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

by Maurice Leblanc

  “Raoul, to-day’s the 27th of June. In a few weeks you will be rich; and I too. And d’Estreicher will be hanged high and dry as I predicted to his face.”

  That very evening Dorothy slipped out of the Manor and furtively made her way to a lane which ran between very tall hedges. After an hour’s walking she came to a little garden at the bottom of which a light was shining.

  Her private investigations had brought to her knowledge the name of an old lady, Juliet Assire, whom the gossip of the countryside declared to be one of the old flames of the Baron. Before his attack, the Baron paid her a visit, for all that she was deaf, in poor health, and rather feeble-witted. Moreover, thanks to the lack of discretion of the maid who looked after her and whom Saint-Quentin had questioned, Dorothy had learnt that Juliet Assire was the possessor of a medal of the kind they were searching, for at the Manor.

  Dorothy had formed the plan of taking advantage of the maid’s weekly evening out to knock at the door and question Juliet Assire. But Fortune decided otherwise. The door was not locked, and when she stepped over the threshold of the low and comfortable sitting-room, she perceived the old lady asleep in the lamplight, her head bent over the canvas which she was engaged in embroidering.

  “Suppose I look for it?” thought Dorothy. “What’s the use of asking her questions she won’t answer?”

  She looked round her, examined the prints hanging on the wall, the clock under its glass case, the candlesticks.

  Further on an inner staircase led up to the bedrooms. She was moving towards it when the door creaked. On the instant she was certain that d’Estreicher was about to appear. Had he followed her?... Had he by any chance brought her there by a combination of machinations? She was frightened and thought only of flight... The staircase? The rooms on the first floor... She hadn’t the time! Near her was a glass door.... Doubtless it led to the kitchen.... And from there to the back door through which she could escape.

  She went through it and at once found out her mistake. She was in a dark closet, a cupboard rather, against the boards of which she had to flatten herself before she could get the door shut. She found herself a prisoner.

  At that moment the door of the room opened, very quietly. Two men came cautiously into it; and immediately one of them whispered:

  “The old woman’s asleep.”

  Through the glass, which was covered by a torn curtain, Dorothy easily recognized d’Estreicher, in spite of his turned-up coat-collar and the flaps of his cap, which were tied under his chin. His copfederate in like manner had hidden half his face in a muffler.

  “That damsel does make you play the fool,” he said.

  “Play the fool? Not a bit of it!” growled d’Estreicher. “I’m keeping an eye on her, that’s all.”

  “Rot! You’re always shadowing her. You’re losing your head about her... You’ll go on doing it till the day she helps you to lose it for good.”

  “I don’t say, no. She nearly succeeded in doing it at Roberey. But I need her.”

  “What for?”

  “For the medal. She’s the only person capable of laying her hands on it.”

  “Not here — in any case. We’ve already searched the house twice.”

  “Badly, without a doubt, since she is coming to it. At least when we caught sight of her she was certainly coming in this direction. The chatter of the maid has sent her here; and she has chosen the night when the old woman would be alone.”

  “You are stuck on your little pet.”

  “I’m stuck on her,” growled d’Estreicher. “Only let me lay my hands on her, and I swear the little devil won’t forget it in a hurry!”

  Dorothy shivered. There was in the accents of this man a hate and at the same time a Violence of desire which terrified her.

  He was silent, posted “behind the door, listening for her coming.

  Several minutes passed. Juliet Assire still slept, her hand hanging lower and lower over her work.

  At last d’Estreicher muttered:

  “She isn’t coming. She must have turned off somewhere.”

  ‘“Ah well, let’s clear out,” said his accomplice.

  “No.”

  “Have you got an idea?”

  “A determination — to find the medal.”

  ‘‘But since we’ve already searched the house twice—”

  “We went about it the wong way. We must change our methods.... All the worse for the old woman!”

  He banged the table at the risk of waking Juliet Assire.

  “After all, it’s too silly! The maid distinctly said: ‘There’s a medal in the house, the kind of thing they’re looking for at the Manor.’ Then let’s make use of the opportunity, what? What failed in the case of the Baron may succeed to-dayi.”

  “What? You’d—”

  “Make her speak — yes. As I tried to make the Baron speak. Only, she’s a woman, she is.”

  D’Estreicher had taken off his cap. His evil face wore an expression of savage crudity. He went to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he came back to the arm-chair in which the good lady was sleeping, gazed at her a moment and of a sudden fell upon her, gripping her throat, and thrust her backwards against the back of the chair.

  His confederate chuckled:

  “You needn’t give yourself all that trouble. If you squeeze too hard, you’ll kill the poor old thing.”

  D’Estreicher opened his fingers a little. The old woman opened her eyes wide and uttered a low groan.

  “Speak!” d’Estreicher commanded. “The Baron intrusted a medal to you. Where, have you put it?”

  Juliet Assire did not clearly understand what was happening, to her. She struggled, Exasperated, he shook her.

  “Will you prattle? Hey? Where’s your old sweetheart’s medal? He gave it to you all right. Don’t say he didn’t you, old hag! Your maid’s telling everybody who cares to listen, to her. Come, speak up if you don’t—”

  He picked one of the iron fire-dogs with copper knobs from the hearthstone and brandished it crying —

  “One... two... three.... At twenty I’ll crack your skull!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  ON THE IRON WIRE

  THE DOOR BEHIND which Dorothy was hiding herself shut badly. Having pushed it to gently, she not only saw but heard everything that took place, except that the face of Juliet Assire remained hidden from her. The ruffian’s threat did not trouble her much, for she knew that he would not put it into execution. In fact d’Estreicher counted up to twenty without the old woman having uttered a word. But her resistance infuriated him to such a degree that, dropping the mass of iron, he seized the hand of Juliet Assire and twisted it violently. Juliet Assire yelled with pain.

  “Ah, you’re beginning to understand, are you?” he said. “Perhaps you’ll answer... Where is the medal?”

  She was silent.

  He gave her hand another twist.

  The old woman fell on her knees and begged for mercy incoherently.

  “Speak!” he cried. “Speak! I’ll go on twisting till you speak!”

  She stammered several syllables.

  “What’s that you say? Speak more distinctly, will you? Do you want me to give it another twist?”

  “No... no,” she implored. “It’s there...at the Manor... in the river.”

  ““In the river? What nonsense! You threw it into the river? You’re laughing at me!”

  He held her down with one knee on her chest, their hands clenched round one another. From her post of observation Dorothy watched them, horror-stricken, powerless against these two men, but nevertheless unable to resign herself to inaction.

  “Then I’ll twist it, what?” growled the ruffian. “You prefer it to speaking?”

  He made a quick movement which drew a cry from Juliet Assire. And all at once she raised herself, showed her face convulsed with terror, moved her lips, and succeeded in stuttering:

  “The c — c — cupboard... the cupboard... the flagstones
.”

  The sentence was never finished, though the mouth continued to move, but a strange thing happened: her frightful face little by little grew calm, assumed an ineffable serenity, became happy, smiling; and of a sudden Juliet Assire burst out laughing. She no longer felt the torture of her twisted wrist and she laughed gently, not jerkily, with an expression of beatitude.

  She was mad.

  “You’ve no luck,” said his confederate in a mocking tone. “Directly you try to make people speak, they collapse — the Baron, cracked; his sweetheart, mad as a hatter. You’re doing well.”

  The exasperated d’Estreicher thrust away the old woman who stumbled and turning fell down behind an arm-chair quite close to Dorothy, and cried furiously.

  “You’re right, my luck’s out. But this time perhaps we’ve found a lode. Before her brain gave she spoke of a cupboard and flagstones. Which? This one or that? They’re both paved with flags?”

  He pointed first to the kind of closet in which Dorothy was hiding and then to a cupboard on the other side of the fireplace.

  “I’ll begin with this cupboard. You start on that one,” he said. “Or rather, no — come and help me; we’ll go through this one thoroughly first.”

  He knelt down near the fireplace, opened the cupboard door, and with the poker got to work on one of the cracks between the flags of its floor which his accomplice tried to raise.

  Dorothy lost no time. She knew that they were coming to the closet and that she was lost if she did not fly. The old woman, stretched out close to her, was laughing gently and then grew silent as the men worked on.

  Hidden by the arm-chair, Dorothy slipped noiselessly out of the cupboard, took off the lace cap which covered the hair of Juliet Assire and put it on her own head. Then she took her spectacles, then her shawl, put it round her shoulders, and succeeded in hiding her figure with a big table-cloth of black serge. At that moment Juliet fell silent. On the instant Dorothy took up her even, joyous laughter. She rose, and stooping like an old woman, ambled across the room.

  D’Estreicher growled: “What’s the old lunatic up to? Mind she doesn’t get away.”

  “How can she get away?” asked his confederate. “You’ve got the key in your pocket.”

  “The window.”

  “Much too high. Besides she doesn’t want to leave the cottage.”

  Dorothy slipped in front of the window, the sill of which, uncommonly high up, was on a level with her eyes. The shutters were not closed. With a slow movement she succeeded in turning the catch. Then she paused. She knew that directly it was opened the window would let in the fresh air and the noises outside, and give the ruffians warning. In a few seconds she calculated and analyzed the movements she would need to make. Sure of herself and relying on her extraordinary agility, she took a look at her enemies; then swiftly, without a single mistake or a second’s hesitation, she threw the window wide, jumped on to the sill, and from it into the garden.

  There came two shouts together, then a hubbub of cries. But it took the two men time to understand, to stumble upon the body of the real Juliet and discover it was she, to unlock the door. Dorothy made use of it. Too clever to escape down the garden and through the gate, she ran round the cottage, jumped down a slope, scratched herself among the thorns of a hedge, and came out into the fields.

  As she did so pistol-shots rang out. D’Estreicher and his confederate were firing at the shadows.

  When Dorothy had rejoined Raoul and the children, who, alarmed by her absence, were waiting for her at the door of the caravan, and bad told them briefly about her expedition, she ended: “And now we’re going to make an end of it The final hand will be played ha exactly a week from to-day.”

  These few days were very sweet to the two young people. While still remaining shy, Raoul grew holder in his talks with her and let her see more clearly the depths of his nature, at once serious and impassioned. Dorothy abandoned herself with a certain joy to this love, of the sincerity of which she was fully conscious. Deeply disturbed, Saint-Quentin and his comrades grew uncommonly gloomy.

  The captain tossed his head and said:

  “Dorothy, I think I like this one less than the nasty gentleman, and if you’d listen to me.. “What should we do, my lamb?”

  “We’d harness One-eye’ Magpie and go away.”

  “And the treasure? You know we’re hunting for treasure.”

  “You’re the treasure, mummy. And I’m afraid that they’ll take you away from us.”

  “Don’t you worry, my child. My four children will always come first.”

  But the four children did worry. The sense of danger weighed on them. In this confined space, between the walls of Hillocks Manor they breathed a heavy atmosphere which troubled them. Raoul was the chief danger: but another danger was little by little taking form in their minds: twice they saw the outline of a man moving stealthily among the thickets of the hillocks in the dusk.

  On the 30th of June, Dorothy begged Raoul to give all his staff a holiday next day it was the day of the great religions fête at Ciissoo. Three of the stoutest of the servants, armed with guns, were ordered to come back surreptitiously at four in the afternoon and wait near a little inn, Masson Inn, a quarter of a mile from the Manor.

  Next day Dorothy seemed in higher spirits than ever. She danced jigs in the court-yard and sang English songs. She sang others in the boat, in which she had asked Raoul to row her, and then behaved so wildly, that several times they just missed capsizing. In this way it came about that in juggling with three coral bracelets she let one of them fall into the water. She wanted to recover it, dipped her bare arm in the water as high as the shoulder, and remained motionless, her head bent over the lake, as if she was considering carefully something she saw on its bottom.

  “What are you looking at like that?’ said Raoul.

  “There has been no rain for a long while, the lake is low, and one can see more distinctly the stones and pebbles on the bottom. Now I’ve already noticed that some of the stones are arranged in a certain pattern. Look.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said. “And they’ve hewn stones, shaped. One might fancy that they formed huge letters. Have you noticed it?’

  “Yes. And one can guess the words that those letters form-: ‘In robore fortune? At the mayor’s office I’ve studied an old map of the neighborhood. Here, where we are, was formerly the principal lawn of a sunken garden, and on this very laws one of your ancestors had this device inscribed in blocks of stone. Since then some one has let in the water of the Maine over the sunken garden. The pool has taken the place of the lawn. The device is hidden.”

  And she added between her teeth:

  “And so are the few words and the figures below the device, which I have not yet been able to see. And it’s that which interests me. Do you see them?”

  “Yes. But indistinctly.”

  “That’s just it. We’re too near them. We need to look at them from a height.”

  “Let’s climb up on the hillocks.”

  “No use. The slope — the water would blur the image.”

  “Then,” said he, laughing, “we must mount above them in an aeroplane.”

  At lunch-time they parted. After the meal, Raoul superintended the departure of the char-a-bancs, which were taking all the staff of the Manor to Clisson, then he took his way to the pool where he saw Dorothy’s little troupe hard at work on the bank. The captain, always the man of affairs, was running to and fro somewhat in the manner of a Gugusse. The others were carrying out exactly Dorothy’s instructions.

  When it was all over, a sufficiently thick iron wire was stretched above the lake at a height of ten or twelve feet, fastened at one end to the gable of a barn, at the other to a ring affixed to a rock among the hillocks.

  “Hang it all!” he said. “It looks to me as if you’d made preparations for one of your circus turns.”

  “You’re right,” she replied gayly. “Having no aéroplane I fall back on my aërial rope-walkin
g.”

  “What? Is that what you intend to do?” he exclaimed in anxious accents. “But you’re bound to fall.”

  “I can swim.”

  “No, no. I refuse to allow it.”

  “By what right?”

  “You haven’t even a balancing-pole.”

  “A balancing-pole?” she said, running off. “And what next? A net? A safety-rope?”

  She climbed up the ladder inside the barn and appeared on the edge of the roof. She was laughing, as was her custom when she began her performance before a crowd. She was dressed in a silk frock, with broad white and red stripes, a scarlet silk handkerchief was crossed over her chest.

  Raoul was in a state of feverish excitement.

  The captain went to him.

  “Do you want to help mummy, Dorothy?” he said in a confidential tone.

  “Certainly I do.”

  “Well, go away, monsieur.”

  Dorothy stretched out her leg. Her foot, which was bare in a cloth sandal divided at the big toe, tried the wire, as a bather’s foot tries the coldness of the water. And then she quickly stepped on to it, made several steps, sliding, and stopped.

  She saluted right and left, pretending to believe herself in the presence of a large audience, and came sliding forward again with a regular, rhythmic move-merit of her legs and a swaying of her bust and arms which balanced her like the beating of the wings of a bird. So she arrived above the pool. The wire, slackened, beat under her weight and jerked upwards. A second time she stopped, when she was over the middle of the pool.

  This was the hardest part of her undertaking. She was no longer able to hook, so to speak, her gaze on a fixed point among the hillocks, and lend her balance the support of something stable. She had to lower her eyes and try to read, in the moving and glittering water, repelling the fascination of the sun’s reflection, the words and the figures. A terribly dangerous task! She had to essay it several times and to rise upright the very moment she found herself bending over the void. A minute or two passed, minutes of veritable anguish. She brought them to an end by a salute with both arms, stretching them out with even gracefulness, and a cry of victory; then she at once walked on again.