The Secret of Sarek

by Maurice Leblanc

  CHAPTER XII

  THE ASCENT OF GOLGOTHA

  Twenty or thirty minutes elapsed. Veronique was still alone. The cordscut into her flesh; and the rails of the balcony bruised her forehead.The gag choked her. Her knees, bent in two and doubled up beneath her,carried the whole weight of her body. It was an intolerable position, anunceasing torture . . . . Still, though she suffered, she was not veryclearly aware of it. She was unconscious of her physical suffering; andshe had already undergone such mental suffering that this supreme ordealdid not awaken her drowsing senses.

  She hardly thought. Sometimes she said to herself that she was about todie; and she already felt the repose of the after-life, as onesometimes, amidst a storm, feels in advance the wide peace of theharbour. Hideous things were sure to happen between the present momentand the conclusion which would set her free; but her brain refused todwell on them; and her son's fate in particular elicited only momentarythoughts, which were immediately dispersed.

  At heart, as there was nothing to enlighten her as to her frame of mind,she was hoping for a miracle. Would the miracle occur in Vorski?Incapable of generosity though he was, would not the monster hesitatenone the less in the presence of an utterly unnecessary crime? A fatherdoes not kill his son, or at least the act must be brought about byimperative reasons; and Vorski had no such reasons to allege against amere child whom he did not know and whom he could not hate except withan artificial hatred.

  Her torpor was lulled by this hope of a miracle. All the sounds whichreechoed through the house, sounds of discussions, sounds of hurryingfootsteps, seemed to her to indicate not so much the preparations forthe events foretold as the sign of interruptions which would ruin allVorski's plans. Had not her dear Francois said that nothing could anylonger separate them from each other and that, at the moment wheneverything might seem lost and even when everything would be reallylost, they must keep their faith intact?

  "My Francois," she repeated, "my darling Francois, you shall not die. . . we shall see each other again . . . you promised me!"

  Out of doors, a blue sky, flecked with a few menacing clouds, hungoutspread above the tall oaks. In front of her, beyond that same windowat which her father had appeared to her, in the middle of the grasswhich she had crossed with Honorine on the day of her arrival, a sitehad been recently cleared and covered with sand, like an arena. Was ithere that her son was to fight? She received the sudden intuition thatit must be; and her heart contracted.

  "Francois," she said, "Francois, have no fear . . . . I shall save you. . . . Oh, forgive me, Francois darling, forgive me! . . . All this isa punishment for the wrong I once did . . . . It is the atonement. . . . The son is atoning for the mother . . . . Forgive me, forgiveme! . . ."

  At that moment a door opened on the ground-floor and voices ascendedfrom the doorstep. She recognized Vorski's voice among them.

  "So it's understood," he said. "We shall each go our own way; you two onthe left, I on the right. You'll take this kid with you, I'll take theother and we'll meet in the lists. You'll be the seconds, so to speak,of yours and I'll be the second of mine, so that all the rules will beobserved."

  Veronique shut her eyes, for she did not wish to see her son, who wouldno doubt be maltreated, led out to fight like a slave. She could hearthe creaking of two sets of footsteps following the two circular paths.Vorski was laughing and speechifying.

  The groups turned and advanced in opposite directions.

  "Don't come any nearer," Vorski ordered. "Let the two adversaries taketheir places. Halt, both of you. Good. And not a word, do you hear? Ifeither of you speaks, I shall cut him down without mercy. Are you ready?Begin!"

  So the terrible thing was commencing. In accordance with Vorski's will,the duel was about to take place before the mother, the son was about tofight before her face. How could she do other than look? She opened hereyes.

  She at once saw the two come to grips and hold each other off. But shedid not at once understand what she saw, or at least she failed tounderstand its exact meaning. She saw the two boys, it was true; butwhich of them was Francois and which was Raynold?

  "Oh," she stammered, "it's horrible! . . . And yet . . . no, I must bemistaken . . . . It's not possible . . ."

  She was not mistaken. The two boys were dressed alike, in the samevelvet knickerbockers, the same white-flannel shirts, the same leatherbelts. But each had his head wrapped in a red-silk scarf, with two holesfor the eyes, as in a highwayman's mask.

  Which was Francois? Which was Raynold?

  Now she remembered Vorski's inexplicable threat. This was what he meantby the programme drawn up by himself, this was to what he alluded whenhe spoke of a little play of his composing. Not only was the sonfighting before the mother, but she did not know which was her son.

  It was an infernal refinement of cruelty; Vorski himself had said so. Noagony could add to Veronique's agony.

  The miracle which she had hoped for lay chiefly in herself and in thelove which she bore her son. Because her son was fighting before hereyes, she felt certain that her son could not die. She would protect himagainst the blows and against the ruses of the foe. She would make thedagger swerve, she would ward off death from the head which she adored.She would inspire her boy with dauntless energy, with the will toattack, with indefatigable strength, with the spirit that foretells andseizes the propitious moment. But now that both of them were veiled, onwhich was she to exercise her good influence, for which to pray, againstwhich to rebel?

  She knew nothing. There was no clue to enlighten her. One of them wastaller, slimmer and lither in his movements. Was this Francois? Theother was more thick-set, stronger and stouter in appearance. Was thisRaynold? She could not tell. Nothing but a glimpse of a face, or even afleeting expression, could have revealed the truth to her. But how wasshe to pierce the impenetrable mask?

  And the fight continued, more terrible for her than if she had seen herson with his face uncovered.

  "Bravo!" cried Vorski, applauding an attack.

  He seemed to be following the duel like a connoisseur, with theaffectation of impartiality displayed by a good judge of fighting whoabove all things wants the best man to win. And yet it was one of hissons that he had condemned to death.

  Facing her stood the two accomplices, both of them men with brutalfaces, pointed skulls and big noses with spectacles. One of them wasextremely thin; the other was also thin, but with a swollen paunch likea leather bottle. These two did not applaud and remained indifferent, orperhaps even hostile, to the sight before them.

  "Capital!" cried Vorski, approvingly. "Well parried! Oh, you're a coupleof sturdy fellows and I'm wondering to whom to award the palm."

  He pranced around the adversaries, urging them on in a hoarse voice inwhich Veronique, remembering certain scenes in the past, seemed torecognize the effects of drink. Nevertheless the poor thing made aneffort to stretch out her bound hands towards him; and she moaned underher gag:

  "Mercy! Mercy! I can't bear it. Have pity!"

  It was impossible for her martyrdom to last. Her heart was beating soviolently that it shook her from head to foot; and she was on the pointof fainting when an incident occurred that gave her fresh life. One ofthe boys, after a fairly stubborn tussle, had jumped back and wasswiftly bandaging his right wrist, from which a few drops of blood weretrickling. Veronique seemed to remember seeing in her son's hand thesmall blue-and-white handkerchief which the boy was using.

  She was immediately and irresistibly convinced. The boy--it was the moreslender and agile of the two--had more grace than the other, moredistinction, greater elegance of movement.

  "It's Francois," she murmured. "Yes, yes, it's he . . . . It's you,isn't it, my darling? I recognize you now . . . . The other is commonand heavy . . . . It's you, my darling! . . . Oh, my Francois, mydearest Francois!"

  In fact, though both were fighting with equal fierceness, this onedisplayed less savage fury and blind rage in his efforts. It was asthough he were trying not so much to k
ill his adversary as to wound himand as though his attacks were directed rather to preserving himselffrom the death that lay in wait for him. Veronique felt alarmed andstammered, as though he could hear her:

  "Don't spare him, my darling! He's a monster, too! . . . Oh, dear, ifyou're generous, you're lost! . . . Francois, Francois, mind what you'redoing!"

  The blade of the dagger had flashed over the head of the one whom shecalled her son; and she had cried out, under her gag, to warn him.Francois having avoided the blow, she felt persuaded that her cry hadreached his ears; and she continued instinctively to put him on hisguard and advise him:

  "Take a rest . . . . Get your breath . . . . Whatever you do, keep youreyes on him . . . . He's getting ready to do something . . . . He'sgoing to rush at you . . . . Here he comes! Oh, my darling, another inchand he would have stabbed you in the neck! . . . Be careful, darling,he's treacherous . . . there's no trick too mean for him to play. . . ."

  But the unhappy mother felt, however reluctant she might yet be to admitit, that the one whom she called her son was beginning to lose strength.Certain signs proclaimed a reduced power of resistance, while the other,on the contrary, was gaining in eagerness and vigour. Francois retreateduntil he reached the edge of the arena.

  "Hi, you, boy!" grinned Vorski. "You're not thinking of running away,are you? Keep your nerve, damn it! Show some pluck! Remember theconditions!"

  The boy rushed forward with renewed zest; and it was the other's turn tofall back. Vorski clapped his hands, while Veronique murmured:

  "It's for me that he's risking his life. The monster must have told him,'Your mother's fate depends on you. If you win, she's saved.' And he hassworn to win. He knows that I am watching him. He guesses that I amhere. He hears me. Bless you, my darling!"

  It was the last phase of the duel. Veronique trembled all over,exhausted by her emotion and by the too violent alternation of hope andanguish. Once again her son lost ground and once again he leaptforward. But, in the final struggle that followed, he lost his balanceand fell on his back, with his right arm caught under his body.

  His adversary at once stooped, pressed his knee on the other's chest andraised his arm. The dagger gleamed in the air.

  "Help! Help!" Veronique gasped, choking under her gag.

  She flattened her breast against the wall, without thinking of the cordswhich tortured her. Her forehead was bleeding, cut by the sharp cornerof the rail, and she felt that she was about to die of the death of herson. Vorski had approached and stood without moving, with a mercilesslook on his face.

  Twenty seconds, thirty seconds passed. With his outstretched left hand,Francois checked his adversary's attempt. But the victorious arm sanklower and lower, the dagger descended, the point was only an inch or twofrom the neck.

  Vorski stooped. Just then, he was behind Raynold, so that neitherRaynold nor Francois could see him; and he was watching mostattentively, as though intending to intervene at some given moment. Butin whose favor would he intervene? Was it his plan to save Francois?

  Veronique no longer breathed; her eyes were enormously dilated; she hungbetween life and death.

  The point of the dagger touched the neck and must have pricked theflesh, but only very slightly, for it was still held back by Francois'resistance.

  Vorski bent lower. He stood over the fighters and did not take his eyesfrom the deadly point. Suddenly he took a pen-knife from his pocket,opened it and waited. A few more seconds elapsed. The dagger continuedto descend. Then quickly he gashed Raynold's shoulder with the blade ofhis knife.

  The boy uttered a cry of pain. His grip at once became relaxed; and, atthe same time, Francois, set free, his right arm released, half rose,resumed the offensive and, without seeing Vorski or understanding whathad happened, in an instinctive impulse of his whole being escaped fromdeath and revolting against his adversary, struck him full in the face.Raynold in his turn fell like a log.

  All this had certainly lasted no longer than ten seconds. But theincident was so unexpected and took Veronique so greatly aback that, notrealizing, not knowing that she ought to rejoice, believing rather thatshe was mistaken and that the real Francois was dead, murdered byVorski, the poor thing sank into a huddled heap and lost consciousness.

  * * * * *

  A long, long time elapsed. Then, gradually, Veronique became aware ofcertain sensations. She heard the clock strike four; and she said:

  "It's two hours since Francois died. For it was he who died."

  She had not a doubt that the duel had ended in this way. Vorski wouldnever have allowed Francois to be the victor and his other son to bekilled. And so it was against her own child that she had sent up wishesand for the monster that she had prayed!

  "Francois is dead," she repeated. "Vorski has killed him."

  The door opened and she heard Vorski's voice. He entered, with anunsteady gait:

  "A thousand pardons, dear lady, but I think Vorski must have fallenasleep. It's your father's fault, Veronique! He had hidden away in hiscellar some confounded Saumur which Conrad and Otto discovered and whichhas fuddled me a bit! But don't cry; we shall make up for lost time. . . . Besides everything must be settled by midnight. So . . ."

  He had come nearer; and he now exclaimed:

  "What! Did that rascal of a Vorski leave you tied up? What a brute thatVorski is! And how uncomfortable you must be! . . . Hang it all, howpale you are! I say, look here, you're not dead, are you? That would bea nasty trick to play us!"

  He took Veronique's hand, which she promptly snatched away.

  "Capital! We still loathe our little Vorski! Then that's all right andthere's plenty of reserve strength. You'll hold out to the end,Veronique."

  He listened:

  "What is it? Who's calling me? Is it you, Otto? Come up . . . . Well,Otto, what news? I've been asleep, you know. That damned Saumur wine!. . ."

  Otto, one of the two accomplices, entered the room at a run. He was theone whose paunch bulged so oddly.

  "What news?" he exclaimed. "Why, this: I've seen some one on theisland!"

  Vorski began to laugh:

  "You're drunk, Otto. That damned Saumur wine . . ."

  "I'm not drunk. I saw . . . and so did Conrad . . ."

  "Oho," said Vorski, more seriously, "if Conrad was with you! Well, whatdid you see?"

  "A white figure, which hid when we came along."

  "Where?"

  "Between the village and the heath, in a little wood of chestnut trees."

  "On the other side of the island then?"

  "Yes."

  "All right. We'll take our precautions."

  "How? There may be several of them."

  "I don't care if there are ten of them; it would make no difference.Where's Conrad?"

  "By the foot-bridge which we put in the place of the bridge that wasburnt down. He's keeping watch from there."

  "Conrad is a clever one. When the bridge was burnt, we were kept on theother side; if the foot-bridge is burnt, it'll produce the samehindrance. Veronique, I really believe they're coming to rescue you.It's the miracle you expected, the assistance you hoped for. But it'stoo late, my beauty."

  He untied the bonds that fastened her to the balcony, carried her to thesofa and loosened the gag slightly:

  "Sleep, my wench," he said. "Get what rest you can. You're only half-wayto Golgotha yet; and the last bit of the ascent will be the hardest."

  He went away jesting; and Veronique heard the two men exchange a fewsentences which proved to her that Otto and Conrad were only supers whoknew nothing of the business in hand:

  "Who's this wretched woman whom you're persecuting?" asked Otto.

  "That doesn't concern you."

  "Still, Conrad and I would like to know something about it."

  "Lord, why?"

  "Oh, just because!"

  "Conrad and you are a pair of fools," replied Vorski. "When I took youinto my service and helped you to escape with me, I told you all I couldof
my plans. You accepted my conditions. It was your look-out. You'vegot to see this thing through now."

  "And if we don't?"

  "If you don't, beware of the consequences. I don't like shirkers. . . ."

  More hours passed. Nothing, it seemed to Veronique, could any longersave her from the end for which she craved with all her heart. She nolonger hoped for the intervention of which Otto had spoken. In realityshe was not thinking at all. Her son was dead; and she had no other wishthan to join him without delay, even at the cost of the most dreadfulsuffering. What did that suffering matter to her? There are limits tothe strength of those who are tortured; and she was so near to reachingthose limits that her agony would not last long.

  She began to pray. Once more the memory of the past forced itself on hermind; and the fault which she had committed seemed to her the cause ofall the misfortunes heaped upon her.

  And, while praying, exhausted, harassed, in a state of nervousextenuation which left her indifferent to anything that might happen,she fell asleep.

  Vorski's return did not even rouse her. He had to shake her:

  "The hour is at hand, my girl. Say your prayers."

  He spoke low, so that his assistants might not hear what he said; and,whispering in her ear, he told her things of long ago, insignificanttrifles which he dribbled out in a thick tone. At last he called out:

  "It's still too light, Otto. Go and see what you can find in the larder,will you? I'm hungry."

  They sat down to table, but Vorski stood up again at once:

  "Don't look at me, my girl. Your eyes worry me. What do you expect? Myconscience doesn't worry me when I'm alone, but it gets worked up when afine pair of eyes like yours go right through me. Lower your lids, mypretty one."

  He bound Veronique's eyes with a handkerchief which he knotted behindher head. But this did not satisfy him; and he unhooked a muslin curtainfrom the window, wrapped her whole head in it and wound it round herneck. Then he sat down again to eat and drink.

  The three of them hardly spoke and said not a word of their trip acrossthe island, nor of the duel of the afternoon. In any case, these weredetails which did not interest Veronique and which, even if she had paidattention to them, would not have aroused her. Everything had becomeindifferent to her. The words reached her ears but assumed no definitemeaning. She thought of nothing but dying.

  When it was dark, Vorski gave the signal for departure.

  "Then you're still determined?" asked Otto, in a voice betraying acertain hostility.

  "More so than ever. What's your reason for asking?"

  "Nothing . . . . But, all the same . . ."

  "All the same what?"

  "Well, I may as well out with it, we only half like the job."

  "You don't mean to say so! And you only discover it now, my man, afterstringing up the sisters Archignat and treating it as a lark!"

  "I was drunk that day. You made us drink."

  "Well, get boozed if you want to, old cock. Here, take thebrandy-bottle. Fill your flask and shut up . . . . Conrad, is thestretcher ready?"

  He turned to his victim:

  "A polite attention for you, my dear . . . . Two old stilts of yourbrat's, fastened together with straps . . . . It's very practical andcomfortable."

  At half-past eight, the grim procession set out, with Vorski at thehead, carrying a lantern. The accomplices followed with the litter.

  The clouds which had been threatening all the afternoon had now gatheredand were rolling, thick and black, over the island. The night wasfalling swiftly. A stormy wind was blowing and made the candle flickerin the lantern.

  "Brrrr!" muttered Vorski. "Dismal work! A regular Golgotha evening."

  He swerved and grunted at the sight of a little black shape boundingalong by his side:

  "What's that? Look. It's a dog, isn't it?"

  "It's the boy's mongrel," said Otto.

  "Oh, of course, the famous All's Well! The brute's come in the nick oftime. Everything's going jolly well! Just wait a bit, you mangy beast!"

  He aimed a kick at the dog. All's Well avoided it and keeping out ofreach, continued to accompany the procession, giving a muffled bark atintervals.

  It was a rough ascent; and every moment one of the three men, leavingthe invisible path that skirted the grass in front of the house and ledto the open space by the Fairies' Dolmen, tripped in the brambles or inthe runners of ivy.

  "Halt!" Vorski commanded. "Stop and take breath, my lads. Otto, hand usyour flask. My heart's turning upside down."

  He took a long pull:

  "Your turn, Otto . . . . What, don't you want to? What's the matter withyou?"

  "I'm thinking that there are people on the island who are looking forus."

  "Let them look!"

  "And suppose they come by boat and climb that path in the cliffs whichthe woman and the boy were trying to escape by this morning, the path wefound?"

  "What we have to fear is an attack by land, not by sea. Well, thefoot-bridge is burnt. There's no means of communication."

  "Unless they find the entrance to the cells, on the Black Heath, andfollow the tunnel to this place."

  "Have they found the entrance?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, granting that they do find it, haven't we just blocked the exiton this side, broken down the staircase, thrown everything topsy-turvy?To clear it will take them half a day and more. Whereas at midnight thething'll be done and by daybreak we shall be far away from Sarek."

  "It'll be done, it'll be done; that is to say, we shall have one moremurder on our conscience. But . . ."

  "But what?"

  "What about the treasure?"

  "Ah, the treasure! You've got it out at last! Well, make your mind easy:your shares of it are as good as in your pockets."

  "Are you sure of that?"

  "Rather! Do you imagine that I'm staying here and doing all this dirtywork for fun?"

  They resumed their progress. After a quarter of an hour, a few drops ofrain began to fall. There was a clap of thunder. The storm stillappeared to be some distance away.

  They had difficulty in completing the rough ascent: and Vorski had tohelp his companions.

  "At last!" he said. "We're there. Otto, hand me the flask. That's it.Thanks."

  They had laid their victim at the foot of the oak which had had itslower branches removed. A flash of light revealed the inscription,"V. d'H." Vorski picked up a rope, which had been left there inreadiness, and set a ladder against the trunk of the tree:

  "We'll do as we did with the sisters Archignat," he said. "I'll pass thecord over the big branch which we left intact. That will serve as apulley."

  He interrupted himself and jumped to one side. Something extraordinaryhad just happened.

  "What's that?" he whispered. "What was it? Did you hear that whistlingsound?"

  "Yes," said Conrad, "it grazed my ear. One would have said it was abullet."

  "You're mad."

  "I heard it too," said Otto, "and it seems to me that it hit the tree."

  "What tree?"

  "The oak, of course! It was as though somebody had fired at us."

  "There was no report."

  "A stone, then; a stone that must have hit the oak."

  "We'll soon see," said Vorski.

  He turned his lantern and at once let fly an oath:

  "Damn it! Look, there, under the lettering."

  They looked. An arrow was fixed at the spot to which he pointed. Itsfeathered end was still quivering.

  "An arrow!" gasped Conrad. "How is it possible? An arrow!"

  And Otto spluttered:

  "We're done for! It's us they were aiming at!"

  "The man who took aim at us can't be far off," Vorski observed. "Keepyour eyes open. We'll have a look."

  He swung the light in a circle which penetrated the surroundingdarkness.

  "Stop," said Conrad, eagerly. "A little more to the right. Do you see?"

  "Yes, yes, I see."

/>   Thirty yards from where they stood, in the direction of the Calvary ofthe Flowers, just beyond the blasted oak, they saw something white, afigure which was trying, at least so it seemed, to hide behind a clumpof bushes.

  "Not a word, not a movement," Vorski ordered. "Do nothing to let himthink that we've discovered him. Conrad, come with me. You, Otto, stayhere, with your revolver in your hand, and keep a good watch. If theytry to come near and to release her ladyship, fire two shots and we'llrun back at once. Is that understood?"

  "Quite."

  Vorski bent over Veronique and loosened the veil slightly. Her eyes andmouth were still concealed by their bandages. She was breathing withdifficulty; the pulse was weak and slow.

  "We have time," he muttered, "but we must hurry if we want her to dieaccording to plan. In any case she doesn't seem to be in pain. She haslost all consciousness."

  He put down the lantern and then softly, followed by his assistant,stole towards the white figure, both of them choosing the places wherethe shadow was densest.

  But he soon became aware, on the one hand, that the figure, which hadseemed stationary, was moving as he himself moved forward, so that thespace between them remained the same, and, on the other hand, that itwas escorted by a small black figure frisking by its side.

  "It's that filthy mongrel!" growled Vorski.

  He quickened his pace: the distance did not decrease. He ran: the figurein front of him ran likewise. And the strangest part of it was that theyheard no sound of leaves disturbed or of ground trampled by themysterious person running ahead of them.

  "Damn it!" swore Vorski. "He's laughing at us. Suppose we fired at him,Conrad?"

  "He's too far. The bullets wouldn't reach him."

  "All the same, we're not going to . . ."

  The unknown individual led them to the end of the island and then downto the entrance of the tunnel, passed close to the Priory, skirted thewest cliff and reached the foot-bridge, some of the planks of which werestill smouldering. Then he branched off, passed back by the other sideof the house and went up the grassy slope.

  From time to time the dog barked gaily.

  Vorski could not control his rage. However hard he tried, he was unableto gain an inch of ground: and the pursuit had lasted fifteen minutes.He ended by vituperating the enemy:

  "Stop, can't you? Show yourself a man! . . . What are you trying to do?Lead us into a trap? What for? . . . Is it her ladyship you're trying tosave? It's not worth while, in the state she's in. Oh, you damned, smartbounder, if I could only get hold of you!"

  Suddenly Conrad seized him by the skirt of his robe.

  "What is it, Conrad?"

  "Look. He seems to be stopping."

  As Conrad suggested, the white figure for the first time was becomingmore and more clearly visible in the darkness and they were able todistinguish, through the leaves of a thicket, its present attitude, withthe arms slightly opened, the back bowed, the legs bent and apparentlycrossed on the ground.

  "He must have fallen," said Conrad.

  Vorski, after running forward, shouted:

  "Am I to shoot, you scum? I've got the drop on you. Hands up, or Ifire."

  Nothing stirred.

  "It's your own look-out! If you show fight, you're a dead man. I shallcount three and fire."

  He walked to twenty yards of the figure and counted, with outstretchedarm:

  "One . . . two . . . . Are you ready, Conrad? Fire!"

  The two bullets were discharged at the same time.

  There was a cry of distress. The figure seemed to collapse. The two menrushed forward:

  "Ah, now you've got it, you rascal! I'll show you the stuff thatVorski's made of! You've given me a pretty run, you oaf! Well, youraccount's settled!"

  After the first few steps, he slackened his speed, for fear of asurprise. The figure did not move; and Vorski, on coming close, saw thatit had the limp and misshapen look of a dead man, of a corpse. Nothingremained but to fall upon it. This was what Vorski did, laughing andjesting:

  "A good bag, Conrad! Let's pick up the game."

  But he was greatly surprised, on picking up the game, to feel in hishands nothing but an almost impalpable quarry, consisting, to tell thetruth, of just a white robe, with no one inside it, the owner of therobe having taken flight in good time, after hooking it to the thorns ofa thicket. As for the dog, he had disappeared.

  "Damn and blast it!" roared Vorski. "He's cheated us, the ruffian! Butwhy, hang it, why?"

  Venting his rage in the stupid fashion that was his habit, he wasstamping on the piece of stuff, when a thought struck him:

  "Why? Because, damn it, as I said just now, it's a trap: a trap to getus away from her ladyship while his friends went for Otto! Oh, what anass I've been!"

  He started to go back in the dark and, as soon as he was able to see thedolmen, he called out:

  "Otto! Otto!"

  "Halt! Who goes there?" answered Otto, in a scared voice.

  "It's me . . . . Damn you, don't fire!"

  "Who's there? You?"

  "Yes, yes, you fool."

  "But the two shots?"

  "Nothing . . . . A mistake . . . . We'll tell you about it . . . ."

  He was now close to the oak and, at once, taking up the lantern, turnedits rays upon his victim. She had not moved and lay stretched at thefoot of the tree, with her head wrapped in the veil.

  "Ah!" he said. "I breathe again! Hang it, how frightened I was!"

  "Frightened of what?"

  "Of their taking her from us, of course!"

  "Well, wasn't I here?"

  "Oh, you! You've got no more pluck than a louse . . . and, if they hadgone for you . . ."

  "I should have fired, at any rate. You'd have heard the signal."

  "May be. Well, did nothing happen?"

  "Nothing at all."

  "Her ladyship didn't carry on too much?"

  "She did at first. She moaned and groaned under her hood, until I lostall patience."

  "And then?"

  "Oh, then! It didn't last long: I stunned her with a good blow of myfist."

  "You brute!" exclaimed Vorski. "If you've killed her, you're a deadman."

  He plumped down and glued his ear to his unfortunate victim's breast.

  "No," he said, presently, "her heart is still beating. But that may notlast long. To work, lads. It must all be over in ten minutes."