He led him to the quay, a short distance away from Berthou’s Wharf:
“At nine o’clock this evening,” he said, “you’re to be on guard here, on this bench. Bring your food and drink with you; and keep a particular look-out for anything that happens over there, down stream. Perhaps nothing will happen at all; but never mind: you’re not to move until I come back . . . unless . . . unless something does happen, in which case you will act accordingly.”
He paused and then continued:
“Above all, Ya-Bon, beware of Siméon. It was he who gave you that wound. If you catch sight of him, leap at his throat and bring him here. But mind you don’t kill him! No nonsense now. I don’t want you to hand me over a corpse, but a live man. Do you understand, Ya-Bon?”
Patrice began to feel uneasy:
“Do you fear anything from that side?” he asked. “Look here, it’s out of the question, as Siméon has gone . . .”
“Captain,” said Don Luis, “when a good general goes in pursuit of the enemy, that does not prevent him from consolidating his hold on the conquered ground and leaving garrisons in the fortresses. Berthou’s Wharf is evidently one of our adversary’s rallying-points. I’m keeping it under observation.”
Don Luis also took serious precautions with regard to Coralie. She was very much overstrained and needed rest and attention. They put her into the car and, after making a dash at full speed towards the center of Paris, so as to throw any spies off the scent, took her to the home on the Boulevard Maillot, where Patrice handed her over to the matron and recommended her to the doctor’s care. The staff received strict orders to admit no strangers to see her. She was to answer no letter, unless the letter was signed “Captain Patrice.”
At nine o’clock, the car sped down the Saint-Germain and Mantes road. Sitting inside with Don Luis, Patrice felt all the enthusiasm of victory and indulged freely in theories, every one of which possessed for him the value of an unimpeachable certainty. A few doubts lingered in his mind, however, points which remained obscure and on which he would have been glad to have Don Luis’ opinion.
“There are two things,” he said, “which I simply cannot understand. In the first place, who was the man murdered by Essarès, at nineteen minutes past seven in the morning, on the fourth of April? I heard his dying cries. Who was killed? And what became of the body?”
Don Luis was silent; and Patrice went on:
“The second point is stranger still. I mean Siméon’s behavior. Here’s a man who devotes his whole life to a single object, that of revenging his friend Belval’s murder and at the same time ensuring my happiness and Coralie’s. This is his one aim in life; and nothing can make him swerve from his obsession. And then, on the day when his enemy, Essarès Bey, is put out of the way, suddenly he turns round completely and persecutes Coralie and me, going to the length of using against us the horrible contrivance which Essarès Bey had employed so successfully against our parents! You really must admit that it’s an amazing change! Can it be the thought of the gold that has hypnotized him? Are his crimes to be explained by the huge treasure placed at his disposal on the day when he discovered the secret? Has a decent man transformed himself into a bandit to satisfy a sudden instinct? What do you think?”
Don Luis persisted in his silence. Patrice, who expected to see every riddle solved by the famous adventurer in a twinkling, felt peevish and surprised. He made a last attempt:
“And the golden triangle? Another mystery! For, after all, there’s not a trace of a triangle in anything we’ve seen! Where is this golden triangle? Have you any idea what it means?”
Don Luis allowed a moment to pass and then said:
“Captain, I have the most thorough liking for you and I take the liveliest interest in all that concerns you, but I confess that there is one problem which excludes all others and one object towards which all my efforts are now directed. That is the pursuit of the gold of which we have been robbed; and I don’t want this gold to escape us. I have succeeded on your side, but not yet on the other. You are both of you safe and sound, but I haven’t the eighteen hundred bags; and I want them, I want them.”
“You’ll have them, since we know where they are.”
“I shall have them,” said Don Luis, “when they lie spread before my eyes. Until then, I can tell you nothing.”
At Mantes the enquiries did not take long. They almost immediately had the satisfaction of learning that a traveler, whose description corresponded with old Siméon’s, had gone to the Hôtel des Trois-Empereurs and was now asleep in a room on the third floor.
Don Luis took a ground-floor room, while Patrice, who would have attracted the enemy’s attention more easily, because of his lame leg, went to the Grand Hôtel.
He woke late the next morning. Don Luis rang him up and told him that Siméon, after calling at the post-office, had gone down to the river and then to the station, where he met a fashionably-dressed woman, with her face hidden by a thick veil, and brought her back to the hotel. The two were lunching together in the room on the third floor.
At four o’clock Don Luis rang up again, to ask Patrice to join him at once in a little café at the end of the town, facing the Seine. Here Patrice saw Siméon on the quay. He was walking with his hands behind his back, like a man strolling without any definite object.
“Comforter, spectacles, the same get-up as usual,” said Patrice. “Not a thing about him changed. Watch him. He’s putting on an air of indifference, but you can bet that his eyes are looking up stream, in the direction from which the Belle Hélène is coming.”
“Yes, yes,” said Don Luis. “Here’s the lady.”
“Oh, that’s the one, is it?” said Patrice. “I’ve met her two or three times already in the street.”
A dust-cloak outlined her figure and shoulders, which were wide and rather well-developed. A veil fell around the brim of her felt hat. She gave Siméon a telegram to read. Then they talked for a moment, seemed to be taking their bearings, passed by the café and stopped a little lower down. Here Siméon wrote a few words on a sheet of note-paper and handed it to his companion. She left him and went back into the town. Siméon resumed his walk by the riverside.
“You must stay here, captain,” said Don Luis.
“But the enemy doesn’t seem to be on his guard,” protested Patrice. “He’s not turning round.”
“It’s better to be prudent, captain. What a pity that we can’t have a look at what Siméon wrote down!”
“I might . . .”
“Go after the lady? No, no, captain. Without wishing to offend you, you’re not quite cut out for it. I’m not sure that even I . . .”
And he walked away.
Patrice waited. A few boats moved up or down the river. Mechanically, he glanced at their names. And suddenly, half an hour after Don Luis had left him, he heard the clearly-marked rhythm, the pulsation of one of those powerful motors which, for a few years past, have been fitted to certain barges.
At the bend of the river a barge appeared. As she passed in front of him, he distinctly and with no little excitement read the name of the Belle Hélène!
She was gliding along at a fair pace, to the accompaniment of a regular, throbbing beat. She was big and broad in the beam, heavy and pretty deep in the water, though she appeared to carry no cargo. Patrice saw two watermen on board, sitting and smoking carelessly. A dinghy floated behind at the end of a painter.
The barge went on and passed out of sight at the turn. Patrice waited another hour before Don Luis came back.
“Well?” he asked. “Have you seen her?”
“Yes, they let go the dinghy, a mile and a half from here, and put in for Siméon.”
“Then he’s gone with them?”
“Yes.”
“Without suspecting anything?”
“You’re asking me too much, captain!”
“Never mind! We’ve won! We shall catch them up in the car, pass them and, at Vernon or somewhere, inform the militar
y and civil authorities, so that they may proceed to arrest the men and seize the boat.”
“We shall inform nobody, captain. We shall proceed to carry out these little operations ourselves.”
“What do you mean? Surely . . .”
The two looked at each other. Patrice had been unable to dissemble the thought that occurred to his mind. Don Luis showed no resentment:
“You’re afraid that I shall run away with the three hundred millions? By jingo, it’s a largish parcel to hide in one’s jacket-pocket!”
“Still,” said Patrice, “may I ask what you intend to do?”
“You may, captain, but allow me to postpone my reply until we’ve really won. For the moment, we must first find the barge again.”
They went to the Hôtel des Trois-Empereurs and drove off in the car towards Vernon. This time they were both silent.
The road joined the river a few miles lower down, at the bottom of the steep hill which begins at Rosny. Just as they reached Rosny the Belle Hélène was entering the long loop which curves out to La Roche-Guyon, turns back and joins the high-road again at Bonnières. She would need at least three hours to cover the distance, whereas the car, climbing the hill and keeping straight ahead, arrived at Bonnières in fifteen minutes.
They drove through the village. There was an inn a little way beyond it, on the right. Don Luis made his chauffeur stop here:
“If we are not back by twelve to-night,” he said, “go home to Paris. Will you come with me, captain?”
Patrice followed him towards the right, whence a small road led them to the river-bank. They followed this for a quarter of an hour. At last Don Luis found what he appeared to be seeking, a boat fastened to a stake, not far from a villa with closed shutters. Don Luis unhooked the chain.
It was about seven o’clock in the evening. Night was falling fast, but a brilliant moonlight lit the landscape.
“First of all,” said Don Luis, “a word of explanation. We’re going to wait for the barge. She’ll come in sight on the stroke of ten and find us lying across stream. I shall order her to heave to; and there’s no doubt that, when they see your uniform by the light of the moon or of my electric lamp, they will obey. Then we shall go on board.”
“Suppose they refuse?”
“If they refuse, we shall board her by force. There are three of them and two of us. So . . .”
“And then?”
“And then? Well, there’s every reason to believe that the two men forming the crew are only extra hands, employed by Siméon, but ignorant of his actions and knowing nothing of the nature of the cargo. Once we have reduced Siméon to helplessness and paid them handsomely, they’ll take the barge wherever I tell them. But, mind you — and this is what I was coming to — I mean to do with the barge exactly as I please. I shall hand over the cargo as and when I think fit. It’s my booty, my prize. No one is entitled to it but myself.”
The officer drew himself up:
“Oh, I can’t agree to that, you know!”
“Very well, then give me your word of honor that you’ll keep a secret which doesn’t belong to you. After which, we’ll say good-night and go our own ways. I’ll do the boarding alone and you can go back to your own business. Observe, however, that I am not insisting on an immediate reply. You have plenty of time to reflect and to take the decision which your interest, honor and conscience may dictate to you. For my part, excuse me, but you know my weakness: when circumstances give me a little spare time, I take advantage of it to go to sleep. Carpe somnum, as the poet says. Good-night, captain.”
And, without another word, Don Luis wrapped himself in his great-coat, sprang into the boat and lay down.
Patrice had had to make a violent effort to restrain his anger. Don Luis’ calm, ironic tone and well-bred, bantering voice got on his nerves all the more because he felt the influence of that strange man and fully recognized that he was incapable of acting without his assistance. Besides, he could not forget that Don Luis had saved his life and Coralie’s.
The hours slipped by. The adventurer slumbered peacefully in the cool night air. Patrice hesitated what to do, seeking for some plan of conduct which would enable him to get at Siméon and rid himself of that implacable adversary and at the same time to prevent Don Luis from laying hands on the enormous treasure. He was dismayed at the thought of being his accomplice. And yet, when the first throbs of the motor were heard in the distance and when Don Luis awoke, Patrice was by his side, ready for action.
They did not exchange a word. A village-clock struck ten. The Belle Hélène was coming towards them.
Patrice felt his excitement increase. The Belle Hélène meant Siméon’s capture, the recovery of the millions, Coralie out of danger, the end of that most hideous nightmare and the total extinction of Essarès’ handiwork. The engine was throbbing nearer and nearer. Its loud and regular beat sounded wide over the motionless Seine. Don Luis had taken the sculls and was pulling hard for the middle of the river. And suddenly they saw in the distance a black mass looming up in the white moonlight. Twelve or fifteen more minutes passed and the Belle Hélène was before them.
“Shall I lend you a hand?” whispered Patrice. “It looks as if you had the current against you and as if you had a difficulty in getting along.”
“Not the least difficulty,” said Don Luis; and he began to hum a tune.
“But . . .”
Patrice was stupefied. The boat had turned in its own length and was making for the bank.
“But, I say, I say,” he said, “what’s this? Are you going back? Are you giving up? . . . I don’t understand. . . . You’re surely not afraid because they’re three to our two?”
Don Luis leapt on shore at a bound and stretched out his hand to him. Patrice pushed it aside, growling:
“Will you explain what it all means?”
“Take too long,” replied Don Luis. “Just one question, though. You know that book I found in old Siméon’s room, The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin: did you see it when you were making your search?”
“Look here, it seems to me we have other things to . . .”
“It’s an urgent question, captain.”
“Well, no, it wasn’t there.”
“Then that’s it,” said Don Luis. “We’ve been done brown, or rather, to be accurate, I have. Let’s be off, captain, as fast as we can.”
Patrice was still in the boat. He pushed off abruptly and caught up the scull, muttering:
“As I live, I believe the beggar’s getting at me!”
He was ten yards from shore when he cried:
“If you’re afraid, I’ll go alone. Don’t want any help.”
“Right you are, captain!” replied Don Luis. “I’ll expect you presently at the inn.”
Patrice encountered no difficulties in his undertaking. At the first order, which he shouted in a tone of command, the Belle Hélène stopped; and he was able to board her peacefully. The two bargees were men of a certain age, natives of the Basque coast. He introduced himself as a representative of the military authorities; and they showed him over their craft. He found neither old Siméon nor the very smallest bag of gold. The hold was almost empty.
The questions and answers did not take long:
“Where are you going?”
“To Rouen. We’ve been requisitioned by the government for transport of supplies.”
“But you picked up somebody on the way.”
“Yes, at Mantes.”
“His name, please?”
“Siméon Diodokis.”
“Where’s he got to?”
“He made us put him down a little after, to take the train.”
“What did he want?”
“To pay us.”
“For what?”
“For a shipload we took at Paris two days ago.”
“Bags?”
“Yes.”
“What of?”
“Don’t know. We were well paid and asked no questions.”
“And what’s become of the load?”
“We transhipped it last night to a small steamer that came alongside of us below Passy.”
“What’s the steamer’s name?”
“The Chamois. Crew of six.”
“Where is she now?”
“Ahead of us. She was going fast. She must be at Rouen by this time. Siméon Diodokis is on his way to join her.”
“How long have you known Siméon Diodokis?”
“It’s the first time we saw him. But we knew that he was in M. Essarès’ service.”
“Oh, so you’ve worked for M. Essarès?”
“Yes, often. . . . Same job and same trip.”
“He called you by means of a signal, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he used to light an old factory-chimney.”
“Was it always bags?”
“Yes. We didn’t know what was inside. He was a good payer.”
Patrice asked no more questions. He hurriedly got into his boat, pulled back to shore and found Don Luis seated with a comfortable supper in front of him.
“Quick!” he said. “The cargo is on board a steamer, the Chamois. We can catch her up between Rouen and Le Hâvre.”
Don Luis rose and handed the officer a white-paper packet:
“Here’s a few sandwiches for you, captain,” he said. “We’ve an arduous night before us. I’m very sorry that you didn’t get a sleep, as I did. Let’s be off, and this time I shall drive. We’ll knock some pace out of her! Come and sit beside me, captain.”
They both stepped into the car; the chauffeur took his seat behind them. But they had hardly started when Patrice exclaimed:
“Hi! What are you up to? Not this way! We’re going back to Mantes or Paris!”
“That’s what I mean to do,” said Luis, with a chuckle.
“Eh, what? Paris?”
“Well, of course!”
“Oh, look here, this is a bit too thick! Didn’t I tell you that the two bargees . . . ?”
“Those bargees of yours are humbugs.”
“They declared that the cargo . . .”
“Cargo? No go!”
“But the Chamois . . .”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 206