“At once.”
“Then . . .”
“Then what?”
“Well, François is alive.”
“You mutton-head. I know that. But where is he?”
“Tied into the boat.”
“The one hanging at the foot of the cliff?”
“Yes.”
Don Luis struck his forehead with his hand:
“Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! . . . Don’t mind: I’m speaking of myself. Yes, I ought to have guessed that! Why, All’s Well was sleeping under the boat, peacefully, like a good dog sleeping beside his master! Why, when we sent All’s Well on François’ trail, he led Stéphane straight to the boat. It’s true enough, there are times when the cleverest of us behave like simpletons! But you, Vorski, did you know that there was a way down there and a boat?”
“I knew it since yesterday.”
“And, you artful dog, you intended to skedaddle in her?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Vorski, you shall skedaddle in her, with Otto. I’ll leave her for you. Stéphane!”
But Stéphane Maroux was already running towards the cliff, escorted by All’s Well.
“Release him, Stéphane,” cried Don Luis.
And he added, addressing the Moors:
“Help him, you others. And get the submarine under way. We shall sail in ten minutes.”
He turned to Vorski:
“Good-bye, my dear chap . . . . Oh, just one more word! Every well-regulated adventure contains a love-story. Ours appears to be without one, for I should never dare to allude to the feelings that urged you towards the sainted woman who bore your name. And yet I must tell you of a very pure and noble affection. Did you notice the eagerness with which Stéphane flew to François’ assistance? Obviously he loves his young pupil, but he loves the mother still more. And, since everything that pleases Véronique d’Hergemont is bound to please you, I wish to admit that he is not indifferent to her, that his wonderful love has touched her heart, that it was with real joy that she saw him restored to her this morning and that this will all end in a wedding . . . as soon as she’s a widow, of course. You follow me, don’t you? The only obstacle to their happiness is yourself. Therefore, as you are a perfect little gentleman, you will not like to . . . But I need not go on. I rely on your good manners to die as soon as you can. Good-bye, old fellow, I won’t offer you my hand, but my heart’s with you. Otto, in ten minutes, unless you hear to the contrary, release your employer. You’ll find the boat at the bottom of the cliff. Good luck, my friends!”
It was finished. The battle between Don Luis and Vorski was ended: and the issue had not been in doubt for a single instant. From the first minute, one of the two adversaries had so consistently dominated the other, that the latter, in spite of all his daring and his training as a criminal, had been nothing more than a grotesque, absurd, disjointed puppet in his opponent’s hands. After succeeding in the entire execution of his plan, after attaining and surpassing his object, he, the master of events, in the moment of victory, found himself suddenly strung up on the tree of torture; and there he remained, gasping and captive like an insect pinned to a strip of cork.
Without troubling any further about his victims, Don Luis went off with Patrice Belval, who could not help saying to him:
“All the same, you’re letting those vile scoundrels down very lightly!”
“Pooh, it won’t be long before they get themselves nabbed elsewhere,” said Don Luis, chuckling. “What do you expect them to do?”
“Well, first of all, to take the God-Stone.”
“Out of the question! It would need twenty men to do that, with a scaffolding and machinery. I myself am giving up the idea for the present. I shall come back after the war.”
“But, look here, Don Luis, what is this miraculous stone?”
“Ah, now you’re asking something!” said Don Luis, without making further reply.
They set out; and Don Luis, rubbing his hands, said:
“I worked the thing well. It’s not much over twenty-four hours since we landed at Sarek. And the riddle had lasted twenty-four centuries. One century an hour. My congratulations, Lupin.”
“I should be glad to offer you mine, Don Luis,” said Patrice Belval, “but they are not worth as much as those of an expert like yourself.”
When they reached the sands of the little beach, François’ boat had already been lowered and was empty. Farther away, on the right, the Crystal Stopper was floating on the calm sea. François came running up to them, stopped a few yards from Don Luis and looked at him with wide-open eyes:
“I say,” he murmured, “then it’s you? It’s you I was expecting?”
“Faith,” said Don Luis, laughing. “I don’t know if you were expecting me . . . but I’m sure it’s me!”
“You . . . you . . . Don Luis Perenna! . . . That is to say . . .”
“Hush, no other names! Perenna’s enough for me . . . . Besides, we won’t talk about me, if you don’t mind. I was just a chance, a gentleman who happened to drop in at the right moment. Whereas you . . . by Jove, youngster, but you’ve done jolly well! . . . So you spent the night in the boat?”
“Yes, under the tarpaulin, lashed to the bottom and tightly gagged.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Not at all. I hadn’t been there ten minutes when All’s Well appeared. So . . .”
“But the man, the scoundrel: what had he threatened to do to you?”
“Nothing. After the duel, while the others were attending to my opponent, he brought me down here, pretending that he was going to take me to mother and put us both on board the boat. Then, when we got to the boat, he laid hold of me without a word.”
“Do you know the man? Do you know his name?”
“I know nothing about him. All I can say is that he was persecuting us, mother and me.”
“For reasons which I shall explain to you, François. In any case, you have nothing to fear from him now.”
“Oh, but you haven’t killed him?”
“No, but I have put it out of his power to do any more harm. This will all be explained to you; but I think that, for the moment, the most urgent thing is that we should go to your mother.”
“Stéphane told me that she was resting over there, in the submarine, and that you had saved her too. Does she expect me?”
“Yes; we had a talk last night, she and I, and I promised to find you. I felt that she trusted me. All the same, Stéphane, you had better go ahead and prepare her.”
The Crystal Stopper lay at the end of a reef of rocks which formed a sort of natural jetty. Some ten or twelve Moors were running to and fro. Two had drawn apart and were whispering together. Two of them were holding a gangway which Don Luis and François crossed a minute later.
In one of the cabins, arranged as a drawing-room, Véronique lay stretched on a couch. Her pale face bore the marks of the unspeakable suffering which she had undergone. She seemed very weak, very weary. But her eyes, full of tears, were bright with happiness.
François rushed into her arms. She burst into sobs, without speaking a word.
Opposite them, All’s Well, seated on his haunches, beat the air with his fore-paws and looked at them, with his head a little on one side:
“Mother,” said François, “Don Luis is here.”
She took Don Luis’ hand and pressed a long kiss upon it, while François murmured:
“You saved mother . . . . You saved us both . . . .”
Don Luis interrupted him:
“Will you give me pleasure, François? Well, don’t thank me. If you really want to thank somebody, there, thank your friend All’s Well. He does not look as if he had played a very important part in the piece. And yet, compared with the scoundrel who persecuted you, he was the good genius, always discreet, intelligent, modest and silent.”
“So are you!”
“Oh, I am neither modest nor silent; and that’s why I admire All’s Well. Here, All’s Well, come along
with me and, for goodness’ sake, stop sitting up! You might have to do it all night, for they will be shedding tears together for hours, the mother and son . . . .”
CHAPTER XVIII. THE GOD-STONE
THE CRYSTAL STOPPER was running on the surface of the water. Don Luis sat talking, with Stéphane, Patrice and All’s Well, who were gathered round him:
“What a swine that Vorski is!” he said. “I’ve seen that breed of monster before, but never one of his calibre.”
“Then, in that case . . .” Patrice Belval objected.
“In that case?” echoed Don Luis.
“I repeat what I’ve said already. You hold a monster in your hands and you let him go free! To say nothing of its being highly immoral, think of all the harm that he can do, that he inevitably will do! It’s a heavy responsibility to take upon yourself, that of the crimes which he will still commit.”
“Do you think so too, Stéphane?” asked Don Luis.
“I’m not quite sure what I think,” replied Stéphane, “because, to save François, I was prepared to make any concession. But, all the same . . .”
“All the same, you would rather have had another solution?”
“Frankly, yes. So long as that man is alive and free, Madame d’Hergemont and her son will have everything to fear from him.”
“But what other solution was there? I promised him his liberty in return for François’ immediate safety. Ought I to have promised him only his life and handed him over to the police?”
“Perhaps,” said Captain Belval.
“Very well. But, in that case, the police would institute enquiries, and by discovering the fellow’s real identity bring back to life the husband of Véronique d’Hergemont and the father of François. Is that what you want?”
“No, no!” cried Stéphane, eagerly.
“No, indeed,” confessed Patrice Belval, a little uneasily. “No, that solution is no better; but what astonishes me is that you, Don Luis, did not hit upon the right one, the one which would have satisfied us all.”
“There was only one solution,” Don Luis Perenna said, plainly. “There was only one.”
“Which was that?”
“Death.”
There was a pause. Then Don Luis resumed:
“My friends, I did not form you into a court simply as a joke; and you must not think that your parts as judges are played because the trial seems to you to be over. It is still going on; and the court has not risen. That is why I want you to answer me honestly: do you consider that Vorski deserves to die?”
“Yes,” declared Patrice.
And Stéphane approved:
“Yes, beyond a doubt.”
“My friends,” Don Luis continued, “your verdict is not sufficiently solemn. I beseech you to utter it formally and conscientiously, as though you were in the presence of the culprit. I ask you once more: what penalty did Vorski deserve?”
They raised their hands and, one after the other, answered:
“Death.”
Don Luis whistled. One of the Moors ran up.
“Two pairs of binoculars, Hadji.”
The man brought the glasses and Don Luis handed them to Stéphane and Patrice:
“We are only a mile from Sarek,” he said. “Look towards the point: the boat should have started.”
“Yes,” said Patrice, presently.
“Do you see her, Stéphane?”
“Yes, only . . .”
“Only what?”
“There’s only one passenger.”
“Yes,” said Patrice, “only one passenger.”
They put down their binoculars and one of them said:
“Only one has got away: Vorski evidently. He must have killed Otto, his accomplice.”
“Unless Otto, his accomplice, has killed him,” chuckled Don Luis.
“What makes you say that?”
“Why, remember the prophecy made to Vorski in his youth: ‘Your wife will die on the cross and you will be killed by a friend.’”
“I doubt if a prediction is enough.”
“I have other proofs, though.”
“What proofs?”
“They, my friends, form part of the last problem we shall have to elucidate together. For instance, what is your idea of the manner in which I substituted Elfride Vorski for Madame d’Hergemont?”
Stéphane shook his head:
“I confess that I never understood.”
“And yet it’s so simple! When a gentleman in a drawing-room, in a white tie and a tail-coat, performs conjuring-tricks or guesses your thoughts, you say to yourself, don’t you, that there must be some artifice beneath it all, the assistance of a confederate? Well, you need seek no farther where I’m concerned.”
“What, you had a confederate?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“But who was he?”
“Otto.”
“Otto? But you never left us! You never spoke to him, surely?”
“How could I have succeeded without his help? In reality, I had two confederates in this business, Elfride and Otto, both of whom betrayed Vorski, either out of revenge or out of greed. While you, Stéphane, were luring Vorski past the Fairies’ Dolmen, I accosted Otto. We soon struck a bargain, at the cost of a few bank-notes and in return for a promise that he would come out of the adventure safe and sound. Moreover I informed him that Vorski had pouched the sisters Archignat’s fifty thousand francs.”
“How did you know that?” asked Stéphane.
“Through my confederate number one, through Elfride, whom I continued to question in a whisper while you were looking out for Vorski’s coming and who also, in a few brief words, told me what she knew of Vorski’s past.”
“When all is said, you only saw Otto that once.”
“Two hours later, after Elfride’s death and after the fireworks in the hollow oak, we had a second interview, under the Fairies’ Dolmen. Vorski was asleep, stupefied with drink, and Otto was mounting guard. You can imagine that I seized the opportunity to obtain particulars of the business and to complete my information about Vorski with the details which Otto for two years had been secretly collecting about a chief whom he detested. Then he unloaded Vorski’s and Conrad’s revolvers, or rather he removed the bullets, while leaving the cartridges. Then he handed me Vorski’s watch and note-book, as well as an empty locket and a photograph of Vorski’s mother which Otto had stolen from him some months before, things which helped me next day to play the wizard with the aforesaid Vorski in the crypt where he found me. That is how Otto and I collaborated.”
“Very well,” said Patrice, “but still you didn’t ask him to kill Vorski?”
“Certainly not.”
“In that case, how are we to know that . . .”
“Do you think that Vorski did not end by discovering our collaboration, which is one of the obvious causes of his defeat? And do you imagine that Master Otto did not foresee this contingency? You may be sure that there was no doubt of this: Vorski, once unfastened from his tree, would have made away with his accomplice, both from motives of revenge and in order to recover the sisters Archignat’s fifty thousand francs. Otto got the start of him. Vorski was there, helpless, lifeless, an easy prey. He struck him a blow. I will go farther and say that Otto, who is a coward, did not even strike him a blow. He will simply have left Vorski on his tree. And so the punishment is complete. Are you appeased now, my friends? Is your craving for justice satisfied?”
Patrice and Stéphane were silent, impressed by the terrible vision which Don Luis was conjuring up before their eyes.
“There,” he said, laughing, “I was right not to make you pronounce sentence over there, when we were standing at the foot of the oak, with the live man in front of us! I can see that my two judges might have flinched a little at that moment. And so would my third judge, eh, All’s Well, you sensitive, tearful fellow? And I am like you, my friends. We are not people who condemn and execute. But, all the same, think of what Vorski was, think
of his thirty murders and his refinements of cruelty and congratulate me on having, in the last resort, chosen blind destiny as his judge and the loathsome Otto as his responsible executioner. The will of the gods be done!”
The Sarek coast was making a thinner line on the horizon. It disappeared in the mist in which sea and sky were merged.
The three men were silent. All three were thinking of the isle of the dead, laid waste by one man’s madness, the isle of the dead where soon some visitor would find the inexplicable traces of the tragedy, the entrances to the tunnels, the cells with their “death-chambers,” the hall of the God-Stone, the mortuary crypts, Elfride’s body, Conrad’s body, the skeletons of the sisters Archignat and, right at the end of the island, near the Fairies’ Dolmen, where the prophecy of the thirty coffins and the four crosses was written for all to read, Vorski’s great body, lonely and pitiable, mangled by the ravens and owls.
A villa near Arcachon, in the pretty village of Les Moulleaux, whose pine-trees run down to the shores of the gulf.
Véronique is sitting in the garden. A week’s rest and happiness have restored the colour to her comely face and assuaged all evil memories. She is looking with a smile at her son, who, standing a little way off, is listening to and questioning Don Luis Perenna. She also looks at Stéphane; and their eyes meet gently.
It is easy to see that the affection in which they both hold the boy is a link which unites them closely and which is strengthened by their secret thoughts and their unuttered feelings. Not once has Stéphane recalled the avowals which he made in the cell, under the Black Heath; but Véronique has not forgotten them; and the profound gratitude which she feels for the man who brought up her son is mingled with a special emotion and an agitation of which she unconsciously savours the charm.
That day, Don Luis, who, on the evening when the Crystal Stopper brought them all to the Villa des Moulleaux, had taken the train for Paris, arrived unexpectedly at lunch-time, accompanied by Patrice Belval; and during the hour that they have been sitting in their rocking-chairs in the garden, the boy, his face all pink with excitement, has never ceased to question his rescuer:
“And what did you do next? . . . But how did you know? . . . And what put you on the track of that?”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 242