grin of satisfaction. One more endeavor; and his flightand safety were assured.
For the moment he was incapable of making the endeavor. His headwhirled. His arms struck out at space. He fell into a faint, with agurgle in his throat, his chest crushed under an unbearable weight.
But, at a quarter to ten, with an effort of will, he picked himself upand, mastering himself and disregarding the pain, he went out by theother door of the house.
At ten o'clock, after twice changing his taxi, he arrived at theBoulevard Montmorency, just at the moment when Dr. Geradec was alightingfrom his car and mounting the steps of the handsome villa in which hisprivate hospital had been installed since the beginning of the war.
The Golden Triangle: The Return of Arsène Lupin Page 17