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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Golden Triangle
+       The Return of Arsene Lupin
+
+Author: Maurice Leblanc
+
+Release Date: December 30, 2010 [EBook #34795]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "Send Coralie up by herself and her life shall be saved,"
+read the scroll (Page 205)]
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE
+
+_The Return of Arsene Lupin_
+
+BY MAURICE LE BLANC
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY," "CONFESSIONS OF
+ARSENE LUPIN," ETC.
+
+NEW YORK
+THE MACAULAY COMPANY
+
+COPYRIGHT 1917
+BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                     PAGE
+     I.  CORALIE                              11
+    II.  RIGHT HAND AND LEFT LEG              27
+   III.  THE RUSTY KEY                        43
+    IV.  BEFORE THE FLAMES                    59
+     V.  HUSBAND AND WIFE                     74
+    VI.  NINETEEN MINUTES PAST SEVEN          91
+   VII.  TWENTY-THREE MINUTES PAST TWELVE    107
+  VIII.  ESSARES BEY'S WORK                  124
+    IX.  PATRICE AND CORALIE                 140
+     X.  THE RED CORD                        156
+    XI.  ON THE BRINK                        174
+   XII.  IN THE ABYSS                        188
+  XIII.  THE NAILS IN THE COFFIN             206
+   XIV.  A STRANGE CHARACTER                 221
+    XV.  THE BELLE HELENE                    241
+   XVI.  THE FOURTH ACT                      263
+  XVII.  SIMEON GIVES BATTLE                 283
+ XVIII.  SIMEON'S LAST VICTIM                304
+   XIX.  FIAT LUX!                           332
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+CORALIE
+
+
+It was close upon half-past six and the evening shadows were growing
+denser when two soldiers reached the little space, planted with trees,
+opposite the Musee Galliera, where the Rue de Chaillot and the Rue
+Pierre-Charron meet. One wore an infantryman's sky-blue great-coat; the
+other, a Senegalese, those clothes of undyed wool, with baggy breeches
+and a belted jacket, in which the Zouaves and the native African troops
+have been dressed since the war. One of them had lost his right leg, the
+other his left arm.
+
+They walked round the open space, in the center of which stands a fine
+group of Silenus figures, and stopped. The infantryman threw away his
+cigarette. The Senegalese picked it up, took a few quick puffs at it,
+put it out by squeezing it between his fore-finger and thumb and stuffed
+it into his pocket. All this without a word.
+
+Almost at the same time two more soldiers came out of the Rue Galliera.
+It would have been impossible to say to what branch they belonged, for
+their military attire was composed of the most incongruous civilian
+garments. However, one of them sported a Zouave's _chechia_, the other
+an artilleryman's _kepi_. The first walked on crutches, the other on two
+sticks. These two kept near the newspaper-kiosk which stands at the edge
+of the pavement.
+
+Three others came singly by the Rue Pierre-Charron, the Rue Brignoles
+and the Rue de Chaillot: a one-armed rifleman, a limping sapper and a
+marine with a hip that looked as if it was twisted. Each of them made
+straight for a tree and leant against it.
+
+Not a word was uttered among them. None of the seven crippled soldiers
+seemed to know his companions or to trouble about or even perceive their
+presence. They stood behind their trees or behind the kiosk or behind
+the group of Silenus figures without stirring. And the few wayfarers
+who, on that evening of the 3rd of April, 1915, crossed this
+unfrequented square, which received hardly any light from the shrouded
+street-lamps, did not slacken pace to observe the men's motionless
+outlines.
+
+A clock struck half-past six. At that moment the door of one of the
+houses overlooking the square opened. A man came out, closed the door
+behind him, crossed the Rue de Chaillot and walked round the open space
+in front of the museum. It was an officer in khaki. Under his red
+forage-cap, with its three lines of gold braid, his head was wrapped in
+a wide linen bandage, which hid his forehead and neck. He was tall and
+very slenderly built. His right leg ended in a wooden stump with a
+rubber foot to it. He leant on a stick.
+
+Leaving the square, he stepped into the roadway of the Rue
+Pierre-Charron. Here he turned and gave a leisurely look to his
+surroundings on every side. This minute inspection brought him to one
+of the trees facing the museum. With the tip of his cane he gently
+tapped a protruding stomach. The stomach pulled itself in.
+
+The officer moved off again. This time he went definitely down the Rue
+Pierre-Charron towards the center of Paris. He thus came to the Avenue
+des Champs-Elysees, which he went up, taking the left pavement.
+
+Two hundred yards further on was a large house, which had been
+transformed, as a flag proclaimed, into a hospital. The officer took up
+his position at some distance, so as not to be seen by those leaving,
+and waited.
+
+It struck a quarter to seven and seven o'clock. A few more minutes
+passed. Five persons came out of the house, followed by two more. At
+last a lady appeared in the hall, a nurse wearing a wide blue cloak
+marked with the Red Cross.
+
+"Here she comes," said the officer.
+
+She took the road by which he had arrived and turned down the Rue
+Pierre-Charron, keeping to the right-hand pavement and thus making for
+the space where the street meets the Rue de Chaillot. Her walk was
+light, her step easy and well-balanced. The wind, buffeting against her
+as she moved quickly on her way, swelled out the long blue veil floating
+around her shoulders. Notwithstanding the width of the cloak, the
+rhythmical swing of her body and the youthfulness of her figure were
+revealed. The officer kept behind her and walked along with an
+absent-minded air, twirling his stick, like a man taking an aimless
+stroll.
+
+At this moment there was nobody in sight, in that part of the street,
+except him and her. But, just after she had crossed the Avenue Marceau
+and some time before he reached it, a motor standing in the avenue
+started driving in the same direction as the nurse, at a fixed distance
+from her.
+
+It was a taxi-cab. And the officer noticed two things: first, that there
+were two men inside it and, next, that one of them leant out of the
+window almost the whole time, talking to the driver. He was able to
+catch a momentary glimpse of this man's face, cut in half by a heavy
+mustache and surmounted by a gray felt hat.
+
+Meanwhile, the nurse walked on without turning round. The officer had
+crossed the street and now hurried his pace, the more so as it struck
+him that the cab was also increasing its speed as the girl drew near the
+space in front of the museum.
+
+From where he was the officer could take in almost the whole of the
+little square at a glance; and, however sharply he looked, he discerned
+nothing in the darkness that revealed the presence of the seven crippled
+men. No one, moreover, was passing on foot or driving. In the distance
+only, in the dusk of the wide crossing avenues, two tram-cars, with
+lowered blinds, disturbed the silence.
+
+Nor did the girl, presuming that she was paying attention to the sights
+of the street, appear to see anything to alarm her. She gave not the
+least sign of hesitation. And the behavior of the motor-cab following
+her did not seem to strike her either, for she did not look round once.
+
+The cab, however, was gaining ground. When it neared the square, it was
+ten or fifteen yards, at most, from the nurse; and, by the time that
+she, still noticing nothing, had reached the first trees, it came
+closer yet and, leaving the middle of the road, began to hug the
+pavement, while, on the side opposite the pavement, the left-hand side,
+the man who kept leaning out had opened the door and was now standing on
+the step.
+
+The officer crossed the street once more, briskly, without fear of being
+seen, so heedless did the two men now appear of anything but their
+immediate business. He raised a whistle to his lips. There was no doubt
+that the expected event was about to take place.
+
+The cab, in fact, pulled up suddenly. The two men leapt from the doors
+on either side and rushed to the pavement of the square, a few yards
+from the kiosk. At the same moment there was a cry of terror from the
+girl and a shrill whistle from the officer. And, also at the same time,
+the two men caught up and seized their victim and dragged her towards
+the cab, while the seven wounded soldiers, seeming to spring from the
+very trunks of the trees that hid them, fell upon the two aggressors.
+
+The battle did not last long. Or rather there was no battle. At the
+outset the driver of the taxi, perceiving that the attack was being
+countered, made off and drove away as fast as he could. As for the two
+men, realizing that their enterprise had failed and finding themselves
+faced with a threatening array of uplifted sticks and crutches, not to
+mention the barrel of a revolver which the officer pointed at them, they
+let go the girl, tacked from side to side, to prevent the officer from
+taking aim, and disappeared in the darkness of the Rue Brignoles.
+
+"Run for all you're worth, Ya-Bon," said the officer to the one-armed
+Senegalese, "and bring me back one of them by the scruff of the neck!"
+
+He supported the girl with his arm. She was trembling all over and
+seemed ready to faint.
+
+"Don't be frightened, Little Mother Coralie," he said, very anxiously.
+"It's I, Captain Belval, Patrice Belval."
+
+"Ah, it's you, captain!" she stammered.
+
+"Yes; all your friends have gathered round to defend you, all your old
+patients from the hospital, whom I found in the convalescent home."
+
+"Thank you. Thank you." And she added, in a quivering voice, "The
+others? Those two men?"
+
+"Run away. Ya-Bon's gone after them."
+
+"But what did they want with me? And what miracle brought you all here?"
+
+"We'll talk about that later, Little Mother Coralie. Let's speak of you
+first. Where am I to take you? Don't you think you'd better come in here
+with me, until you've recovered and taken a little rest?"
+
+Assisted by one of the soldiers, he helped her gently to the house which
+he himself had left three-quarters of an hour before. The girl let him
+do as he pleased. They all entered an apartment on the ground-floor and
+went into the drawing-room, where a bright fire of logs was burning. He
+switched on the electric light:
+
+"Sit down," he said.
+
+She dropped into a chair; and the captain at once gave his orders:
+
+"You, Poulard, go and fetch a glass in the dining-room. And you, Ribrac,
+draw a jug of cold water in the kitchen. . . . Chatelain, you'll find a
+decanter of rum in the pantry. . . . Or, stay, she doesn't like rum.
+. . . Then . . ."
+
+"Then," she said, smiling, "just a glass of water, please."
+
+Her cheeks, which were naturally pale, recovered a little of their
+warmth. The blood flowed back to her lips; and the smile on her face was
+full of confidence. Her face, all charm and gentleness, had a pure
+outline, features almost too delicate, a fair complexion and the
+ingenuous expression of a wondering child that looks on life with eyes
+always wide open. And all this, which was dainty and exquisite,
+nevertheless at certain moments gave an impression of energy, due no
+doubt to her shining, dark eyes and to the line of smooth, black hair
+that came down on either side from under the white cap in which her
+forehead was imprisoned.
+
+"Aha!" cried the captain, gaily, when she had drunk the water. "You're
+feeling better, I think, eh, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+"Much better."
+
+"Capital. But that was a bad minute we went through just now! What an
+adventure! We shall have to talk it all over and get some light on it,
+sha'n't we? Meanwhile, my lads, pay your respects to Little Mother
+Coralie. Eh, my fine fellows, who would have thought, when she was
+coddling you and patting your pillows for your fat pates to sink into,
+that one day we should be taking care of her and that the children would
+be coddling their little mother?"
+
+They all pressed round her, the one-armed and the one-legged, the
+crippled and the sick, all glad to see her. And she shook hands with
+them affectionately:
+
+"Well, Ribrac, how's that leg of yours?"
+
+"I don't feel it any longer, Little Mother Coralie."
+
+"And you, Vatinel? That wound in your shoulder?"
+
+"Not a sign of it, Little Mother Coralie."
+
+"And you, Poulard? And you, Jorisse?"
+
+Her emotion increased at seeing them again, the men whom she called her
+children. And Patrice Belval exclaimed:
+
+"Ah, Little Mother Coralie, now you're crying! Little mother, little
+mother, that's how you captured all our hearts. When we were trying our
+hardest not to call out, on our bed of pain, we used to see your eyes
+filling with great tears. Little Mother Coralie was weeping over her
+children. Then we clenched our teeth still firmer."
+
+"And I used to cry still more," she said, "just because you were afraid
+of hurting me."
+
+"And to-day you're at it again. No, you are too soft-hearted! You love
+us. We love you. There's nothing to cry about in that. Come, Little
+Mother Coralie, a smile. . . . And, I say, here's Ya-Bon coming; and
+Ya-Bon always laughs."
+
+She rose suddenly:
+
+"Do you think he can have overtaken one of the two men?"
+
+"Do I think so? I told Ya-Bon to bring one back by the neck. He won't
+fail. I'm only afraid of one thing. . . ."
+
+They had gone towards the hall. The Senegalese was already on the steps.
+With his right hand he was clutching the neck of a man, of a limp rag,
+rather, which he seemed to be carrying at arm's length, like a
+dancing-doll.
+
+"Drop him," said the captain.
+
+Ya-Bon loosened his fingers. The man fell on the flags in the hall.
+
+"That's what I feared," muttered the officer. "Ya-Bon has only his right
+hand; but, when that hand holds any one by the throat, it's a miracle if
+it doesn't strangle him. The Boches know something about it."
+
+Ya-Bon was a sort of colossus, the color of gleaming coal, with a woolly
+head and a few curly hairs on his chin, with an empty sleeve fastened to
+his left shoulder and two medals pinned to his jacket. Ya-Bon had had
+one cheek, one side of his jaw, half his mouth and the whole of his
+palate smashed by a splinter of shell. The other half of that mouth was
+split to the ear in a laugh which never seemed to cease and which was
+all the more surprising because the wounded portion of the face, patched
+up as best it could be and covered with a grafted skin, remained
+impassive.
+
+Moreover, Ya-Bon had lost his power of speech. The most that he could do
+was to emit a sequence of indistinct grunts in which his nickname of
+Ya-Bon was everlastingly repeated.
+
+He uttered it once more with a satisfied air, glancing by turns at his
+master and his victim, like a good sporting-dog standing over the bird
+which he has retrieved.
+
+"Good," said the officer. "But, next time, go to work more gently."
+
+He bent over the man, felt his heart and, on seeing that he had only
+fainted, asked the nurse:
+
+"Do you know him?"
+
+"No," she said.
+
+"Are you sure? Have you never seen that head anywhere?"
+
+It was a very big head, with black hair, plastered down with grease, and
+a thick beard. The man's clothes, which were of dark-blue serge and
+well-cut, showed him to be in easy circumstances.
+
+"Never . . . never," the girl declared.
+
+Captain Belval searched the man's pockets. They contained no papers.
+
+"Very well," he said, rising to his feet, "we will wait till he wakes up
+and question him then. Ya-Bon, tie up his arms and legs and stay here,
+in the hall. The rest of you fellows, go back to the home: it's time you
+were indoors. I have my key. Say good-by to Little Mother Coralie and
+trot off."
+
+And, when good-by had been said, he pushed them outside, came back to
+the nurse, led her into the drawing-room and said:
+
+"Now let's talk, Little Mother Coralie. First of all, before we try to
+explain things, listen to me. It won't take long."
+
+They were sitting before the merrily blazing fire. Patrice Belval
+slipped a hassock under Little Mother Coralie's feet, put out a light
+that seemed to worry her and, when he felt certain that she was
+comfortable, began:
+
+"As you know, Little Mother Coralie, I left the hospital a week ago and
+am staying on the Boulevard Maillot, at Neuilly, in the home reserved
+for the convalescent patients of the hospital. I sleep there at night
+and have my wounds dressed in the morning. The rest of the time I spend
+in loafing: I stroll about, lunch and dine where the mood takes me and
+go and call on my friends. Well, this morning I was waiting for one of
+them in a big cafe-restaurant on the boulevard, when I overheard the end
+of a conversation. . . . But I must tell you that the place is divided
+into two by a partition standing about six feet high, with the customers
+of the cafe on one side and those of the restaurant on the other. I was
+all by myself in the restaurant; and the two men, who had their backs
+turned to me and who in any case were out of sight, probably thought
+that there was no one there at all, for they were speaking rather louder
+than they need have done, considering the sentences which I overheard
+. . . and which I afterwards wrote down in my little note-book."
+
+He took the note-book from his pocket and went on:
+
+"These sentences, which caught my attention for reasons which you will
+understand presently, were preceded by some others in which there was a
+reference to sparks, to a shower of sparks that had already occurred
+twice before the war, a sort of night signal for the possible repetition
+of which they proposed to watch, so that they might act quickly as soon
+as it appeared. Does none of this tell you anything?"
+
+"No. Why?"
+
+"You shall see. By the way, I forgot to tell you that the two were
+talking English, quite correctly, but with an accent which assured me
+that neither of them was an Englishman. Here is what they said,
+faithfully translated: 'To finish up, therefore,' said one, 'everything
+is decided. You and he will be at the appointed place at a little before
+seven this evening.' 'We shall be there, colonel. We have engaged our
+taxi.' 'Good. Remember that the little woman leaves her hospital at
+seven o'clock.' 'Have no fear. There can't be any mistake, because she
+always goes the same way, down the Rue Pierre-Charron.' 'And your whole
+plan is settled?' 'In every particular. The thing will happen in the
+square at the end of the Rue de Chaillot. Even granting that there may
+be people about, they will have no time to rescue her, for we shall act
+too quickly.' 'Are you certain of your driver?' 'I am certain that we
+shall pay him enough to secure his obedience. That's all we want.'
+'Capital. I'll wait for you at the place you know of, in a motor-car.
+You'll hand the little woman over to me. From that moment, we shall be
+masters of the situation.' 'And you of the little woman, colonel, which
+isn't bad for you, for she's deucedly pretty.' 'Deucedly, as you say.
+I've known her a long time by sight; and, upon my word. . . .' The two
+began to laugh coarsely and called for their bill. I at once got up and
+went to the door on the boulevard, but only one of them came out by that
+door, a man with a big drooping mustache and a gray felt hat. The other
+had left by the door in the street round the corner. There was only one
+taxi in the road. The man took it and I had to give up all hope of
+following him. Only . . . only, as I knew that you left the hospital at
+seven o'clock every evening and that you went along the Rue
+Pierre-Charron, I was justified, wasn't I, in believing . . . ?"
+
+The captain stopped. The girl reflected, with a thoughtful air.
+Presently she asked:
+
+"Why didn't you warn me?"
+
+"Warn you!" he exclaimed. "And, if, after all, it wasn't you? Why alarm
+you? And, if, on the other hand, it was you, why put you on your guard?
+After the attempt had failed, your enemies would have laid another trap
+for you; and we, not knowing of it, would have been unable to prevent
+it. No, the best thing was to accept the fight. I enrolled a little band
+of your former patients who were being treated at the home; and, as the
+friend whom I was expecting to meet happened to live in the square,
+here, in this house, I asked him to place his rooms at my disposal from
+six to nine o'clock. That's what I did, Little Mother Coralie. And now
+that you know as much as I do, what do you think of it?"
+
+She gave him her hand:
+
+"I think you have saved me from an unknown danger that looks like a very
+great one; and I thank you."
+
+"No, no," he said, "I can accept no thanks. I was so glad to have
+succeeded! What I want to know is your opinion of the business itself?"
+
+Without a second's hesitation, she replied:
+
+"I have none. Not a word, not an incident, in all that you have told me,
+suggests the least idea to me."
+
+"You have no enemies, to your knowledge?"
+
+"Personally, no."
+
+"What about that man to whom your two assailants were to hand you over
+and who says that he knows you?"
+
+"Doesn't every woman," she said, with a slight blush, "come across men
+who pursue her more or less openly? I can't tell who it is."
+
+The captain was silent for a while and then went on:
+
+"When all is said, our only hope of clearing up the matter lies in
+questioning our prisoner. If he refuses to answer, I shall hand him over
+to the police, who will know how to get to the bottom of the business."
+
+The girl gave a start:
+
+"The police?"
+
+"Well, of course. What would you have me do with the fellow? He doesn't
+belong to me. He belongs to the police."
+
+"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Not on any account! What, have
+my life gone into? . . . Have to appear before the magistrate? . . .
+Have my name mixed up in all this? . . ."
+
+"And yet, Little Mother Coralie, I can't . . ."
+
+"Oh, I beg, I beseech you, as my friend, find some way out of it, but
+don't have me talked about! I don't want to be talked about!"
+
+The captain looked at her, somewhat surprised to see her in such a state
+of agitation, and said:
+
+"You sha'n't be talked about, Little Mother Coralie, I promise you."
+
+"Then what will you do with that man?"
+
+"Well," he said, with a laugh, "I shall begin by asking him politely if
+he will condescend to answer my questions; then thank him for his civil
+behavior to you; and lastly beg him to be good enough to go away."
+
+He rose:
+
+"Do you wish to see him, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+"No," she said, "I am so tired! If you don't want me, question him by
+yourself. You can tell me about it afterwards. . . ."
+
+She seemed quite exhausted by all this fresh excitement and strain,
+added to all those which already rendered her life as a nurse so hard.
+The captain did not insist and went out, closing the door of the
+drawing-room after him.
+
+She heard him saying:
+
+"Well, Ya-Bon, have you kept a good watch! No news? And how's your
+prisoner? . . . Ah, there you are, my fine fellow! Have you got your
+breath back? Oh, I know Ya-Bon's hand is a bit heavy! . . . What's this?
+Won't you answer? . . . Hallo, what's happened? Hanged if I don't think
+. . ."
+
+A cry escaped him. The girl ran to the hall. She met the captain, who
+tried to bar her way.
+
+"Don't come," he said, in great agitation. "What's the use!"
+
+"But you're hurt!" she exclaimed.
+
+"I?"
+
+"There's blood on your shirt-cuff."
+
+"So there is, but it's nothing: it's the man's blood that must have
+stained me."
+
+"Then he was wounded?"
+
+"Yes, or at least his mouth was bleeding. Some blood-vessel . . ."
+
+"Why, surely Ya-Bon didn't grip as hard as that?"
+
+"It wasn't Ya-Bon."
+
+"Then who was it?"
+
+"His accomplices."
+
+"Did they come back?"
+
+"Yes; and they've strangled him."
+
+"But it's not possible!"
+
+She pushed by and went towards the prisoner. He did not move. His face
+had the pallor of death. Round his neck was a red-silk string, twisted
+very thin and with a buckle at either end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+RIGHT HAND AND LEFT LEG
+
+
+"One rogue less in the world, Little Mother Coralie!" cried Patrice
+Belval, after he had led the girl back to the drawing-room and made a
+rapid investigation with Ya-Bon. "Remember his name--I found it engraved
+on his watch--Mustapha Rovalaiof, the name of a rogue!"
+
+He spoke gaily, with no emotion in his voice, and continued, as he
+walked up and down the room:
+
+"You and I, Little Mother Coralie, who have witnessed so many tragedies
+and seen so many good fellows die, need not waste tears over the death
+of Mustapha Rovalaiof or his murder by his accomplices. Not even a
+funeral oration, eh? Ya-Bon has taken him under his arm, waited until
+the square was clear and carried him to the Rue Brignoles, with orders
+to fling the gentleman over the railings into the garden of the Musee
+Galliera. The railings are high. But Ya-Bon's right hand knows no
+obstacles. And so, Little Mother Coralie, the matter is buried. You
+won't be talked about; and, this time, I claim a word of thanks."
+
+He stopped to laugh:
+
+"A word of thanks, but no compliments. By Jove, I don't make much of a
+warder! It was clever the way those beggars snatched my prisoner. Why
+didn't I foresee that your other assailant, the man in the gray-felt
+hat, would go and tell the third, who was waiting in his motor, and that
+they would both come back together to rescue their companion? And they
+came back. And, while you and I were chatting, they must have forced the
+servants' entrance, passed through the kitchen, come to the little door
+between the pantry and the hall and pushed it open. There, close by
+them, lay their man, still unconscious and firmly bound, on his sofa.
+What were they to do? It was impossible to get him out of the hall
+without alarming Ya-Bon. And yet, if they didn't release him, he would
+speak, give away his accomplices and ruin a carefully prepared plan. So
+one of the two must have leant forward stealthily, put out his arm,
+thrown his string round that throat which Ya-Bon had already handled
+pretty roughly, gathered the buckles at the two ends and pulled, pulled,
+quietly, until death came. Not a sound. Not a sigh. The whole operation
+performed in silence. We come, we kill and we go away. Good-night. The
+trick is done and our friend won't talk."
+
+Captain Belval's merriment increased:
+
+"Our friend won't talk," he repeated, "and the police, when they find
+his body to-morrow morning inside a railed garden, won't understand a
+word of the business. Nor we either, Little Mother Coralie; and we shall
+never know why those men tried to kidnap you. It's only too true! I may
+not be up to much as a warder, but I'm beneath contempt as a detective!"
+
+He continued to walk up and down the room. The fact that his leg or
+rather his calf had been amputated seemed hardly to inconvenience him;
+and, as the joints of the knee and thighbone had retained their
+mobility, there was at most a certain want of rhythm in the action of
+his hips and shoulders. Moreover, his tall figure tended to correct this
+lameness, which was reduced to insignificant proportions by the ease of
+his movements and the indifference with which he appeared to accept it.
+
+He had an open countenance, rather dark in color, burnt by the sun and
+tanned by the weather, with an expression that was frank, cheerful and
+often bantering. He must have been between twenty-eight and thirty. His
+manner suggested that of the officers of the First Empire, to whom their
+life in camp imparted a special air which they subsequently brought into
+the ladies' drawing-rooms.
+
+He stopped to look at Coralie, whose shapely profile stood out against
+the gleams from the fireplace. Then he came and sat beside her:
+
+"I know nothing about you," he said softly. "At the hospital the doctors
+and nurses call you Madame Coralie. Your patients prefer to say Little
+Mother. What is your married or your maiden name? Have you a husband or
+are you a widow? Where do you live? Nobody knows. You arrive every day
+at the same time and you go away by the same street. Sometimes an old
+serving-man, with long gray hair and a bristly beard, with a comforter
+round his neck and a pair of yellow spectacles on his nose, brings you
+or fetches you. Sometimes also he waits for you, always sitting on the
+same chair in the covered yard. He has been asked questions, but he
+never gives an answer. I know only one thing, therefore, about you,
+which is that you are adorably good and kind and that you are also--I
+may say it, may I not?--adorably beautiful. And it is perhaps, Little
+Mother Coralie, because I know nothing about your life that I imagine it
+so mysterious, and, in some way, so sad. You give the impression of
+living amid sorrow and anxiety; the feeling that you are all alone.
+There is no one who devotes himself to making you happy and taking care
+of you. So I thought--I have long thought and waited for an opportunity
+of telling you--I thought that you must need a friend, a brother, who
+would advise and protect you. Am I not right, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+As he went on, Coralie seemed to shrink into herself and to place a
+greater distance between them, as though she did not wish him to
+penetrate those secret regions of which he spoke.
+
+"No," she murmured, "you are mistaken. My life is quite simple. I do not
+need to be defended."
+
+"You do not need to be defended!" he cried, with increasing animation.
+"What about those men who tried to kidnap you? That plot hatched against
+you? That plot which your assailants are so afraid to see discovered
+that they go to the length of killing the one who allowed himself to be
+caught? Is that nothing? Is it mere delusion on my part when I say that
+you are surrounded by dangers, that you have enemies who stick at
+nothing, that you have to be defended against their attempts and that,
+if you decline the offer of my assistance, I . . . Well, I . . . ?"
+
+She persisted in her silence, showed herself more and more distant,
+almost hostile. The officer struck the marble mantelpiece with his fist,
+and, bending over her, finished his sentence in a determined tone:
+
+"Well, if you decline the offer of my assistance, I shall force it on
+you."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I shall force it on you," he repeated, firmly. "It is my duty and my
+right."
+
+"No," she said, in an undertone.
+
+"My absolute right," said Captain Belval, "for a reason which outweighs
+all the others and makes it unnecessary for me even to consult you."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I love you."
+
+He brought out the words plainly, not like a lover venturing on a timid
+declaration, but like a man proud of the sentiment that he feels and
+happy to proclaim it.
+
+She lowered her eyes and blushed; and he cried, exultantly:
+
+"You can take it, Little Mother, from me. No impassioned outbursts, no
+sighs, no waving of the arms, no clapping of the hands. Just three
+little words, which I tell you without going on my knees. And it's the
+easier for me because you know it. Yes, Madame Coralie, it's all very
+well to look so shy, but you know my love for you and you've known it as
+long as I have. We saw it together take birth when your dear little
+hands touched my battered head. The others used to torture me. With you,
+it was nothing but caresses. So was the pity in your eyes and the tears
+that fell because I was in pain. But can any one see you without loving
+you? Your seven patients who were here just now are all in love with
+you, Little Mother Coralie. Ya-Bon worships the ground you walk on. Only
+they are privates. They cannot speak. I am an officer; and I speak
+without hesitation or embarrassment, believe me."
+
+Coralie had put her hands to her burning cheeks and sat silent, bending
+forward.
+
+"You understand what I mean, don't you," he went on, in a voice that
+rang, "when I say that I speak without hesitation or embarrassment? If I
+had been before the war what I am now, a maimed man, I should not have
+had the same assurance and I should have declared my love for you humbly
+and begged your pardon for my boldness. But now! . . . Believe me,
+Little Mother Coralie, when I sit here face to face with the woman I
+adore, I do not think of my infirmity. Not for a moment do I feel the
+impression that I can appear ridiculous or presumptuous in your eyes."
+
+He stopped, as though to take breath, and then, rising, went on:
+
+"And it must needs be so. People will have to understand that those who
+have been maimed in this war do not look upon themselves as outcasts,
+lame ducks, or lepers, but as absolutely normal men. Yes, normal! One
+leg short? What about it? Does that rob a man of his brain or heart?
+Then, because the war has deprived me of a leg, or an arm, or even both
+legs or both arms, I have no longer the right to love a woman save at
+the risk of meeting with a rebuff or imagining that she pities me? Pity!
+But we don't want the woman to pity us, nor to make an effort to love
+us, nor even to think that she is doing a charity because she treats us
+kindly. What we demand, from women and from the world at large, from
+those whom we meet in the street and from those who belong to the same
+set as ourselves, is absolute equality with the rest, who have been
+saved from our fate by their lucky stars or their cowardice."
+
+The captain once more struck the mantelpiece:
+
+"Yes, absolute equality! We all of us, whether we have lost a leg or an
+arm, whether blind in one eye or two, whether crippled or deformed,
+claim to be just as good, physically and morally, as any one you please;
+and perhaps better. What! Shall men who have used their legs to rush
+upon the enemy be outdistanced in life, because they no longer have
+those legs, by men who have sat and warmed their toes at an office-fire?
+What nonsense! We want our place in the sun as well as the others. It is
+our due; and we shall know how to get it and keep it. There is no
+happiness to which we are not entitled and no work for which we are not
+capable with a little exercise and training. Ya-Bon's right hand is
+already worth any pair of hands in the wide world; and Captain Belval's
+left leg allows him to do his five miles an hour if he pleases."
+
+He began to laugh:
+
+"Right hand and left leg; left hand and right leg: what does it matter
+which we have saved, if we know how to use it? In what respect have we
+fallen off? Whether it's a question of obtaining a position or
+perpetuating our race, are we not as good as we were? And perhaps even
+better. I venture to say that the children which we shall give to the
+country will be just as well-built as ever, with arms and legs and the
+rest . . . not to mention a mighty legacy of pluck and spirit. That's
+what we claim, Little Mother Coralie. We refuse to admit that our wooden
+legs keep us back or that we cannot stand as upright on our crutches as
+on legs of flesh and bone. We do not consider that devotion to us is any
+sacrifice or that it's necessary to talk of heroism when a girl has the
+honor to marry a blind soldier! Once more, we are not creatures outside
+the pale. We have not fallen off in any way whatever; and this is a
+truth before which everybody will bow for the next two or three
+generations. You can understand that, in a country like France, when
+maimed men are to be met by the hundred thousand, the conception of what
+makes a perfect man will no longer be as hard and fast as it was. In the
+new form of humanity which is preparing, there will be men with two arms
+and men with only one, just as there are fair men and dark, bearded men
+and clean-shaven. And it will all seem quite natural. And every one will
+lead the life he pleases, without needing to be complete in every limb.
+And, as my life is wrapped up in you, Little Mother Coralie, and as my
+happiness depends on you, I thought I would wait no longer before making
+you my little speech. . . . Well! That's finished! I have plenty more to
+say on the subject, but it can't all be said in a day, can it? . . ."
+
+He broke off, thrown out of his stride after all by Coralie's silence.
+She had not stirred since the first words of love that he uttered. Her
+hands had sought her forehead; and her shoulders were shaking slightly.
+
+He stooped and, with infinite gentleness, drawing aside the slender
+fingers, uncovered her beautiful face:
+
+"Why are you crying, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+He was calling her _tu_ now, but she did not mind. Between a man and the
+woman who has bent over his wounds relations of a special kind arise;
+and Captain Belval in particular had those rather familiar, but still
+respectful, ways at which it seems impossible to take offence.
+
+"Have _I_ made you cry?" he asked.
+
+"No," she said, in a low voice, "it's all of you who upset me. It's your
+cheerfulness, your pride, your way not of submitting to fate, but
+mastering it. The humblest of you raises himself above his nature
+without an effort; and I know nothing finer or more touching than that
+indifference."
+
+He sat down beside her:
+
+"Then you're not angry with me for saying . . . what I said?"
+
+"Angry with you?" she replied, pretending to mistake his meaning. "Why,
+every woman thinks as you do. If women, in bestowing their affection,
+had to choose among the men returning from the war, the choice I am sure
+would be in favor of those who have suffered most cruelly."
+
+He shook his head:
+
+"You see, I am asking for something more than affection and a more
+definite answer to what I said. Shall I remind you of my words?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then your answer . . . ?"
+
+"My answer, dear friend, is that you must not speak those words again."
+
+He put on a solemn air:
+
+"You forbid me?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"In that case, I swear to say nothing more until I see you again."
+
+"You will not see me again," she murmured.
+
+Captain Belval was greatly amused at this:
+
+"I say, I say! And why sha'n't I see you again, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+"Because I don't wish it."
+
+"And your reason, please?"
+
+"My reason?"
+
+She turned her eyes to him and said, slowly:
+
+"I am married."
+
+Belval seemed in no way disconcerted by this news. On the contrary, he
+said, in the calmest of tones:
+
+"Well, you must marry again! No doubt your husband is an old man and you
+do not love him. He will therefore understand that, as you have some one
+in love with you . . ."
+
+"Don't jest, please."
+
+He caught hold of her hand, just as she was rising to go:
+
+"You are right, Little Mother Coralie, and I apologize for not adopting
+a more serious manner to speak to you of very serious things. It's a
+question of our two lives. I am profoundly convinced that they are
+moving towards each other and that you are powerless to restrain them.
+That is why your answer is beside the point. I ask nothing of you. I
+expect everything from fate. It is fate that will bring us together."
+
+"No," she said.
+
+"Yes," he declared, "that is how things will happen."
+
+"It is not. They will not and shall not happen like that. You must give
+me your word of honor not to try to see me again nor even to learn my
+name. I might have granted more if you had been content to remain
+friends. The confession which you have made sets a barrier between us. I
+want nobody in my life . . . nobody!"
+
+She made this declaration with a certain vehemence and at the same time
+tried to release her arm from his grasp. Patrice Belval resisted her
+efforts and said:
+
+"You are wrong. . . . You have no right to expose yourself to danger
+like this. . . . Please reflect . . ."
+
+She pushed him away. As she did so, she knocked off the mantelpiece a
+little bag which she had placed there. It fell on the carpet and opened.
+Two or three things escaped, and she picked them up, while Patrice
+Belval knelt down on the floor to help her:
+
+"Here," he said, "you've missed this."
+
+It was a little case in plaited straw, which had also come open; the
+beads of a rosary protruded from it.
+
+They both stood up in silence. Captain Belval examined the rosary.
+
+"What a curious coincidence!" he muttered. "These amethyst beads! This
+old-fashioned gold filigree setting! . . . It's strange to find the same
+materials and the same workmanship. . . ."
+
+He gave a start, and it was so marked that Coralie asked:
+
+"Why, what's the matter?"
+
+He was holding in his fingers a bead larger than most of the others,
+forming a link between the string of tens and the shorter prayer-chain.
+And this bead was broken half-way across, almost level with the gold
+setting which held it.
+
+"The coincidence," he said, "is so inconceivable that I hardly dare
+. . . And yet the face can be verified at once. But first, one question:
+who gave you this rosary?"
+
+"Nobody gave it to me. I've always had it."
+
+"But it must have belonged to somebody before?"
+
+"To my mother, I suppose."
+
+"Your mother?"
+
+"I expect so, in the same way as the different jewels which she left
+me."
+
+"Is your mother dead?"
+
+"Yes, she died when I was four years old. I have only the vaguest
+recollection of her. But what has all this to do with a rosary?"
+
+"It's because of this," he said. "Because of this amethyst bead broken
+in two."
+
+He undid his jacket and took his watch from his waistcoat-pocket. It had
+a number of trinkets fastened to it by a little leather and silver
+strap. One of these trinkets consisted of the half of an amethyst bead,
+also broken across, also held in a filigree setting. The original size
+of the two beads seemed to be identical. The two amethysts were of the
+same color and contained in the same filigree.
+
+Coralie and Belval looked at each other anxiously. She stammered:
+
+"It's only an accident, nothing else . . ."
+
+"I agree," he said. "But, supposing these two halves fit each other
+exactly . . ."
+
+"It's impossible," she said, herself frightened at the thought of the
+simple little act needed for the indisputable proof.
+
+The officer, however, decided upon that act. He brought his right hand,
+which held the rosary-bead, and his left, which held the trinket,
+together. The hands hesitated, felt about and stopped. The contact was
+made.
+
+The projections and indentations of the broken stones corresponded
+precisely. Each protruding part found a space to fit it. The two half
+amethysts were the two halves of the same amethyst. When joined, they
+formed one and the same bead.
+
+There was a long pause, laden with excitement and mystery. Then,
+speaking in a low voice:
+
+"I do not know either exactly where this trinket comes from," Captain
+Belval said. "Ever since I was a child, I used to see it among other
+things of trifling value which I kept in a cardboard box: watch-keys,
+old rings, old-fashioned seals. I picked out these trinkets from among
+them two or three years ago. Where does this one come from? I don't
+know. But what I do know . . ."
+
+He had separated the two pieces and, examining them carefully,
+concluded:
+
+"What I do know, beyond a doubt, is that the largest bead in this rosary
+came off one day and broke; and that the other, with its setting, went
+to form the trinket which I now have. You and I therefore possess the
+two halves of a thing which somebody else possessed twenty years ago."
+
+He went up to her and, in the same low and rather serious voice, said:
+
+"You protested just now when I declared my faith in destiny and my
+certainty that events were leading us towards each other. Do you still
+deny it? For, after all, this is either an accident so extraordinary
+that we have no right to admit it or an actual fact which proves that
+our two lives have already touched in the past at some mysterious point
+and that they will meet again in the future, never to part. And that is
+why, without waiting for the perhaps distant future, I offer you to-day,
+when danger hangs over you, the support of my friendship. Observe that I
+am no longer speaking of love but only of friendship. Do you accept?"
+
+She was nonplussed and so much perturbed by that miracle of the two
+broken amethysts, fitting each other exactly, that she appeared not to
+hear Belval's voice.
+
+"Do you accept?" he repeated.
+
+After a moment she replied:
+
+"No."
+
+"Then the proof which destiny has given you of its wishes does not
+satisfy you?" he said, good-humoredly.
+
+"We must not see each other again," she declared.
+
+"Very well. I will leave it to chance. It will not be for long.
+Meanwhile, I promise to make no effort to see you."
+
+"Nor to find out my name?"
+
+"Yes, I promise you."
+
+"Good-by," she said, giving him her hand.
+
+"_Au revoir_," he answered.
+
+She moved away. When she reached the door, she seemed to hesitate. He
+was standing motionless by the chimney. Once more she said:
+
+"Good-by."
+
+"_Au revoir_, Little Mother Coralie."
+
+Then she went out.
+
+Only when the street-door had closed behind her did Captain Belval go to
+one of the windows. He saw Coralie passing through the trees, looking
+quite small in the surrounding darkness. He felt a pang at his heart.
+Would he ever see her again?
+
+"Shall I? Rather!" he exclaimed. "Why, to-morrow perhaps. Am I not the
+favorite of the gods?"
+
+And, taking his stick, he set off, as he said, with his wooden leg
+foremost.
+
+That evening, after dining at the nearest restaurant, Captain Belval
+went to Neuilly. The home run in connection with the hospital was a
+pleasant villa on the Boulevard Maillot, looking out on the Bois de
+Boulogne. Discipline was not too strictly enforced. The captain could
+come in at any hour of the night; and the man easily obtained leave from
+the matron.
+
+"Is Ya-Bon there?" he asked this lady.
+
+"Yes, he's playing cards with his sweetheart."
+
+"He has the right to love and be loved," he said. "Any letters for me?"
+
+"No, only a parcel."
+
+"From whom?"
+
+"A commissionaire brought it and just said that it was 'for Captain
+Belval.' I put it in your room."
+
+The officer went up to his bedroom on the top floor and saw the parcel,
+done up in paper and string, on the table. He opened it and discovered a
+box. The box contained a key, a large, rusty key, of a shape and
+manufacture that were obviously old.
+
+What could it all mean? There was no address on the box and no mark. He
+presumed that there was some mistake which would come to light of
+itself; and he slipped the key into his pocket.
+
+"Enough riddles for one day," he thought. "Let's go to bed."
+
+But when he went to the window to draw the curtains he saw, across the
+trees of the Bois, a cascade of sparks which spread to some distance in
+the dense blackness of the night. And he remembered the conversation
+which he had overheard in the restaurant and the rain of sparks
+mentioned by the men who were plotting to kidnap Little Mother Coralie.
+. . .
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE RUSTY KEY
+
+
+When Patrice Belval was eight years old he was sent from Paris, where he
+had lived till then, to a French boarding-school in London. Here he
+remained for ten years. At first he used to hear from his father weekly.
+Then, one day, the head-master told him that he was an orphan, that
+provision had been made for the cost of his education and that, on his
+majority, he would receive through an English solicitor his paternal
+inheritance, amounting to some eight thousand pounds.
+
+Two hundred thousand francs could never be enough for a young man who
+soon proved himself to possess expensive tastes and who, when sent to
+Algeria to perform his military service, found means to run up twenty
+thousand francs of debts before coming into his money. He therefore
+started by squandering his patrimony and, having done so, settled down
+to work. Endowed with an active temperament and an ingenious brain,
+possessing no special vocation, but capable of anything that calls for
+initiative and resolution, full of ideas, with both the will and the
+knowledge to carry out an enterprise, he inspired confidence in others,
+found capital as he needed it and started one venture after another,
+including electrical schemes, the purchase of rivers and waterfalls, the
+organization of motor services in the colonies, of steamship lines and
+of mining companies. In a few years he had floated a dozen of such
+enterprises, all of which succeeded.
+
+The war came to him as a wonderful adventure. He flung himself into it
+with heart and soul. As a sergeant in a colonial regiment, he won his
+lieutenant's stripes on the Marne. He was wounded in the calf on the
+15th of September and had it amputated the same day. Two months after,
+by some mysterious wirepulling, cripple though he was, he began to go up
+as observer in the aeroplane of one of our best pilots. A shrapnel-shell
+put an end to the exploits of both heroes on the 10th of January. This
+time, Captain Belval, suffering from a serious wound in the head, was
+discharged and sent to the hospital in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.
+About the same period, the lady whom he was to call Little Mother
+Coralie also entered the hospital as a nurse.
+
+There he was trepanned. The operation was successful, but complications
+remained. He suffered a good deal of pain, though he never uttered a
+complaint and, in fact, with his own good-humor kept up the spirits of
+his companions in misfortune, all of whom were devoted to him. He made
+them laugh, consoled them and stimulated them with his cheeriness and
+his constant happy manner of facing the worst positions.
+
+Not one of them is ever likely to forget the way in which he received a
+manufacturer who called to sell him a mechanical leg:
+
+"Aha, a mechanical leg! And what for, sir? To take in people, I suppose,
+so that they may not notice that I've lost a bit of mine? Then you
+consider, sir, that it's a blemish to have your leg amputated, and that
+I, a French officer, ought to hide it as a disgrace?"
+
+"Not at all, captain. Still . . ."
+
+"And what's the price of that apparatus of yours?"
+
+"Five hundred francs."
+
+"Five hundred francs! And you think me capable of spending five hundred
+francs on a mechanical leg, when there are a hundred thousand poor
+devils who have been wounded as I have and who will have to go on
+showing their wooden stumps?"
+
+The men sitting within hearing reveled with delight. Little Mother
+Coralie herself listened with a smile. And what would Patrice Belval not
+have given for a smile from Little Mother Coralie?
+
+As he told her, he had fallen in love with her from the first, touched
+by her appealing beauty, her artless grace, her soft eyes, her gentle
+soul, which seemed to bend over the patients and to fondle them like a
+soothing caress. From the very first, the charm of her stole into his
+being and at the same time compassed it about. Her voice gave him new
+life. She bewitched him with the glance of her eyes and with her
+fragrant presence. And yet, while yielding to the empire of this love,
+he had an immense craving to devote himself to and to place his strength
+at the service of this delicate little creature, whom he felt to be
+surrounded with danger.
+
+And now events were proving that he was right, the danger was taking
+definite shape and he had had the happiness to snatch Coralie from the
+grasp of her enemies. He rejoiced at the result of the first battle, but
+could not look upon it as over. The attacks were bound to be repeated.
+And even now was he not entitled to ask himself if there was not some
+close connection between the plot prepared against Coralie that morning
+and the sort of signal given by the shower of sparks? Did the two facts
+announced by the speakers at the restaurant not form part of the same
+suspicious machination?
+
+The sparks continued to glitter in the distance. So far as Patrice
+Belval could judge, they came from the riverside, at some spot between
+two extreme points which might be the Trocadero on the left and the Gare
+de Passy on the right.
+
+"A mile or two at most, as the crow flies," he said to himself. "Why not
+go there? We'll soon see."
+
+A faint light filtered through the key-hole of a door on the second
+floor. It was Ya-Bon's room; and the matron had told him that Ya-Bon was
+playing cards with his sweetheart. He walked in.
+
+Ya-Bon was no longer playing. He had fallen asleep in an armchair, in
+front of the outspread cards, and on the pinned-back sleeve hanging from
+his left shoulder lay the head of a woman, an appallingly common head,
+with lips as thick as Ya-Bon's, revealing a set of black teeth, and with
+a yellow, greasy skin that seemed soaked in oil. It was Angele, the
+kitchen-maid, Ya-Bon's sweetheart. She snored aloud.
+
+Patrice looked at them contentedly. The sight confirmed the truth of his
+theories. If Ya-Bon could find some one to care for him, might not the
+most sadly mutilated heroes aspire likewise to all the joys of love?
+
+He touched the Senegalese on the shoulder. Ya-Bon woke up and smiled,
+or rather, divining the presence of his captain, smiled even before he
+woke.
+
+"I want you, Ya-Bon."
+
+Ya-Bon uttered a grunt of pleasure and gave a push to Angele, who fell
+over on the table and went on snoring.
+
+Coming out of the house, Patrice saw no more sparks. They were hidden
+behind the trees. He walked along the boulevard and, to save time, went
+by the Ceinture railway to the Avenue Henri-Martin. Here he turned down
+the Rue de la Tour, which runs to Passy.
+
+On the way he kept talking to Ya-Bon about what he had in his mind,
+though he well knew that the negro did not understand much of what he
+said. But this was a habit with him. Ya-Bon, first his comrade-in-arms
+and then his orderly, was as devoted to him as a dog. He had lost a limb
+on the same day as his officer and was wounded in the head on the same
+day; he believed himself destined to undergo the same experiences
+throughout; and he rejoiced at having been twice wounded just as he
+would have rejoiced at dying at the same time as Captain Belval. On his
+side, the captain rewarded this humble, dumb devotion by unbending
+genially to his companion; he treated him with an ironical and sometimes
+impatient humor which heightened the negro's love for him. Ya-Bon played
+the part of the passive confidant who is consulted without being
+regarded and who is made to bear the brunt of his interlocutor's hasty
+temper.
+
+"What do you think of all this, Master Ya-Bon?" asked the captain,
+walking arm-in-arm with him. "I have an idea that it's all part of the
+same business. Do you think so too?"
+
+Ya-Bon had two grunts, one of which meant yes, the other no. He grunted
+out:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So there's no doubt about it," the officer declared, "and we must admit
+that Little Mother Coralie is threatened with a fresh danger. Is that
+so?"
+
+"Yes," grunted Ya-Bon, who always approved, on principle.
+
+"Very well. It now remains to be seen what that shower of sparks means.
+I thought for a moment that, as we had our first visit from the
+Zeppelins a week ago . . . are you listening to me?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I thought that it was a treacherous signal with a view to a second
+Zeppelin visit . . ."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"No, you idiot, it's not yes. How could it be a Zeppelin signal when,
+according to the conversation which I overheard, the signal had already
+been given twice before the war. Besides, is it really a signal?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How do you mean, no? What else could it be, you silly ass? You'd do
+better to hold your tongue and listen to me, all the more as you don't
+even know what it's all about. . . . No more do I, for that matter, and
+I confess that I'm at an utter loss. Lord, it's a complicated business,
+and I'm not much of a hand at solving these problems."
+
+Patrice Belval was even more perplexed when he came to the bottom of the
+Rue de la Tour. There were several roads in front of him, and he did
+not know which to take. Moreover, though he was in the middle of Passy,
+not a spark shone in the dark sky.
+
+"It's finished, I expect," he said, "and we've had our trouble for
+nothing. It's your fault, Ya-Bon. If you hadn't made me lose precious
+moments in snatching you from the arms of your beloved we should have
+arrived in time. I admit Angele's charms, but, after all . . ."
+
+He took his bearings, feeling more and more undecided. The expedition
+undertaken on chance and with insufficient information was certainly
+yielding no results; and he was thinking of abandoning it when a closed
+private car came out of the Rue Franklin, from the direction of the
+Trocadero, and some one inside shouted through the speaking-tube:
+
+"Bear to the left . . . and then straight on, till I stop you."
+
+Now it appeared to Captain Belval that this voice had the same foreign
+inflection as one of those which he had heard that morning at the
+restaurant.
+
+"Can it be the beggar in the gray hat," he muttered, "one of those who
+tried to carry off Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+"Yes," grunted Ya-Bon.
+
+"Yes. The signal of the sparks explains his presence in these parts. We
+mustn't lose sight of this track. Off with you, Ya-Bon."
+
+But there was no need for Ya-Bon to hurry. The car had gone down the Rue
+Raynouard, and Belval himself arrived just as it was stopping three or
+four hundred yards from the turning, in front of a large
+carriage-entrance on the left-hand side.
+
+Five men alighted. One of them rang. Thirty or forty seconds passed.
+Then Patrice heard the bell tinkle a second time. The five men waited,
+standing packed close together on the pavement. At last, after a third
+ring, a small wicket contrived in one of the folding-doors was opened.
+
+There was a pause and some argument. Whoever had opened the wicket
+appeared to be asking for explanations. But suddenly two of the men bore
+heavily on the folding-door, which gave way before their thrust and let
+the whole gang through.
+
+There was a loud noise as the door slammed to. Captain Belval at once
+studied his surroundings.
+
+The Rue Raynouard is an old country-road which at one time used to wind
+among the houses and gardens of the village of Passy, on the side of the
+hills bathed by the Seine. In certain places, which unfortunately are
+becoming more and more rare, it has retained a provincial aspect. It is
+skirted by old properties. Old houses stand hidden amidst the trees:
+that in which Balzac lived has been piously preserved. It was in this
+street that the mysterious garden lay where Arsene Lupin discovered a
+farmer-general's diamonds hidden in a crack of an old sundial.[1]
+
+[Footnote 1: _The Confessions of Arsene Lupin._ By Maurice Leblanc.
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. III. _The Sign of the
+Shadow._]
+
+The car was still standing outside the house into which the five men had
+forced their way; and this prevented Patrice Belval from coming nearer.
+It was built in continuation of a wall and seemed to be one of the
+private mansions dating back to the First Empire. It had a very long
+front with two rows of round windows, protected by gratings on the
+ground-floor and solid shutters on the story above. There was another
+building farther down, forming a separate wing.
+
+"There's nothing to be done on this side," said the captain. "It's as
+impregnable as a feudal stronghold. Let's look elsewhere."
+
+From the Rue Raynouard, narrow lanes, which used to divide the old
+properties, make their way down to the river. One of them skirted the
+wall that preceded the house. Belval turned down it with Ya-Bon. It was
+constructed of ugly pointed pebbles, was broken into steps and faintly
+lighted by the gleam of a street-lamp.
+
+"Lend me a hand, Ya-Bon. The wall is too high. But perhaps with the aid
+of the lamp-post . . ."
+
+Assisted by the negro, he hoisted himself to the lamp and was stretching
+out one of his hands when he noticed that all this part of the wall
+bristled with broken glass, which made it absolutely impossible to
+grasp. He slid down again.
+
+"Upon my word, Ya-Bon," he said, angrily, "you might have warned me!
+Another second and you would have made me cut my hands to pieces. What
+are you thinking of? In fact, I can't imagine what made you so anxious
+to come with me at all costs."
+
+There was a turn in the lane, hiding the light, so that they were now in
+utter darkness, and Captain Belval had to grope his way along. He felt
+the negro's hand come down upon his shoulder.
+
+"What do you want, Ya-Bon?"
+
+The hand pushed him against the wall. At this spot there was a door in
+an embrasure.
+
+"Well, yes," he said, "that's a door. Do you think I didn't see it? Oh,
+no one has eyes but Master Ya-Bon, I suppose."
+
+Ya-Bon handed him a box of matches. He struck several, one after the
+other, and examined the door.
+
+"What did I tell you?" he said between his teeth. "There's nothing to be
+done. Massive wood, barred and studded with iron. . . . Look, there's no
+handle on this side, merely a key-hole. . . . Ah, what we want is a key,
+made to measure and cut for the purpose! . . . For instance, a key like
+the one which the commissionaire left for me at the home just now.
+. . ."
+
+He stopped. An absurd idea flitted through his brain; and yet, absurd as
+it was, he felt that he was bound to perform the trifling action which
+it suggested to him. He therefore retraced his steps. He had the key on
+him. He took it from his pocket.
+
+He struck a fresh light. The key-hole appeared. Belval inserted the key
+at the first attempt. He bore on it to the left: the key turned in the
+lock. He pushed the door: it opened.
+
+"Come along in," he said.
+
+The negro did not stir a foot. Patrice could understand his amazement.
+All said, he himself was equally amazed. By what unprecedented miracle
+was the key just the key of this very door? By what miracle was the
+unknown person who had sent it him able to guess that he would be in a
+position to use it without further instructions? A miracle indeed!
+
+But Patrice had resolved to act without trying to solve the riddle
+which a mischievous chance seemed bent upon setting him.
+
+"Come along in," he repeated, triumphantly.
+
+Branches struck him in the face and he perceived that he was walking on
+grass and that there must be a garden lying in front of him. It was so
+dark that he could not see the paths against the blackness of the turf;
+and, after walking for a minute or two, he hit his foot against some
+rocks with a sheet of water on them.
+
+"Oh, confound it!" he cursed. "I'm all wet. Damn you, Ya-Bon!"
+
+He had not finished speaking when a furious barking was heard at the far
+end of the garden; and the sound at once came nearer, with extreme
+rapidity. Patrice realized that a watchdog, perceiving their presence,
+was rushing upon them, and, brave as he was, he shuddered, because of
+the impressiveness of this attack in complete darkness. How was he to
+defend himself? A shot would betray them; and yet he carried no weapon
+but his revolver.
+
+The dog came dashing on, a powerful animal, to judge by the noise it
+made, suggesting the rush of a wild boar through the copsewood. It must
+have broken its chain, for it was accompanied by the clatter of iron.
+Patrice braced himself to meet it. But through the darkness he saw
+Ya-Bon pass before him to protect him, and the impact took place almost
+at once.
+
+"Here, I say, Ya-Bon! Why did you get in front of me? It's all right, my
+lad, I'm coming!"
+
+The two adversaries had rolled over on the grass. Patrice stooped down,
+seeking to rescue the negro. He touched the hair of an animal and then
+Ya-Bon's clothes. But the two were wriggling on the ground in so compact
+a mass and fighting so frantically that his interference was useless.
+
+Moreover, the contest did not last long. In a few minutes the
+adversaries had ceased to move. A strangled death-rattle issued from the
+group.
+
+"Is it all right, Ya-Bon?" whispered the captain, anxiously.
+
+The negro stood up with a grunt. By the light of a match Patrice saw
+that he was holding at the end of his outstretched arm, of the one arm
+with which he had had to defend himself, a huge dog, which was gurgling,
+clutched round the throat by Ya-Bon's implacable fingers. A broken chain
+hung from its neck.
+
+"Thank you, Ya-Bon. I've had a narrow escape. You can let him go now. He
+can't do us any harm, I think."
+
+Ya-Bon obeyed. But he had no doubt squeezed too tight. The dog writhed
+for a moment on the grass, gave a few moans and then lay without moving.
+
+"Poor brute!" said Patrice. "After all, he only did his duty in going
+for the burglars that we are. Let us do ours, Ya-Bon, which is nothing
+like as plain."
+
+Something that shone like a window-pane guided his steps and led him, by
+a series of stairs cut in the rocks and of successive terraces, to the
+level ground on which the house was built. On this side also, all the
+windows were round and high up, like those in the streets, and
+barricaded with shutters. But one of them allowed the light which he
+had seen from below to filter through.
+
+Telling Ya-Bon to hide in the shrubberies, he went up to the house,
+listened, caught an indistinct sound of voices, discovered that the
+shutters were too firmly closed to enable him either to see or to hear
+and, in this way, after the fourth window, reached a flight of steps. At
+the top of the steps was a door.
+
+"Since they sent me the key of the garden," he said to himself, "there's
+no reason why this door, which leads from the house into the garden,
+should not be open."
+
+It was open.
+
+The voices indoors were now more clearly perceptible, and Belval
+observed that they reached him by the well of the staircase and that
+this staircase, which seemed to lead to an unoccupied part of the house,
+showed with an uncertain light above him.
+
+He went up. A door stood ajar on the first floor. He slipped his head
+through the opening and went in. He found that he was on a narrow
+balcony which ran at mid-height around three sides of a large room,
+along book-shelves rising to the ceiling. Against the wall at either end
+of the room was an iron spiral staircase. Stacks of books were also
+piled against the bars of the railing which protected the gallery, thus
+hiding Patrice from the view of the people on the ground-floor, ten or
+twelve feet below.
+
+He gently separated two of these stacks. At that moment the sound of
+voices suddenly increased to a great uproar and he saw five men,
+shouting like lunatics, hurl themselves upon a sixth and fling him to
+the ground before he had time to lift a finger in self-defense.
+
+Belval's first impulse was to rush to the victim's rescue. With the aid
+of Ya-Bon, who would have hastened to his call, he would certainly have
+intimidated the five men. The reason why he did not act was that, at any
+rate, they were using no weapons and appeared to have no murderous
+intentions. After depriving their victim of all power of movement, they
+were content to hold him by the throat, shoulders and ankles. Belval
+wondered what would happen next.
+
+One of the five drew himself up briskly and, in a tone of command, said:
+
+"Bind him. . . . Put a gag in his mouth. . . . Or let him call out, if
+he wants to: there's no one to hear him."
+
+Patrice at once recognized one of the voices which he had heard that
+morning in the restaurant. Its owner was a short, slim-built,
+well-dressed man, with an olive complexion and a cruel face.
+
+"At last we've got him," he said, "the rascal! And I think we shall get
+him to speak this time. Are you prepared to go all lengths, friends?"
+
+One of the other four growled, spitefully:
+
+"Yes. And at once, whatever happens!"
+
+The last speaker had a big black mustache; and Patrice recognized the
+other man whose conversation at the restaurant he had overheard, that is
+to say, one of Coralie's assailants, the one who had taken to flight.
+His gray-felt hat lay on a chair.
+
+"All lengths, Bournef, whatever happens, eh?" grinned the leader. "Well,
+let's get on with the work. So you refuse to give up your secret,
+Essares, old man? We shall have some fun."
+
+All their movements must have been prepared beforehand and the parts
+carefully arranged, for the actions which they carried out were
+performed in an incredibly prompt and methodical fashion.
+
+After the man was tied up, they lifted him into an easy-chair with a
+very low back, to which they fastened him round the chest and waist with
+a rope. His legs, which were bound together, were placed on the seat of
+a heavy chair of the same height as the arm-chair, with the two feet
+projecting. Then the victim's shoes and socks were removed.
+
+"Roll him along!" said the leader.
+
+Between two of the four windows that overlooked the chimney was a large
+fire-place, in which burnt a red coal-fire, white in places with the
+intense heat of the hearth. The men pushed the two chairs bearing the
+victim until his bare feet were within twenty inches of the blazing
+coals.
+
+In spite of his gag, the man uttered a hideous yell of pain, while his
+legs, in spite of their bonds, succeeded in contracting and curling upon
+themselves.
+
+"Go on!" shouted the leader, passionately. "Go on! Nearer!"
+
+Patrice Belval grasped his revolver.
+
+"Oh, I'm going on too!" he said to himself. "I won't let that wretch be
+. . ."
+
+But, at this very moment, when he was on the point of drawing himself up
+and acting, a chance movement made him behold the most extraordinary and
+unexpected sight. Opposite him, on the other side of the room, in a part
+of the balcony corresponding with that where he was, he saw a woman's
+head, a head glued to the rails, livid and terror-stricken, with eyes
+wide-open in horror gazing frenziedly at the awful scene that was being
+enacted below by the glowing fire.
+
+Patrice had recognized Little Mother Coralie.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BEFORE THE FLAMES
+
+
+Little Mother Coralie! Coralie concealed in this house into which her
+assailants had forced their way and in which she herself was hiding,
+through force of circumstances which were incapable of explanation.
+
+His first idea, which would at least have solved one of the riddles, was
+that she also had entered from the lane, gone into the house by the
+steps and in this way opened a passage for him. But, in that case, how
+had she procured the means of carrying out this enterprise? And, above
+all, what brought her here?
+
+All these questions occurred to Captain Belval's mind without his trying
+to reply to them. He was far too much impressed by the absorbed
+expression on Coralie's face. Moreover, a second cry, even wilder than
+the first, came from below; and he saw the victim's face writhing before
+the red curtain of fire from the hearth.
+
+But, this time, Patrice, held back by Coralie's presence, had no
+inclination to go to the sufferer's assistance. He decided to model
+himself entirely upon her and not to move or do anything to attract her
+attention.
+
+"Easy!" the leader commanded. "Pull him back. I expect he's had
+enough."
+
+He went up to the victim:
+
+"Well, my dear Essares," he asked, "what do you think of it? Are you
+happy? And, you know, we're only beginning. If you don't speak, we shall
+go on to the end, as the real _chauffeurs_ used to do in the days of the
+Revolution. So it's settled, I presume: you're going to speak?"
+
+There was no answer. The leader rapped out an oath and went on:
+
+"What do you mean? Do you refuse? But, you obstinate brute, don't you
+understand the situation? Or have you a glimmer of hope? Hope, indeed!
+You're mad. Who would rescue you? Your servants? The porter, the footman
+and the butler are in my pay. I gave them a week's notice. They're gone
+by now. The housemaid? The cook? They sleep at the other end of the
+house; and you yourself have told me, time after time, that one can't
+hear anything over there. Who else? Your wife? Her room also is far
+away; and she hasn't heard anything either? Simeon, your old secretary?
+We made him fast when he opened the front door to us just now. Besides,
+we may as well finish the job here. Bournef!"
+
+The man with the big mustache, who was still holding the chair, drew
+himself up.
+
+"Bournef, where did you lock up the secretary?"
+
+"In the porter's lodge."
+
+"You know where to find Mme. Essares' bedroom?"
+
+"Yes, you told me the way."
+
+"Go, all four of you, and bring the lady and the secretary here!"
+
+The four men went out by a door below the spot where Coralie was
+standing. They were hardly out of sight when the leader stooped eagerly
+over his victim and said:
+
+"We're alone, Essares. It's what I intended. Let's make the most of it."
+
+He bent still lower and whispered so that Patrice found it difficult to
+hear what he said:
+
+"Those men are fools. I twist them round my finger and tell them no more
+of my plans than I can help. You and I, on the other hand, Essares, are
+the men to come to terms. That is what you refused to admit; and you see
+where it has landed you. Come, Essares, don't be obstinate and don't
+shuffle. You are caught in a trap, you are helpless, you are absolutely
+in my power. Well, rather than allow yourself to be broken down by
+tortures which would certainly end by overcoming your resistance, strike
+a bargain with me. We'll go halves, shall we? Let's make peace and treat
+upon that basis. I'll give you a hand in my game and you'll give me one
+in yours. As allies, we are bound to win. As enemies, who knows whether
+the victor will surmount all the obstacles that will still stand in his
+path? That's why I say again, halves! Answer me. Yes or no."
+
+He loosened the gag and listened. This time, Patrice did not hear the
+few words which the victim uttered. But the other, the leader, almost
+immediately burst into a rage:
+
+"Eh? What's that you're proposing? Upon my word, but you're a cool hand!
+An offer of this kind to me! That's all very well for Bournef or his
+fellows. They'll understand, they will. But it won't do for me, it won't
+do for Colonel Fakhi. No, no, my friend, I open my mouth wider! I'll
+consent to go halves, but accept an alms, never!"
+
+Patrice listened eagerly and, at the same time, kept his eyes on
+Coralie, whose face still contorted with anguish, wore an expression of
+the same rapt attention. And he looked back at the victim, part of whose
+body was reflected in the glass above the mantelpiece. The man was
+dressed in a braided brown-velvet smoking-suit and appeared to be about
+fifty years of age, quite bald, with a fleshy face, a large hooked nose,
+eyes deep set under a pair of thick eyebrows and puffy cheeks covered
+with a thick grizzled beard. Patrice was also able to examine his
+features more closely in a portrait of him which hung to the left of the
+fireplace, between the first and second windows, and which represented a
+strong, powerful countenance with an almost fierce expression.
+
+"It's an Eastern face," said Patrice to himself. "I've seen heads like
+that in Egypt and Turkey."
+
+The names of all these men too--Colonel Fakhi, Mustapha, Bournef,
+Essares--their accent in talking, their way of holding themselves, their
+features, their figures, all recalled impressions which he had gathered
+in the Near East, in the hotels at Alexandria or on the banks of the
+Bosphorus, in the bazaars of Adrianople or in the Greek boats that plow
+the AEgean Sea. They were Levantine types, but of Levantines who had
+taken root in Paris. Essares Bey was a name which Patrice recognized as
+well-known in the financial world, even as he knew that of Colonel
+Fakhi, whose speech and intonation marked him for a seasoned Parisian.
+
+But a sound of voices came from outside the door. It was flung open
+violently and the four men appeared, dragging in a bound man, whom they
+dropped to the floor as they entered.
+
+"Here's old Simeon," cried the one whom Fakhi had addressed as Bournef.
+
+"And the wife?" asked the leader. "I hope you've got her too!"
+
+"Well, no."
+
+"What is that? Has she escaped?"
+
+"Yes, through her window."
+
+"But you must run after her. She can only be in the garden. Remember,
+the watch-dog was barking just now."
+
+"And suppose she's got away?"
+
+"How?"
+
+"By the door on the lane?"
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"The door hasn't been used for years. There's not even a key to it."
+
+"That's as may be," Bournef rejoined. "All the same, we're surely not
+going to organize a battue with lanterns and rouse the whole district
+for the sake of finding a woman . . ."
+
+"Yes, but that woman . . ."
+
+Colonel Fakhi seemed exasperated. He turned to the prisoner:
+
+"You're in luck, you old rascal! This is the second time to-day that
+minx of yours has slipped through my fingers! Did she tell you what
+happened this afternoon? Oh, if it hadn't been for an infernal officer
+who happened to be passing! . . . But I'll get hold of him yet and he
+shall pay dearly for his interference. . . ."
+
+Patrice clenched his fists with fury. He understood: Coralie was hiding
+in her own house. Surprised by the sudden arrival of the five men, she
+had managed to climb out of her window and, making her way along the
+terrace to the steps, had gone to the part of the house opposite the
+rooms that were in use and taken refuge in the gallery of the library,
+where she was able to witness the terrible assault levied at her
+husband.
+
+"Her husband!" thought Patrice, with a shudder. "Her husband!"
+
+And, if he still entertained any doubts on the subject, the hurried
+course of events soon removed them, for the leader began to chuckle:
+
+"Yes, Essares, old man, I confess that she attracts me more than I can
+tell you; and, as I failed to catch her earlier in the day, I did hope
+this evening, as soon as I had settled my business with you, to settle
+something infinitely more agreeable with your wife. Not to mention that,
+once in my power, the little woman would be serving me as a hostage and
+that I would only have restored her to you--oh, safe and sound, believe
+me!--after specific performance of our agreement. And you would have run
+straight, Essares! For you love your Coralie passionately! And quite
+right too!"
+
+He went to the right-hand side of the fireplace and, touching a switch,
+lit an electric lamp under a reflector between the third and fourth
+windows. There was a companion picture here to Essares' portrait, but it
+was covered over. The leader drew the curtain, and Coralie appeared in
+the full light.
+
+"The monarch of all she surveys! The idol! The witch! The pearl of
+pearls! The imperial diamond of Essares Bey, banker! Isn't she
+beautiful? I ask you. Admire the delicate outline of her face, the
+purity of that oval; and the pretty neck; and those graceful shoulders.
+Essares, there's not a favorite in the country we come from who can hold
+a candle to your Coralie! My Coralie, soon! For I shall know how to find
+her. Ah, Coralie, Coralie! . . ."
+
+Patrice looked across at her, and it seemed to him that her face was
+reddened with a blush of shame. He himself was shaken by indignation and
+anger at each insulting word. It was a violent enough sorrow to him to
+know that Coralie was the wife of another; and added to this sorrow was
+his rage at seeing her thus exposed to these men's gaze and promised as
+a helpless prey to whosoever should prove himself the strongest.
+
+At the same time, he wondered why Coralie remained in the room.
+Supposing that she could not leave the garden, nevertheless she was free
+to move about in that part of the house and might well have opened a
+window and called for help. What prevented her from doing so? Of course
+she did not love her husband. If she had loved him, she would have faced
+every danger to defend him. But how was it possible for her to allow
+that man to be tortured, worse still, to be present at his sufferings,
+to contemplate that most hideous of sights and to listen to his yells of
+pain?
+
+"Enough of this nonsense!" cried the leader, pulling the curtain back
+into its place. "Coralie, you shall be my final reward; but I must first
+win you. Comrades, to work; let's finish our friend's job. First of all,
+twenty inches nearer, no more. Good! Does it burn, Essares? All the
+same, it's not more than you can stand. Bear up, old fellow."
+
+He unfastened the prisoner's right arm, put a little table by his side,
+laid a pencil and paper on it and continued:
+
+"There's writing-materials for you. As your gag prevents you from
+speaking, write. You know what's wanted of you, don't you? Scribble a
+few letters, and you're free. Do you consent? No? Comrades, three inches
+nearer."
+
+He moved away and stooped over the secretary, whom Patrice, by the
+brighter light, had recognized as the old fellow who sometimes escorted
+Coralie to the hospital.
+
+"As for you, Simeon," he said, "you shall come to no harm. I know that
+you are devoted to your master, but I also know that he tells you none
+of his private affairs. On the other hand, I am certain that you will
+keep silent as to all this, because a single word of betrayal would
+involve your master's ruin even more than ours. That's understood
+between us, isn't it? Well, why don't you answer? Have they squeezed
+your throat a bit too tight with their cords? Wait, I'll give you some
+air. . . ."
+
+Meanwhile the ugly work at the fireplace pursued its course. The two
+feet were reddened by the heat until it seemed almost as though the
+bright flames of the fire were glowing through them. The sufferer
+exerted all his strength in trying to bend his legs and to draw back;
+and a dull, continuous moan came through his gag.
+
+"Oh, hang it all!" thought Patrice. "Are we going to let him roast like
+this, like a chicken on a spit?"
+
+He looked at Coralie. She did not stir. Her face was distorted beyond
+recognition, and her eyes seemed fascinated by the terrifying sight.
+
+"Couple of inches nearer!" cried the leader, from the other end of the
+room, as he unfastened Simeon's bonds.
+
+The order was executed. The victim gave such a yell that Patrice's blood
+froze in his veins. But, at the same moment, he became aware of
+something that had not struck him so far, or at least he had attached no
+significance to it. The prisoner's hand, as the result of a sequence of
+little movements apparently due to nervous twitches, had seized the
+opposite edge of the table, while his arm rested on the marble top. And
+gradually, unseen by the torturers, all whose efforts were directed to
+keeping his legs in position, or by the leader, who was still engaged
+with Simeon, this hand opened a drawer which swung on a hinge, dipped
+into the drawer, took out a revolver and, resuming its original position
+with a jerk, hid the weapon in the chair.
+
+The act, or rather the intention which it indicated, was foolhardy in
+the extreme, for, when all was said, reduced to his present state of
+helplessness, the man could not hope for victory against five
+adversaries, all free and all armed. Nevertheless, as Patrice looked at
+the glass in which he beheld him, he saw a fierce determination pictured
+in the man's face.
+
+"Another two inches," said Colonel Fakhi, as he walked back to the
+fireplace.
+
+He examined the condition of the flesh and said, with a laugh:
+
+"The skin is blistering in places; the veins are ready to burst.
+Essares Bey, you can't be enjoying yourself, and it strikes me that you
+mean to do the right thing at last. Have you started scribbling yet? No?
+And don't you mean to? Are you still hoping? Counting on your wife,
+perhaps? Come, come, you must see that, even if she has succeeded in
+escaping, she won't say anything! Well, then, are you humbugging me, or
+what? . . ."
+
+He was seized with a sudden burst of rage and shouted:
+
+"Shove his feet into the fire! And let's have a good smell of burning
+for once! Ah, you would defy me, would you? Well, wait a bit, old chap,
+and let me have a go at you! I'll cut you off an ear or two: you know,
+the way we have in our country!"
+
+He drew from his waistcoat a dagger that gleamed in the firelight. His
+face was hideous with animal cruelty. He gave a fierce cry, raised his
+arm and stood over the other relentlessly.
+
+But, swift as his movement was, Essares was before him. The revolver,
+quickly aimed, was discharged with a loud report. The dagger dropped
+from the colonel's hand. For two or three seconds he maintained his
+threatening attitude, with one arm lifted on high and a haggard look in
+his eyes, as though he did not quite understand what had happened to
+him. And then, suddenly, he fell upon his victim in a huddled heap,
+paralyzing his arm with the full weight of his body, at the moment when
+Essares was taking aim at one of the other confederates.
+
+He was still breathing:
+
+"Oh, the brute, the brute!" he panted. "He's killed me! . . . But
+you'll lose by it, Essares. . . . I was prepared for this. If I don't
+come home to-night, the prefect of police will receive a letter. . . .
+They'll know about your treason, Essares . . . all your story . . . your
+plans. . . . Oh, you devil! . . . And what a fool! . . . We could so
+easily have come to terms. . . ."
+
+He muttered a few inaudible words and rolled down to the floor. It was
+all over.
+
+A moment of stupefaction was produced not so much by this unexpected
+tragedy as by the revelation which the leader had made before dying and
+by the thought of that letter, which no doubt implicated the aggressors
+as well as their victim. Bournef had disarmed Essares. The latter, now
+that the chair was no longer held in position, had succeeded in bending
+his legs. No one moved.
+
+Meanwhile, the sense of terror which the whole scene had produced seemed
+rather to increase with the silence. On the ground was the corpse, with
+the blood flowing on the carpet. Not far away lay Simeon's motionless
+form. Then there was the prisoner, still bound in front of the flames
+waiting to devour his flesh. And standing near him were the four
+butchers, hesitating perhaps what to do next, but showing in every
+feature an implacable resolution to defeat the enemy by all and every
+means.
+
+His companions glanced at Bournef, who seemed the kind of man to go any
+length. He was a short, stout, powerfully-built man; his upper lip
+bristled with the mustache which had attracted Patrice Belval's
+attention. He was less cruel in appearance than his chief, less elegant
+in his manner and less masterful, but displayed far greater coolness
+and self-command. As for the colonel, his accomplices seemed not to
+trouble about him. The part which they were playing dispensed them from
+showing any empty compassion.
+
+At last Bournef appeared to have made up his mind how to act. He went to
+his hat, the gray-felt hat lying near the door, turned back the lining
+and took from it a tiny coil the sight of which made Patrice start. It
+was a slender red cord, exactly like that which he had found round the
+neck of Mustapha Rovalaiof, the first accomplice captured by Ya-Bon.
+
+Bournef unrolled the cord, took it by the two buckles, tested its
+strength across his knee and then, going back to Essares, slipped it
+over his neck after first removing his gag.
+
+"Essares," he said, with a calmness which was more impressive than the
+colonel's violence and sneers, "Essares, I shall not put you to any
+pain. Torture is a revolting process; and I shall not have recourse to
+it. You know what to do; I know what to do. A word on your side, an
+action on my side; and the thing is done. The word is the yes or no
+which you will now speak. The action which I shall accomplish in reply
+to your yes or no will mean either your release or else . . ."
+
+He stopped for a second or two. Then he declared:
+
+"Or else your death."
+
+The brief phrase was uttered very simply but with a firmness that gave
+it the full significance of an irrevocable sentence. It was clear that
+Essares was faced with a catastrophe which he could no longer avoid
+save by submitting absolutely. In less than a minute, he would have
+spoken or he would be dead.
+
+Once again Patrice fixed his eyes on Coralie, ready to interfere should
+he perceive in her any other feeling than one of passive terror. But her
+attitude did not change. She was therefore accepting the worst, it
+appeared, even though this meant her husband's death; and Patrice held
+his hand accordingly.
+
+"Are we all agreed?" Bournef asked, turning to his accomplices.
+
+"Quite," said one of them.
+
+"Do you take your share of the responsibility?"
+
+"We do."
+
+Bournef brought his hands together and crossed them, which had the
+result of knotting the cord round Essares' neck. Then he pulled
+slightly, so as to make the pressure felt, and asked, unemotionally:
+
+"Yes or no?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+There was a murmur of satisfaction. The accomplices heaved a breath; and
+Bournef nodded his head with an air of approval:
+
+"Ah, so you accept! It was high time: I doubt if any one was ever nearer
+death than you were, Essares." Retaining his hold of the cord, he
+continued, "Very well. You will speak. But I know you; and your answer
+surprises me, for I told the colonel that not even the certainty of
+death would make you confess your secret. Am I wrong?"
+
+"No," replied Essares. "Neither death nor torture."
+
+"Then you have something different to propose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Something worth our while?"
+
+"Yes. I suggested it to the colonel just now, when you were out of the
+room. But, though he was willing to betray you and go halves with me in
+the secret, he refused the other thing."
+
+"Why should I accept it?"
+
+"Because you must take it or leave it and because you will understand
+what he did not."
+
+"It's a compromise, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Money?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Bournef shrugged his shoulders:
+
+"A few thousand-franc notes, I expect. And you imagine that Bournef and
+his friends will be such fools? . . . Come, Essares, why do you want us
+to compromise? We know your secret almost entirely. . . ."
+
+"You know what it is, but not how to use it. You don't know how to get
+at it; and that's just the point."
+
+"We shall discover it."
+
+"Never."
+
+"Yes, your death will make it easier for us."
+
+"My death? Thanks to the information lodged by the colonel, in a few
+hours you will be tracked down and most likely caught: in any case, you
+will be unable to pursue your search. Therefore you have hardly any
+choice. It's the money which I'm offering you, or else . . . prison."
+
+"And, if we accept," asked Bournef, to whom the argument seemed to
+appeal, "when shall we be paid?"
+
+"At once."
+
+"Then the money is here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A contemptible sum, as I said before?"
+
+"No, a much larger sum than you hope for; infinitely larger."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"Four millions."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+
+The accomplices started, as though they had received an electric shock.
+Bournef darted forward:
+
+"What did you say?"
+
+"I said four millions, which means a million for each of you."
+
+"Look here! . . . Do you mean it? . . . Four millions? . . ."
+
+"Four millions is what I said."
+
+The figure was so gigantic and the proposal so utterly unexpected that
+the accomplices had the same feeling which Patrice Belval on his side
+underwent. They suspected a trap; and Bournef could not help saying:
+
+"The offer is more than we expected. . . . And I am wondering what
+induced you to make it."
+
+"Would you have been satisfied with less?"
+
+"Yes," said Bournef, candidly.
+
+"Unfortunately, I can't make it less. I have only one means of escaping
+death; and that is to open my safe for you. And my safe contains four
+bundles of a thousand bank-notes each."
+
+Bournef could not get over his astonishment and became more and more
+suspicious.
+
+"How do you know that, after taking the four millions, we shall not
+insist on more?"
+
+"Insist on what? The secret of the site?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Because you know that I would as soon die as tell it you. The four
+millions are the maximum. Do you want them or don't you? I ask for no
+promise in return, no oath of any kind, for I am convinced that, when
+you have filled your pockets, you will have but one thought, to clear
+off, without handicapping yourselves with a murder which might prove
+your undoing."
+
+The argument was so unanswerable that Bournef ceased discussing and
+asked:
+
+"Is the safe in this room?"
+
+"Yes, between the first and second windows, behind my portrait."
+
+Bournef took down the picture and said:
+
+"I see nothing."
+
+"It's all right. The lines of the safe are marked by the moldings of the
+central panel. In the middle you will see what looks like a rose, not of
+wood but of iron; and there are four others at the four corners of the
+panel. These four turn to the right, by successive notches, forming a
+word which is the key to the lock, the word Cora."
+
+"The first four letters of Coralie?" asked Bournef, following Essares'
+instructions as he spoke.
+
+"No," said Essares Bey, "the first four letters of the Coran. Have you
+done that?"
+
+After a moment, Bournef answered:
+
+"Yes, I've finished. And the key?"
+
+"There's no key. The fifth letter of the word, the letter N, is the
+letter of the central rose."
+
+Bournef turned this fifth rose; and presently a click was heard.
+
+"Now pull," said Essares. "That's it. The safe is not deep: it's dug in
+one of the stones of the front wall. Put in your hand. You'll find four
+pocket-books."
+
+It must be admitted that Patrice Belval expected to see something
+startling interrupt Bournef's quest and hurl him into some pit suddenly
+opened by Essares' trickery. And the three confederates seemed to share
+this unpleasant apprehension, for they were gray in the face, while
+Bournef himself appeared to be working very cautiously and suspiciously.
+
+At last he turned round and came and sat beside Essares. In his hands he
+held a bundle of four pocket-books, short but extremely bulky and bound
+together with a canvas strap. He unfastened the buckle of the strap and
+opened one of the pocket-books.
+
+His knees shook under their precious burden, and, when he had taken a
+huge sheaf of notes from one of the compartments, his hands were like
+the hands of a very old man trembling with fever.
+
+"Thousand-franc notes," he murmured. "Ten packets of thousand-franc
+notes."
+
+Brutally, like men prepared to fight one another, each of the other
+three laid hold of a pocket-book, felt inside and mumbled:
+
+"Ten packets . . . they're all there. . . . Thousand-franc notes . . ."
+
+And one of them forthwith cried, in a choking voice:
+
+"Let's clear out! . . . Let's go!"
+
+A sudden fear was sending them off their heads. They could not imagine
+that Essares would hand over such a fortune to them unless he had some
+plan which would enable him to recover it before they had left the room.
+That was a certainty. The ceiling would come down on their heads. The
+walls would close up and crush them to death, while sparing their
+unfathomable adversary.
+
+Nor had Patrice Belval any doubt of it. The disaster was preparing.
+Essares' revenge was inevitably at hand. A man like him, a fighter as
+able as he appeared to be, does not so easily surrender four million
+francs if he has not some scheme at the back of his head. Patrice felt
+himself breathing heavily. His present excitement was more violent than
+any with which he had thrilled since the very beginning of the tragic
+scenes which he had been witnessing; and he saw that Coralie's face was
+as anxious as his own.
+
+Meanwhile Bournef partially recovered his composure and, holding back
+his companions, said:
+
+"Don't be such fools! He would be capable, with old Simeon, of releasing
+himself and running after us."
+
+Using only one hand, for the other was clutching a pocket-book, all four
+fastened Essares' arm to the chair, while he protested angrily:
+
+"You idiots! You came here to rob me of a secret of immense importance,
+as you well knew, and you lose your heads over a trifle of four
+millions. Say what you like, the colonel had more backbone than that!"
+
+They gagged him once more and Bournef gave him a smashing blow with his
+fist which laid him unconscious.
+
+"That makes our retreat safe," said Bournef.
+
+"What about the colonel?" asked one of the others. "Are we to leave him
+here?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+But apparently he thought this unwise; for he added:
+
+"On second thoughts, no. It's not to our interest to compromise Essares
+any further. What we must do, Essares as well as ourselves, is to make
+ourselves scarce as fast as we can, before that damned letter of the
+colonel's is delivered at headquarters, say before twelve o'clock in the
+day."
+
+"Then what do you suggest?"
+
+"We'll take the colonel with us in the motor and drop him anywhere. The
+police must make what they can of it."
+
+"And his papers?"
+
+"We'll look through his pockets as we go. Lend me a hand."
+
+They bandaged the wound to stop the flow of blood, took up the body,
+each holding it by an arm or leg, and walked out without any one of them
+letting go his pocket-book for a second.
+
+Patrice Belval heard them pass through another room and then tramp
+heavily over the echoing flags of a hall.
+
+"This is the moment," he said. "Essares or Simeon will press a button
+and the rogues will be nabbed."
+
+Essares did not budge.
+
+Simeon did not budge.
+
+Patrice heard all the sounds accompanying their departure: the slamming
+of the carriage-gate, the starting-up of the engine and the drone of the
+car as it moved away. And that was all. Nothing had happened. The
+confederates were getting off with their four millions.
+
+A long silence followed, during which Patrice remained on tenterhooks.
+He did not believe that the drama had reached its last phase; and he was
+so much afraid of the unexpected which might still occur that he
+determined to make Coralie aware of his presence.
+
+A fresh incident prevented him. Coralie had risen to her feet.
+
+Her face no longer wore its expression of horror and affright, but
+Patrice was perhaps more scared at seeing her suddenly animated with a
+sinister energy that gave an unwonted sparkle to her eyes and set her
+eyebrows and her lips twitching. He realized that Coralie was preparing
+to act.
+
+In what way? Was this the end of the tragedy?
+
+She walked to the corner on her side of the gallery where one of the two
+spiral staircases stood and went down slowly, without, however, trying
+to deaden the sound of her feet. Her husband could not help hearing her.
+Patrice, moreover, saw in the mirror that he had lifted his head and was
+following her with his eyes.
+
+She stopped at the foot of the stairs. But there was no indecision in
+her attitude. Her plan was obviously quite clear; and she was only
+thinking out the best method of putting it into execution.
+
+"Ah!" whispered Patrice to himself, quivering all over. "What are you
+doing, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+He gave a start. The direction in which Coralie's eyes were turned,
+together with the strange manner in which they stared, revealed her
+secret resolve to him. She had caught sight of the dagger, lying on the
+floor where it had slipped from the colonel's grasp.
+
+Not for a second did Patrice believe that she meant to pick up that
+dagger with any other thought than to stab her husband. The intention of
+murder was so plainly written on her livid features that, even before
+she stirred a limb, Essares was seized with a fit of terror and strained
+every muscle to break the bonds that hampered his movements.
+
+She came forward, stopped once more and, suddenly bending, seized the
+dagger. Without waiting, she took two more steps. These brought her to
+the right of the chair in which Essares lay. He had only to turn his
+head a little way to see her. And an awful minute passed, during which
+the husband and wife looked into each other's eyes.
+
+The whirl of thoughts, of fear, of hatred, of vagrant and conflicting
+passions that passed through the brains of her who was about to kill and
+him who was about to die, was reproduced in Patrice Belval's mind and
+deep down in his inner consciousness. What was he to do? What part ought
+he to play in the tragedy that was being enacted before his eyes? Should
+he intervene? Was it his duty to prevent Coralie from committing the
+irreparable deed? Or should he commit it himself by breaking the man's
+head with a bullet from his revolver?
+
+Yet, from the beginning, Patrice had really been swayed by a feeling
+which, mingling with all the others, gradually paralyzed him and
+rendered any inward struggle illusory: a feeling of curiosity driven to
+its utmost pitch. It was not the everyday curiosity of unearthing a
+squalid secret, but the higher curiosity of penetrating the mysterious
+soul of a woman whom he loved, who was carried away by the rush of
+events and who suddenly, becoming once more mistress of herself, was of
+her own accord and with impressive calmness taking the most fearful
+resolution. Thereupon other questions forced themselves upon him. What
+prompted her to take this resolution? Was it revenge? Was it punishment?
+Was it the gratification of hatred?
+
+Patrice Belval remained where he was.
+
+Coralie raised her arm. Her husband, in front of her, no longer even
+attempted to make those movements of despair which indicate a last
+effort. There was neither entreaty nor menace in his eyes. He waited in
+resignation.
+
+Not far from them, old Simeon, still bound, half-lifted himself on his
+elbows and stared at them in dismay.
+
+Coralie raised her arm again. Her whole frame seemed to grow larger and
+taller. An invisible force appeared to strengthen and stiffen her whole
+being, summoning all her energies to the service of her will. She was on
+the point of striking. Her eyes sought the place at which she should
+strike.
+
+Yet her eyes became less hard and less dark. It even seemed to Patrice
+that there was a certain hesitation in her gaze and that she was
+recovering not her usual gentleness, but a little of her womanly grace.
+
+"Ah, Little Mother Coralie," murmured Patrice, "you are yourself again!
+You are the woman I know. Whatever right you may think you have to kill
+that man, you will not kill him . . . and I prefer it so."
+
+Slowly Coralie's arm dropped to her side. Her features relaxed. Patrice
+could guess the immense relief which she felt at escaping from the
+obsessing purpose that was driving her to murder. She looked at her
+dagger with astonishment, as though she were waking from a hideous
+nightmare. And, bending over her husband she began to cut his bonds.
+
+She did so with visible repugnance, avoiding his touch, as it were, and
+shunning his eyes. The cords were severed one by one. Essares was free.
+
+What happened next was in the highest measure unexpected. With not a
+word of thanks to his wife, with not a word of anger either, this man
+who had just undergone the most cruel torture and whose body still
+throbbed with pain hurriedly tottered barefoot to a telephone standing
+on a table. He was like a hungry man who suddenly sees a piece of bread
+and snatches at it greedily as the means of saving himself and returning
+to life. Panting for breath, Essares took down the receiver and called
+out:
+
+"Central 40.39."
+
+Then he turned abruptly to his wife:
+
+"Go away," he said.
+
+She seemed not to hear. She had knelt down beside old Simeon and was
+setting him free also.
+
+Essares at the telephone began to lose patience:
+
+"Are you there? . . . Are you there? . . . I want that number to-day,
+please, not next week! It's urgent. . . . 40.39. . . . It's urgent, I
+tell you!"
+
+And, turning to Coralie, he repeated, in an imperious tone:
+
+"Go away!"
+
+She made a sign that she would not go away and that, on the contrary,
+she meant to listen. He shook his fist at her and again said:
+
+"Go away, go away! . . . I won't have you stay in the room. You go away
+too, Simeon."
+
+Old Simeon got up and moved towards Essares. It looked as though he
+wished to speak, no doubt to protest. But his action was undecided; and,
+after a moment's reflection, he turned to the door and went without
+uttering a word.
+
+"Go away, will you, go away!" Essares repeated, his whole body
+expressing menace.
+
+But Coralie came nearer to him and crossed her arms obstinately and
+defiantly. At that moment, Essares appeared to get his call, for he
+asked:
+
+"Is that 40.39? Ah, yes . . ."
+
+He hesitated. Coralie's presence obviously displeased him greatly, and
+he was about to say things which he did not wish her to know. But time,
+no doubt, was pressing. He suddenly made up his mind and, with both
+receivers glued to his ears, said, in English:
+
+"Is that you, Gregoire? . . . Essares speaking. . . . Hullo! . . . Yes,
+I'm speaking from the Rue Raynouard. . . . There's no time to lose.
+. . . Listen. . . ."
+
+He sat down and went on:
+
+"Look here. Mustapha's dead. So is the colonel. . . . Damn it, don't
+interrupt, or we're done for! . . . Yes, done for; and you too. . . .
+Listen, they all came, the colonel, Bournef, the whole gang, and robbed
+me by means of violence and threats. . . . I finished the colonel, only
+he had written to the police, giving us all away. The letter will be
+delivered soon. So you understand, Bournef and his three ruffians are
+going to disappear. They'll just run home and pack up their papers; and
+I reckon they'll be with you in an hour, or two hours at most. It's the
+refuge they're sure to make for. They prepared it themselves, without
+suspecting that you and I know each other. So there's no doubt about it.
+They're sure to come. . . ."
+
+Essares stopped. He thought for a moment and resumed:
+
+"You still have a second key to each of the rooms which they use as
+bedrooms? Is that so? . . . Good. And you have duplicates of the keys
+that open the cupboards in the walls of those rooms, haven't you? . . .
+Capital. Well, as soon as they get to sleep, or rather as soon as you
+are certain that they are sound asleep, go in and search the cupboards.
+Each of them is bound to hide his share of the booty there. You'll find
+it quite easily. It's the four pocket-books which you know of. Put them
+in your bag, clear out as fast as you can and join me."
+
+There was another pause. This time it was Essares listening. He replied:
+
+"What's that you say? Rue Raynouard? Here? Join me here? Why, you must
+be mad! Do you imagine that I can stay now, after the colonel's given me
+away? No, go and wait for me at the hotel, near the station. I shall be
+there by twelve o'clock or one in the afternoon, perhaps a little later.
+Don't be uneasy. Have your lunch quietly and we'll talk things over
+. . . Hullo! Did you hear? . . . Very well, I'll see that everything's
+all right. Good-by for the present."
+
+The conversation was finished; and it looked as if Essares, having taken
+all his measures to recover possession of the four million francs, had
+no further cause for anxiety. He hung up the receiver, went back to the
+lounge-chair in which he had been tortured, wheeled it round with its
+back to the fire, sat down, turned down the bottoms of his trousers and
+pulled on his socks and shoes, all a little painfully and accompanied by
+a few grimaces, but calmly, in the manner of a man who has no need to
+hurry.
+
+Coralie kept her eyes fixed on his face.
+
+"I really ought to go," thought Captain Belval, who felt a trifle
+embarrassed at the thought of overhearing what the husband and wife were
+about to say.
+
+Nevertheless he stayed. He was not comfortable in his mind on Coralie's
+account.
+
+Essares fired the first shot:
+
+"Well," he asked, "what are you looking at me like that for?"
+
+"So it's true?" she murmured, maintaining her attitude of defiance. "You
+leave me no possibility of doubt?"
+
+"Why should I lie?" he snarled. "I should not have telephoned in your
+hearing if I hadn't been sure that you were here all the time."
+
+"I was up there."
+
+"Then you heard everything?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And saw everything?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And, seeing the torture which they inflicted on me and hearing my
+cries, you did nothing to defend me, to defend me against torture,
+against death!"
+
+"No, for I knew the truth."
+
+"What truth?"
+
+"The truth which I suspected without daring to admit it."
+
+"What truth?" he repeated, in a louder voice.
+
+"The truth about your treason."
+
+"You're mad. I've committed no treason."
+
+"Oh, don't juggle with words! I confess that I don't know the whole
+truth: I did not understand all that those men said or what they were
+demanding of you. But the secret which they tried to force from you was
+a treasonable secret."
+
+"A man can only commit treason against his country," he said, shrugging
+his shoulders. "I'm not a Frenchman."
+
+"You were a Frenchman!" she cried. "You asked to be one and you became
+one. You married me, a Frenchwoman, and you live in France and you've
+made your fortune in France. It's France that you're betraying."
+
+"Don't talk nonsense! And for whose benefit?"
+
+"I don't know that, either. For months, for years indeed, the colonel,
+Bournef, all your former accomplices and yourself have been engaged on
+an enormous work--yes, enormous, it's their own word--and now it appears
+that you are fighting over the profits of the common enterprise and the
+others accuse you of pocketing those profits for yourself alone and of
+keeping a secret that doesn't belong to you. So that I seem to see
+something dirtier and more hateful even than treachery, something
+worthy of a common pickpocket. . . ."
+
+The man struck the arm of his chair with his fist:
+
+"Enough!" he cried.
+
+Coralie seemed in no way alarmed:
+
+"Enough," she echoed, "you are right. Enough words between us. Besides,
+there is one fact that stands out above everything: your flight. That
+amounts to a confession. You're afraid of the police."
+
+He shrugged his shoulders a second time:
+
+"I'm afraid of nobody."
+
+"Very well, but you're going."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then let's have it out. When are you going?"
+
+"Presently, at twelve o'clock."
+
+"And if you're arrested?"
+
+"I sha'n't be arrested."
+
+"If you are arrested, however?"
+
+"I shall be let go."
+
+"At least there will be an inquiry, a trial?"
+
+"No, the matter will be hushed up."
+
+"You hope so."
+
+"I'm sure of it."
+
+"God grant it! And you will leave France, of course?"
+
+"As soon as I can."
+
+"When will that be?"
+
+"In a fortnight or three weeks."
+
+"Send me word of the day, so that I may know when I can breathe again."
+
+"I shall send you word, Coralie, but for another reason."
+
+"What reason?"
+
+"So that you may join me."
+
+"Join you!"
+
+He gave a cruel smile:
+
+"You are my wife," he said. "Where the husband goes the wife goes; and
+you know that, in my religion, the husband has every right over his
+wife, including that of life and death. Well, you're my wife."
+
+Coralie shook her head, and, in a tone of indescribable contempt,
+answered:
+
+"I am not your wife. I feel nothing for you but loathing and horror. I
+don't wish to see you again, and, whatever happens, whatever you may
+threaten, I shall not see you again."
+
+He rose, and, walking to her, bent in two, all trembling on his legs, he
+shouted, while again he shook his clenched fists at her:
+
+"What's that you say? What's that you dare to say? I, I, your lord and
+master, order you to join me the moment that I send for you."
+
+"I shall not join you. I swear it before God! I swear it as I hope to be
+saved."
+
+He stamped his feet with rage. His face underwent a hideous contortion;
+and he roared:
+
+"That means that you want to stay! Yes, you have reasons which I don't
+know, but which are easy to guess! An affair of the heart, I suppose.
+There's some one in your life, no doubt. . . . Hold your tongue, will
+you? . . . Haven't you always detested me? . . . Your hatred does not
+date from to-day. It dates back to the first time you saw me, to a time
+even before our marriage. . . . We have always lived like mortal
+enemies. I loved you. I worshipped you. A word from you would have
+brought me to your feet. The mere sound of your steps thrilled me to the
+marrow. . . . But your feeling for me is one of horror. And you imagine
+that you are going to start a new life, without me? Why, I'd sooner kill
+you, my beauty!"
+
+He had unclenched his fists; and his open hands were clutching on either
+side of Coralie, close to her head, as though around a prey which they
+seemed on the point of throttling. A nervous shiver made his jaws clash
+together. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his bald head.
+
+In front of him, Coralie stood impassive, looking very small and frail.
+Patrice Belval, in an agony of suspense and ready at any moment to act,
+could read nothing on her calm features but aversion and contempt.
+
+Mastering himself at last, Essares said:
+
+"You shall join me, Coralie. Whether you like it or not, I am your
+husband. You felt it just now, when the lust to murder me made you take
+up a weapon and left you without the courage to carry out your
+intention. It will always be like that. Your independent fit will pass
+away and you will join the man who is your master."
+
+"I shall remain behind to fight against you," she replied, "here, in
+this house. The work of treason which you have accomplished I shall
+destroy. I shall do it without hatred, for I am no longer capable of
+hatred, but I shall do it without intermission, to repair the evil which
+you have wrought."
+
+He answered, in a low voice:
+
+"I _am_ capable of hatred. Beware, Coralie. The very moment when you
+believe that you have nothing more to fear will perhaps be the moment
+when I shall call you to account. Take care."
+
+He pushed an electric bell. Old Simeon appeared.
+
+"So the two men-servants have decamped?" asked Essares. And, without
+waiting for the answer, he went on, "A good riddance. The housemaid and
+the cook can do all I want. They heard nothing, did they? No, their
+bedroom is too far away. No matter, Simeon: you must keep a watch on
+them after I am gone."
+
+He looked at his wife, surprised to see her still there, and said to his
+secretary:
+
+"I must be up at six to get everything ready; and I am dead tired. Take
+me to my room. You can come back and put out the lights afterwards."
+
+He went out, supported by Simeon. Patrice Belval at once perceived that
+Coralie had done her best to show no weakness in her husband's presence,
+but that she had come to the end of her strength and was unable to walk.
+Seized with faintness, she fell on her knees, making the sign of the
+cross.
+
+When she was able to rise, a few minutes later, she saw on the carpet,
+between her and the door, a sheet of note-paper with her name on it. She
+picked it up and read:
+
+      "Little Mother Coralie, the struggle is too much for
+      you. Why not appeal to me, your friend? Give a signal
+      and I am with you."
+
+She staggered, dazed by the discovery of the letter and dismayed by
+Belval's daring. But, making a last effort to summon up her power of
+will, she left the room, without giving the signal for which Patrice was
+longing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+NINETEEN MINUTES PAST SEVEN
+
+
+Patrice, in his bedroom at the home, was unable to sleep that night. He
+had a continual waking sensation of being oppressed and hunted down, as
+though he were suffering the terrors of some monstrous nightmare. He had
+an impression that the frantic series of events in which he was playing
+the combined parts of a bewildered spectator and a helpless actor would
+never cease so long as he tried to rest; that, on the contrary, they
+would rage with greater violence and intensity. The leave-taking of the
+husband and wife did not put an end, even momentarily, to the dangers
+incurred by Coralie. Fresh perils arose on every side; and Patrice
+Belval confessed himself incapable of foreseeing and still more of
+allaying them.
+
+After lying awake for two hours, he switched on his electric light and
+began hurriedly to write down the story of the past twelve hours. He
+hoped in this way to some small extent to unravel the tangled knot.
+
+At six o'clock he went and roused Ya-Bon and brought him back with him.
+Then, standing in front of the astonished negro, he crossed his arms and
+exclaimed:
+
+"So you consider that your job is over! While I lie tossing about in the
+dark, my lord sleeps and all's well! My dear man, you have a jolly
+elastic conscience."
+
+The word elastic amused the Senegalese mightily. His mouth opened wider
+than ever; and he gave a grunt of enjoyment.
+
+"That'll do, that'll do," said the captain. "There's no getting a word
+in, once you start talking. Here, take a chair, read this report and
+give me your reasoned opinion. What? You don't know how to read? Well,
+upon my word! What was the good, then, of wearing out the seat of your
+trousers on the benches of the Senegal schools and colleges? A queer
+education, I must say!"
+
+He heaved a sigh, and, snatching the manuscript, said:
+
+"Listen, reflect, argue, deduct and conclude. This is how the matter
+briefly stands. First, we have one Essares Bey, a banker, rich as
+Croesus, and the lowest of rapscallions, who betrays at one and the same
+time France, Egypt, England, Turkey, Bulgaria and Greece . . . as is
+proved by the fact that his accomplices roast his feet for him.
+Thereupon he kills one of them and gets rid of four with the aid of as
+many millions, which millions he orders another accomplice to get back
+for him before five minutes are passed. And all these bright spirits
+will duck underground at eleven o'clock this morning, for at twelve
+o'clock the police propose to enter on the scene. Good."
+
+Patrice Belval paused to take breath and continued:
+
+"Secondly, Little Mother Coralie--upon my word, I can't say why--is
+married to Rapscallion Bey. She hates him and wants to kill him. He
+loves her and wants to kill her. There is also a colonel who loves her
+and for that reason loses his life and a certain Mustapha, who tries to
+kidnap her on the colonel's account and also loses his life for that
+reason, strangled by a Senegalese. Lastly, there is a French captain, a
+dot-and-carry-one, who likewise loves her, but whom she avoids because
+she is married to a man whom she abhors. And with this captain, in a
+previous incarnation, she has halved an amethyst bead. Add to all this,
+by way of accessories, a rusty key, a red silk bowstring, a dog choked
+to death and a grate filled with red coals. And, if you dare to
+understand a single word of my explanation, I'll catch you a whack with
+my wooden leg, for I don't understand it a little bit and I'm your
+captain."
+
+Ya-Bon laughed all over his mouth and all over the gaping scar that cut
+one of his cheeks in two. As ordered by his captain, he understood
+nothing of the business and very little of what Patrice had said; but he
+always quivered with delight when Patrice addressed him in that gruff
+tone.
+
+"That's enough," said the captain. "It's my turn now to argue, deduct
+and conclude."
+
+He leant against the mantelpiece, with his two elbows on the marble
+shelf and his head tight-pressed between his hands. His merriment, which
+sprang from temperamental lightness of heart, was this time only a
+surface merriment. Deep down within himself he did nothing but think of
+Coralie with sorrowful apprehension. What could he do to protect her? A
+number of plans occurred to him: which was he to choose? Should he hunt
+through the numbers in the telephone-book till he hit upon the
+whereabouts of that Gregoire, with whom Bournef and his companions had
+taken refuge? Should he inform the police? Should he return to the Rue
+Raynouard? He did not know. Yes, he was capable of acting, if the act to
+be performed consisted in flinging himself into the conflict with
+furious ardor. But to prepare the action, to divine the obstacles, to
+rend the darkness, and, as he said, to see the invisible and grasp the
+intangible, that was beyond his powers.
+
+He turned suddenly to Ya-Bon, who was standing depressed by his silence:
+
+"What's the matter with you, putting on that lugubrious air? Of course
+it's you that throw a gloom over me! You always look at the black side
+of things . . . like a nigger! . . . Be off."
+
+Ya-Bon was going away discomfited, when some one tapped at the door and
+a voice said:
+
+"Captain Belval, you're wanted on the telephone."
+
+Patrice hurried out. Who on earth could be telephoning to him so early
+in the morning?
+
+"Who is it?" he asked the nurse.
+
+"I don't know, captain. . . . It's a man's voice; he seemed to want you
+urgently. The bell had been ringing some time. I was downstairs, in the
+kitchen. . . ."
+
+Before Patrice's eyes there rose a vision of the telephone in the Rue
+Raynouard, in the big room at the Essares' house. He could not help
+wondering if there was anything to connect the two incidents.
+
+He went down one flight of stairs and along a passage. The telephone was
+through a small waiting-room, in a room that had been turned into a
+linen-closet. He closed the door behind him.
+
+"Hullo! Captain Belval speaking. What is it?"
+
+A voice, a man's voice which he did not know, replied in breathless,
+panting tones:
+
+"Ah! . . . Captain Belval! . . . It's you! . . . Look here . . . but I'm
+almost afraid that it's too late. . . . I don't know if I shall have
+time to finish. . . . Did you get the key and the letter? . . ."
+
+"Who are you?" asked Patrice.
+
+"Did you get the key and the letter?" the voice insisted.
+
+"The key, yes," Patrice replied, "but not the letter."
+
+"Not the letter? But this is terrible! Then you don't know . . ."
+
+A hoarse cry struck Patrice's ear and the next thing he caught was
+incoherent sounds at the other end of the wire, the noise of an
+altercation. Then the voice seemed to glue itself to the instrument and
+he distinctly heard it gasping:
+
+"Too late! . . . Patrice . . . is that you? . . . Listen, the amethyst
+pendant . . . yes, I have it on me. . . . The pendant. . . . Ah, it's
+too late! . . . I should so much have liked to . . . Patrice. . . .
+Coralie. . . ."
+
+Then again a loud cry, a heart-rending cry, and confused sounds growing
+more distant, in which he seemed to distinguish:
+
+"Help! . . . Help! . . ."
+
+These grew fainter and fainter. Silence followed. And suddenly there was
+a little click. The murderer had hung up the receiver.
+
+All this had not taken twenty seconds. But, when Patrice wanted to
+replace the telephone, his fingers were gripping it so hard that it
+needed an effort to relax them.
+
+He stood utterly dumfounded. His eyes had fastened on a large clock
+which he saw, through the window, on one of the buildings in the yard,
+marking nineteen minutes past seven; and he mechanically repeated these
+figures, attributing a documentary value to them. Then he asked
+himself--so unreal did the scene appear to him--if all this was true and
+if the crime had not been penetrated within himself, in the depths of
+his aching heart. But the shouting still echoed in his ears; and
+suddenly he took up the receiver again, like one clinging desperately to
+some undefined hope:
+
+"Hullo!" he cried. "Exchange! . . . Who was it rang me up just now?
+. . . Are you there? Did you hear the cries? . . . Are you there? . . .
+Are you there? . . ."
+
+There was no reply. He lost his temper, insulted the exchange, left the
+linen-closet, met Ya-Bon and pushed him about:
+
+"Get out of this! It's your fault. Of course you ought to have stayed
+and looked after Coralie. Be off there now and hold yourself at my
+disposal. I'm going to inform the police. If you hadn't prevented me, it
+would have been done long ago and we shouldn't be in this predicament.
+Off you go!"
+
+He held him back:
+
+"No, don't stir. Your plan's ridiculous. Stay here. Oh, not here in my
+pocket! You're too impetuous for me, my lad!"
+
+He drove him out and returned to the linen-closet, striding up and down
+and betraying his excitement in irritable gestures and angry words.
+Nevertheless, in the midst of his confusion, one idea gradually came to
+light, which was that, after all, he had no proof that the crime which
+he suspected had happened at the house in the Rue Raynouard. He must not
+allow himself to be obsessed by the facts that lingered in his memory to
+the point of always seeing the same vision in the same tragic setting.
+No doubt the drama was being continued, as he had felt that it would be,
+but perhaps elsewhere and far away from Coralie.
+
+And this first thought led to another: why not investigate matters at
+once?
+
+"Yes, why not?" he asked himself. "Before bothering the police,
+discovering the number of the person who rang me up and thus working
+back to the start, a process which it will be time enough to employ
+later, why shouldn't I telephone to the Rue Raynouard at once, on any
+pretext and in anybody's name? I shall then have a chance of knowing
+what to think. . . ."
+
+Patrice felt that this measure did not amount to much. Suppose that no
+one answered, would that prove that the murder had been committed in the
+house, or merely that no one was yet about? Nevertheless, the need to do
+something decided him. He looked up Essares Bey's number in the
+telephone-directory and resolutely rang up the exchange.
+
+The strain of waiting was almost more than he could bear. And then he
+was conscious of a thrill which vibrated through him from head to foot.
+He was connected; and some one at the other end was answering the call.
+
+"Hullo!" he said.
+
+"Hullo!" said a voice. "Who are you?"
+
+It was the voice of Essares Bey.
+
+Although this was only natural, since at that moment Essares must be
+getting his papers ready and preparing his flight, Patrice was so much
+taken aback that he did not know what to say and spoke the first words
+that came into his head:
+
+"Is that Essares Bey?"
+
+"Yes. Who are you?"
+
+"I'm one of the wounded at the hospital, now under treatment at the
+home. . . ."
+
+"Captain Belval, perhaps?"
+
+Patrice was absolutely amazed. So Coralie's husband knew him by name? He
+stammered:
+
+"Yes . . . Captain Belval."
+
+"What a lucky thing!" cried Essares Bey, in a tone of delight. "I rang
+you up a moment ago, at the home, Captain Belval, to ask . . ."
+
+"Oh, it was you!" interrupted Patrice, whose astonishment knew no
+bounds.
+
+"Yes, I wanted to know at what time I could speak to Captain Belval in
+order to thank him."
+
+"It was _you_! . . . It was _you_! . . ." Patrice repeated, more and
+more thunderstruck.
+
+Essares' intonation denoted a certain surprise.
+
+"Yes, wasn't it a curious coincidence?" he said. "Unfortunately, I was
+cut off, or rather my call was interrupted by somebody else."
+
+"Then you heard?"
+
+"What, Captain Belval?"
+
+"Cries."
+
+"Cries?"
+
+"At least, so it seemed to me; but the connection was very indistinct."
+
+"All that I heard was somebody asking for you, somebody who was in a
+great hurry; and, as I was not, I hung up the telephone and postponed
+the pleasure of thanking you."
+
+"Of thanking me?"
+
+"Yes, I have heard how my wife was assaulted last night and how you came
+to her rescue. And I am anxious to see you and express my gratitude.
+Shall we make an appointment? Could we meet at the hospital, for
+instance, at three o'clock this afternoon?"
+
+Patrice made no reply. The audacity of this man, threatened with arrest
+and preparing for flight, baffled him. At the same time, he was
+wondering what Essares' real object had been in telephoning to him
+without being in any way obliged to. But Belval's silence in no way
+troubled the banker, who continued his civilities and ended the
+inscrutable conversation with a monologue in which he replied with the
+greatest ease to questions which he kept putting to himself.
+
+In spite of everything, Patrice felt more comfortable. He went back to
+his room, lay down on his bed and slept for two hours. Then he sent for
+Ya-Bon.
+
+"This time," he said, "try to control your nerves and not to lose your
+head as you did just now. You were absurd. But don't let's talk about
+it. Have you had your breakfast? No? No more have I. Have you seen the
+doctor? No? No more have I. And the surgeon has just promised to take
+off this beastly bandage. You can imagine how pleased I am. A wooden leg
+is all very well; but a head wrapped up in lint, for a lover, never! Get
+on, look sharp. When we're ready, we'll start for the hospital. Little
+Mother Coralie can't forbid me to see her there!"
+
+Patrice was as happy as a schoolboy. As he said to Ya-Bon an hour later,
+on their way to the Porte-Maillot, the clouds were beginning to roll by:
+
+"Yes, Ya-Bon, yes, they are. And this is where we stand. To begin with,
+Coralie is not in danger. As I hoped, the battle is being fought far
+away from her, among the accomplices no doubt, over their millions. As
+for the unfortunate man who rang me up and whose dying cries I
+overheard, he was obviously some unknown friend, for he addressed me
+familiarly and called me by my Christian name. It was certainly he who
+sent me the key of the garden. Unfortunately, the letter that came with
+the key went astray. In the end, he felt constrained to tell me
+everything. Just at that moment he was attacked. By whom, you ask.
+Probably by one of the accomplices, who was frightened of his
+revelations. There you are, Ya-Bon. It's all as clear as noonday. For
+that matter, the truth may just as easily be the exact opposite of what
+I suggest. But I don't care. The great thing is to take one's stand upon
+a theory, true or false. Besides, if mine is false, I reserve the right
+to shift the responsibility on you. So you know what you're in for.
+. . ."
+
+At the Porte-Maillot they took a cab and it occurred to Patrice to drive
+round by the Rue Raynouard. At the junction of this street with the Rue
+de Passy, they saw Coralie leaving the Rue Raynouard, accompanied by old
+Simeon.
+
+She had hailed a taxi and stepped inside. Simeon sat down by the
+driver. They went to the hospital in the Champs-Elysees, with Patrice
+following. It was eleven o'clock when they arrived.
+
+"All's well," said Patrice. "While her husband is running away, she
+refuses to make any change in her daily life."
+
+He and Ya-Bon lunched in the neighborhood, strolled along the avenue,
+without losing sight of the hospital, and called there at half-past one.
+
+Patrice at once saw old Simeon, sitting at the end of a covered yard
+where the soldiers used to meet. His head was half wrapped up in the
+usual comforter; and, with his big yellow spectacles on his nose, he sat
+smoking his pipe on the chair which he always occupied.
+
+As for Coralie, she was in one of the rooms allotted to her on the first
+floor, seated by the bedside of a patient whose hand she held between
+her own. The man was asleep.
+
+Coralie appeared to Patrice to be very tired. The dark rings round her
+eyes and the unusual pallor of her cheeks bore witness to her fatigue.
+
+"Poor child!" he thought. "All those blackguards will be the death of
+you."
+
+He now understood, when he remembered the scenes of the night before,
+why Coralie kept her private life secret and endeavored, at least to the
+little world of the hospital, to be merely the kind sister whom people
+call by her Christian name. Suspecting the web of crime with which she
+was surrounded, she dropped her husband's name and told nobody where she
+lived. And so well was she protected by the defenses set up by her
+modesty and determination that Patrice dared not go to her and stood
+rooted to the threshold.
+
+"Yet surely," he said to himself, as he looked at Coralie without being
+seen by her, "I'm not going to send her in my card!"
+
+He was making up his mind to enter, when a woman who had come up the
+stairs, talking loudly as she went, called out:
+
+"Where is madame? . . . M. Simeon, she must come at once!"
+
+Old Simeon, who had climbed the stairs with her, pointed to where
+Coralie sat at the far end of the room; and the woman rushed in. She
+said a few words to Coralie, who seemed upset and at once, ran to the
+door, passing in front of Patrice, and down the stairs, followed by
+Simeon and the woman.
+
+"I've got a taxi, ma'am," stammered the woman, all out of breath. "I had
+the luck to find one when I left the house and I kept it. We must be
+quick, ma'am. . . . The commissary of police told me to . . ."
+
+Patrice, who was downstairs by this time, heard nothing more; but the
+last words decided him. He seized hold of Ya-Bon as he passed; and the
+two of them leapt into a cab, telling the driver to follow Coralie's
+taxi.
+
+"There's news, Ya-Bon, there's news!" said Patrice. "The plot is
+thickening. The woman is obviously one of the Essares' servants and she
+has come for her mistress by the commissary's orders. Therefore the
+colonel's disclosures are having their effect. House searched;
+magistrate's inquest; every sort of worry for Little Mother Coralie; and
+you have the cheek to advise me to be careful! You imagine that I would
+leave her to her own devices at such a moment! What a mean nature you
+must have, my poor Ya-Bon!"
+
+An idea occurred to him; and he exclaimed:
+
+"Heavens! I hope that ruffian of an Essares hasn't allowed himself to be
+caught! That would be a disaster! But he was far too sure of himself. I
+expect he's been trifling away his time. . . ."
+
+All through the drive this fear excited Captain Belval and removed his
+last scruples. In the end his certainty was absolute. Nothing short of
+Essares' arrest could have produced the servant's attitude of panic or
+Coralie's precipitate departure. Under these conditions, how could he
+hesitate to interfere in a matter in which his revelations would
+enlighten the police? All the more so as, by revealing less or more,
+according to circumstances, he could make his evidence subservient to
+Coralie's interests.
+
+The two cabs pulled up almost simultaneously outside the Essares' house,
+where a car was already standing. Coralie alighted and disappeared
+through the carriage-gate. The maid and Simeon also crossed the
+pavement.
+
+"Come along," said Patrice to the Senegalese.
+
+The front-door was ajar and Patrice entered. In the big hall were two
+policemen on duty. Patrice acknowledged their presence with a hurried
+movement of his hand and passed them with the air of a man who belonged
+to the house and whose importance was so great that nothing done without
+him could be of any use.
+
+The sound of his footsteps echoing on the flags reminded him of the
+flight of Bournef and his accomplices. He was on the right road.
+Moreover, there was a drawing-room on the left, the room, communicating
+with the library, to which the accomplices had carried the colonel's
+body. Voices came from the library. He walked across the drawing-room.
+
+At that moment he heard Coralie exclaim in accents of terror:
+
+"Oh, my God, it can't be! . . ."
+
+Two other policemen barred the doorway.
+
+"I am a relation of Mme. Essares'," he said, "her only relation. . . ."
+
+"We have our orders, captain . . ."
+
+"I know, of course. Be sure and let no one in! Ya-Bon, stay here."
+
+And he went in.
+
+But, in the immense room, a group of six or seven gentlemen, no doubt
+commissaries of police and magistrates, stood in his way, bending over
+something which he was unable to distinguish. From amidst this group
+Coralie suddenly appeared and came towards him, tottering and wringing
+her hands. The housemaid took her round the waist and pressed her into a
+chair.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Patrice.
+
+"Madame is feeling faint," replied the woman, still quite distraught.
+"Oh, I'm nearly off my head!"
+
+"But why? What's the reason?"
+
+"It's the master . . . just think! . . . Such a sight! . . . It gave me
+a turn, too . . ."
+
+"What sight?"
+
+One of the gentlemen left the group and approached:
+
+"Is Mme. Essares ill?"
+
+"It's nothing," said the maid. "A fainting-fit. . . . She is liable to
+these attacks."
+
+"Take her away as soon as she can walk. We shall not need her any
+longer."
+
+And, addressing Patrice Belval with a questioning air:
+
+"Captain? . . ."
+
+Patrice pretended not to understand:
+
+"Yes, sir," he said, "we will take Mme. Essares away. Her presence, as
+you say, is unnecessary. Only I must first . . ."
+
+He moved aside to avoid his interlocutor, and, perceiving that the group
+of magistrates had opened out a little, stepped forward. What he now saw
+explained Coralie's fainting-fit and the servant's agitation. He himself
+felt his flesh creep at a spectacle which was infinitely more horrible
+than that of the evening before.
+
+On the floor, near the fireplace, almost at the place where he had
+undergone his torture, Essares Bey lay upon his back. He was wearing the
+same clothes as on the previous day: a brown-velvet smoking-suit with a
+braided jacket. His head and shoulders had been covered with a napkin.
+But one of the men standing around, a divisional surgeon no doubt, was
+holding up the napkin with one hand and pointing to the dead man's face
+with the other, while he offered an explanation in a low voice.
+
+And that face . . . but it was hardly the word for the unspeakable mass
+of flesh, part of which seemed to be charred while the other part formed
+no more than a bloodstained pulp, mixed with bits of bone and skin,
+hairs and a broken eye-ball.
+
+"Oh," Patrice blurted out, "how horrible! He was killed and fell with
+his head right in the fire. That's how they found him, I suppose?"
+
+The man who had already spoken to him and who appeared to be the most
+important figure present came up to him once more:
+
+"May I ask who you are?" he demanded.
+
+"Captain Belval, sir, a friend of Mme. Essares, one of the wounded
+officers whose lives she has helped to save . . ."
+
+"That may be, sir," replied the important figure, "but you can't stay
+here. Nobody must stay here, for that matter. Monsieur le commissaire,
+please order every one to leave the room, except the doctor, and have
+the door guarded. Let no one enter on any pretext whatever. . . ."
+
+"Sir," Patrice insisted, "I have some very serious information to
+communicate."
+
+"I shall be pleased to receive it, captain, but later on. You must
+excuse me now."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+TWENTY-THREE MINUTES PAST TWELVE
+
+
+The great hall that ran from Rue Raynouard to the upper terrace of the
+garden was filled to half its extent by a wide staircase and divided the
+Essares house into two parts communicating only by way of the hall.
+
+On the left were the drawing-room and the library, which was followed by
+an independent block containing a private staircase. On the right were a
+billiard-room and the dining-room, both with lower ceilings. Above these
+were Essares Bey's bedroom, on the street side, and Coralie's,
+overlooking the garden. Beyond was the servants' wing, where old Simeon
+also used to sleep.
+
+Patrice was asked to wait in the billiard-room, with the Senegalese. He
+had been there about a quarter of an hour when Simeon and the maid were
+shown in.
+
+The old secretary seemed quite paralyzed by the death of his employer
+and was holding forth under his breath, making queer gestures as he
+spoke. Patrice asked him how things were going; and the old fellow
+whispered in his ear:
+
+"It's not over yet . . . There's something to fear . . . to fear! . . .
+To-day . . . presently."
+
+"Presently?" asked Patrice.
+
+"Yes . . . yes," said the old man, trembling.
+
+He said nothing more. As for the housemaid, she readily told her story
+in reply to Patrice' questions:
+
+"The first surprise, sir, this morning was that there was no butler, no
+footman, no porter. All the three were gone. Then, at half-past six, M.
+Simeon came and told us from the master that the master had locked
+himself in his library and that he wasn't to be disturbed even for
+breakfast. The mistress was not very well. She had her chocolate at nine
+o'clock. . . . At ten o'clock she went out with M. Simeon. Then, after
+we had done the bedrooms, we never left the kitchen. Eleven o'clock
+came, twelve . . . and, just as the hour was striking, we heard a loud
+ring at the front-door. I looked out of the window. There was a motor,
+with four gentlemen inside. I went to the door. The commissary of police
+explained who he was and wanted to see the master. I showed them the
+way. The library-door was locked. We knocked: no answer. We shook it: no
+answer. In the end, one of the gentlemen, who knew how, picked the lock.
+. . . Then . . . then . . . you can imagine what we saw. . . . But you
+can't, it was much worse, because the poor master at that moment had his
+head almost under the grate. . . . Oh, what scoundrels they must have
+been! . . . For they did kill him, didn't they? I know one of the
+gentlemen said at once that the master had died of a stroke and fallen
+into the fire. Only my firm belief is . . ."
+
+Old Simeon had listened without speaking, with his head still half
+wrapped up, showing only his bristly gray beard and his eyes hidden
+behind their yellow spectacles. But at this point of the story he gave
+a little chuckle, came up to Patrice and said in his ear:
+
+"There's something to fear . . . to fear! . . . Mme. Coralie. . . . Make
+her go away at once . . . make her go away. . . . If not, it'll be the
+worse for her. . . ."
+
+Patrice shuddered and tried to question him, but could learn nothing
+more. Besides, the old man did not remain. A policeman came to fetch him
+and took him to the library.
+
+His evidence lasted a long time. It was followed by the depositions of
+the cook and the housemaid. Next, Coralie's evidence was taken, in her
+own room. At four o'clock another car arrived. Patrice saw two gentlemen
+pass into the hall, with everybody bowing very low before them. He
+recognized the minister of justice and the minister of the interior.
+They conferred in the library for half an hour and went away again.
+
+At last, shortly before five o'clock, a policeman came for Patrice and
+showed him up to the first floor. The man tapped at a door and stood
+aside. Patrice entered a small boudoir, lit up by a wood fire by which
+two persons were seated: Coralie, to whom he bowed, and, opposite her,
+the gentleman who had spoken to him on his arrival and who seemed to be
+directing the whole enquiry.
+
+He was a man of about fifty, with a thickset body and a heavy face, slow
+of movement, but with bright, intelligent eyes.
+
+"The examining-magistrate, I presume, sir?" asked Patrice.
+
+"No," he replied, "I am M. Masseron, a retired magistrate, specially
+appointed to clear up this affair . . . not to examine it, as you
+think, for it does not seem to me that there is anything to examine."
+
+"What?" cried Patrice, in great surprise. "Nothing to examine?"
+
+He looked at Coralie, who kept her eyes fixed upon him attentively. Then
+she turned them on M. Masseron, who resumed:
+
+"I have no doubt, Captain Belval, that, when we have said what we have
+to say, we shall be agreed at all points . . . just as madame and I are
+already agreed."
+
+"I don't doubt it either," said Patrice. "All the same, I am afraid that
+many of those points remain unexplained."
+
+"Certainly, but we shall find an explanation, we shall find it together.
+Will you please tell me what you know?"
+
+Patrice waited for a moment and then said:
+
+"I will not disguise my astonishment, sir. The story which I have to
+tell is of some importance; and yet there is no one here to take it
+down. Is it not to count as evidence given on oath, as a deposition
+which I shall have to sign?"
+
+"You yourself, captain, shall determine the value of your words and the
+innuendo which you wish them to bear. For the moment, we will look on
+this as a preliminary conversation, as an exchange of views relating to
+facts . . . touching which Mme. Essares has given me, I believe, the
+same information that you will be able to give me."
+
+Patrice did not reply at once. He had a vague impression that there was
+a private understanding between Coralie and the magistrate and that, in
+face of that understanding, he, both by his presence and by his zeal,
+was playing the part of an intruder whom they would gladly have
+dismissed. He resolved therefore to maintain an attitude of reserve
+until the magistrate had shown his hand.
+
+"Of course," he said, "I daresay madame has told you. So you know of the
+conversation which I overheard yesterday at the restaurant?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the attempt to kidnap Mme. Essares?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the murder? . . ."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Mme. Essares has described to you the blackmailing scene that took
+place last night, with M. Essares for a victim, the details of the
+torture, the death of the colonel, the handing over of the four
+millions, the conversation on the telephone between M. Essares and a
+certain Gregoire and, lastly, the threats uttered against madame by her
+husband?"
+
+"Yes, Captain Belval, I know all this, that is to say, all that you
+know; and I know, in addition, all that I discovered through my own
+investigations."
+
+"Of course, of course," Patrice repeated. "I see that my story becomes
+superfluous and that you are in possession of all the necessary factors
+to enable you to draw your conclusions." And, continuing to put rather
+than answer questions, he added, "May I ask what inference you have
+arrived at?"
+
+"To tell you the truth, captain, my inferences are not definite.
+However, until I receive some proof to the contrary, I propose to remain
+satisfied with the actual words of a letter which M. Essares wrote to
+his wife at about twelve o'clock this morning and which we found lying
+on his desk, unfinished. Mme. Essares asked me to read it and, if
+necessary, to communicate the contents to you. Listen."
+
+M. Masseron proceeded to read the letter aloud:
+
+      "_Coralie_,
+
+      "You were wrong yesterday to attribute my departure to
+      reasons which I dared not acknowledge; and perhaps I
+      also was wrong not to defend myself more convincingly
+      against your accusation. The only motive for my
+      departure is the hatred with which I am surrounded.
+      You have seen how fierce it is. In the face of these
+      enemies who are seeking to despoil me by every
+      possible means, my only hope of salvation lies in
+      flight. That is why I am going away.
+
+      "But let me remind you, Coralie, of my clearly
+      expressed wish. You are to join me at the first
+      summons. If you do not leave Paris then, nothing shall
+      protect you against my lawful resentment: nothing, not
+      even my death. I have made all my arrangements so
+      that, even in the contingency . . ."
+
+"The letter ends there," said M. Masseron, handing it back to Coralie,
+"and we know by an unimpeachable sign that the last lines were written
+immediately before M. Essares' death, because, in falling, he upset a
+little clock which stood on his desk and which marked twenty-three
+minutes past twelve. I assume that he felt unwell and that, on trying to
+rise, he was seized with a fit of giddiness and fell to the floor.
+Unfortunately, the fireplace was near, with a fierce fire blazing in it;
+his head struck the grate; and the wound that resulted was so deep--the
+surgeon testified to this--that he fainted. Then the fire close at hand
+did its work . . . with the effects which you have seen. . . ."
+
+Patrice had listened in amazement to this unexpected explanation:
+
+"Then in your opinion," he asked, "M. Essares died of an accident? He
+was not murdered?"
+
+"Murdered? Certainly not! We have no clue to support any such theory."
+
+"Still . . ."
+
+"Captain Belval, you are the victim of an association of ideas which, I
+admit, is perfectly justifiable. Ever since yesterday you have been
+witnessing a series of tragic incidents; and your imagination naturally
+leads you to the most tragic solution, that of murder.
+Only--reflect--why should a murder have been committed? And by whom? By
+Bournef and his friends? With what object? They were crammed full with
+bank-notes; and, even admitting that the man called Gregoire recovered
+those millions from them, they would certainly not have got them back by
+killing M. Essares. Then again, how would they have entered the house?
+And how can they have gone out? . . . No, captain, you must excuse me,
+but M. Essares died an accidental death. The facts are undeniable; and
+this is the opinion of the divisional surgeon, who will draw up his
+report in that sense."
+
+Patrice turned to Coralie:
+
+"Is it Mme. Essares' opinion also?"
+
+She reddened slightly and answered:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And old Simeon's?"
+
+"Oh," replied the magistrate, "old Simeon is wandering in his mind! To
+listen to him, you would think that everything was about to happen all
+over again, that Mme. Essares is threatened with danger and that she
+ought to take to flight at once. That is all that I have been able to
+get out of him. However, he took me to an old disused door that opens
+out of the garden on a lane running at right angles with the Rue
+Raynouard; and here he showed me first the watch-dog's dead body and
+next some footprints between the door and the flight of steps near the
+library. But you know those foot-prints, do you not? They belong to you
+and your Senegalese. As for the death of the watch-dog, I can put that
+down to your Senegalese, can't I?"
+
+Patrice was beginning to understand. The magistrate's reticence, his
+explanation, his agreement with Coralie: all this was gradually becoming
+plain. He put the question frankly:
+
+"So there was no murder?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then there will be no magistrate's examination?"
+
+"No."
+
+"And no talk about the matter; it will all be kept quiet, in short, and
+forgotten?"
+
+"Just so."
+
+Captain Belval began to walk up and down, as was his habit. He now
+remembered Essares' prophecy:
+
+"I sha'n't be arrested. . . . If I am, I shall be let go. . . . The
+matter will be hushed up. . . ."
+
+Essares was right. The hand of justice was arrested; and there was no
+way for Coralie to escape silent complicity.
+
+Patrice was intensely annoyed by the manner in which the case was being
+handled. It was certain that a compact had been concluded between
+Coralie and M. Masseron. He suspected the magistrate of circumventing
+Coralie and inducing her to sacrifice her own interests to other
+considerations. To effect this, the first thing was to get rid of him,
+Patrice.
+
+"Ugh!" said Patrice to himself. "I'm fairly sick of this sportsman, with
+his cool ironical ways. It looks as if he were doing a considerable
+piece of thimblerigging at my expense."
+
+He restrained himself, however, and, with a pretense of wanting to keep
+on good terms with the magistrate, came and sat down beside him:
+
+"You must forgive me, sir," he said, "for insisting in what may appear
+to you an indiscreet fashion. But my conduct is explained not only by
+such sympathy or feeling as I entertain for Mme. Essares at a moment in
+her life when she is more lonely than ever, a sympathy and feeling which
+she seems to repulse even more firmly than she did before. It is also
+explained by certain mysterious links which unite us to each other and
+which go back to a period too remote for our eyes to focus. Has Mme.
+Essares told you those details? In my opinion, they are most important;
+and I cannot help associating them with the events that interest us."
+
+M. Masseron glanced at Coralie, who nodded. He answered:
+
+"Yes, Mme. Essares has informed me and even . . ."
+
+He hesitated once more and again consulted Coralie, who flushed and
+seemed put out of countenance. M. Masseron, however, waited for a reply
+which would enable him to proceed. She ended by saying, in a low voice:
+
+"Captain Belval is entitled to know what we have discovered. The truth
+belongs as much to him as to me; and I have no right to keep it from
+him. Pray speak, monsieur."
+
+"I doubt if it is even necessary to speak," said the magistrate. "It
+will be enough, I think, to show the captain this photograph-album which
+I have found. Here you are, Captain Belval."
+
+And he handed Patrice a very slender album, covered in gray canvas and
+fastened with an india-rubber band.
+
+Patrice took it with a certain anxiety. But what he saw on opening it
+was so utterly unexpected that he gave an exclamation:
+
+"It's incredible!"
+
+On the first page, held in place by their four corners, were two
+photographs: one, on the right, representing a small boy in an Eton
+jacket; the other, on the left, representing a very little girl. There
+was an inscription under each. On the right: "Patrice, at ten." On the
+left: "Coralie, at three."
+
+Moved beyond expression, Patrice turned the leaf. On the second page
+they appeared again, he at the age of fifteen, she at the age of eight.
+And he saw himself at nineteen and at twenty-three and at twenty-eight,
+always accompanied by Coralie, first as a little girl, then as a young
+girl, next as a woman.
+
+"This is incredible!" he cried. "How is it possible? Here are portraits
+of myself which I had never seen, amateur photographs obviously, which
+trace my whole life. Here's one when I was doing my military training.
+. . . Here I am on horseback . . . Who can have ordered these
+photographs? And who can have collected them together with yours,
+madame?"
+
+He fixed his eyes on Coralie, who evaded their questioning gaze and
+lowered her head as though the close connection between their two lives,
+to which those pages bore witness, had shaken her to the very depths of
+her being.
+
+"Who can have brought them together?" he repeated. "Do you know? And
+where does the album come from?"
+
+M. Masseron supplied the answer:
+
+"It was the surgeon who found it. M. Essares wore a vest under his
+shirt; and the album was in an inner pocket, a pocket sewn inside the
+vest. The surgeon felt the boards through it when he was undressing M.
+Essares' body."
+
+This time, Patrice's and Coralie's eyes met. The thought that M. Essares
+had been collecting both their photographs during the past twenty years
+and that he wore them next to his breast and that he had lived and died
+with them upon him, this thought amazed them so much that they did not
+even try to fathom its strange significance.
+
+"Are you sure of what you are saying, sir?" asked Patrice.
+
+"I was there," said M. Masseron. "I was present at the discovery.
+Besides, I myself made another which confirms this one and completes it
+in a really surprising fashion. I found a pendant, cut out of a solid
+block of amethyst and held in a setting of filigree-work."
+
+"What's that?" cried Captain Belval. "What's that? A pendant? An
+amethyst pendant?"
+
+"Look for yourself, sir," suggested the magistrate, after once more
+consulting Mme. Essares with a glance.
+
+And he handed Captain Belval an amethyst pendant, larger than the ball
+formed by joining the two halves which Coralie and Patrice possessed,
+she on her rosary and he on his bunch of seals; and this new ball was
+encircled with a specimen of gold filigree-work exactly like that on the
+rosary and on the seal.
+
+The setting served as a clasp.
+
+"Am I to open it?" he asked.
+
+Coralie nodded. He opened the pendant. The inside was divided by a
+movable glass disk, which separated two miniature photographs, one of
+Coralie as a nurse, the other of himself, wounded, in an officer's
+uniform.
+
+Patrice reflected, with pale cheeks. Presently he asked:
+
+"And where does this pendant come from? Did you find it, sir?"
+
+"Yes, Captain Belval."
+
+"Where?"
+
+The magistrate seemed to hesitate. Coralie's attitude gave Patrice the
+impression that she was unaware of this detail. M. Masseron at last
+said:
+
+"I found it in the dead man's hand."
+
+"In the dead man's hand? In M. Essares' hand?"
+
+Patrice had given a start, as though under an unexpected blow, and was
+now leaning over the magistrate, greedily awaiting a reply which he
+wanted to hear for the second time before accepting it as certain.
+
+"Yes, in his hand. I had to force back the clasped fingers in order to
+release it."
+
+Belval stood up and, striking the table with his fist, exclaimed:
+
+"Well, sir, I will tell you one thing which I was keeping back as a last
+argument to prove to you that my collaboration is of use; and this thing
+becomes of great importance after what we have just learnt. Sir, this
+morning some one asked to speak to me on the telephone; and I had hardly
+answered the call when this person, who seemed greatly excited, was the
+victim of a murderous assault, committed in my hearing. And, amid the
+sound of the scuffle and the cries of agony, I caught the following
+words, which the unhappy man insisted on trying to get to me as so many
+last instructions: 'Patrice! . . . Coralie! . . . The amethyst pendant.
+. . . Yes, I have it on me. . . . The pendant. . . . Ah, it's too late!
+. . . I should so much have liked. . . . Patrice. . . . Coralie. . . .'
+There's what I heard, sir, and here are the two facts which we cannot
+escape. This morning, at nineteen minutes past seven, a man was murdered
+having upon him an amethyst pendant. This is the first undeniable fact.
+A few hours later, at twenty-three minutes past twelve, this same
+amethyst pendant is discovered clutched in the hand of another man. This
+is the second undeniable fact. Place these facts side by side and you
+are bound to come to the conclusion that the first murder, the one of
+which I caught the distant echo, was committed here, in this house, in
+the same library which, since yesterday evening, witnessed the end of
+every scene in the tragedy which we are contemplating."
+
+This revelation, which in reality amounted to a fresh accusation against
+Essares, seemed to affect the magistrate profoundly. Patrice had flung
+himself into the discussion with a passionate vehemence and a logical
+reasoning which it was impossible to disregard without evident
+insincerity.
+
+Coralie had turned aside slightly and Patrice could not see her face;
+but he suspected her dismay in the presence of all this infamy and
+shame.
+
+M. Masseron raised an objection:
+
+"Two undeniable facts, you say, Captain Belval? As to the first point,
+let me remark that we have not found the body of the man who is supposed
+to have been murdered at nineteen minutes past seven this morning."
+
+"It will be found in due course."
+
+"Very well. Second point: as regards the amethyst pendant discovered in
+Essares' hand, how can we tell that Essares Bey found it in the murdered
+man's hand and not somewhere else? For, after all, we do not know if he
+was at home at that time and still less if he was in his library."
+
+"But I do know."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I telephoned to him a few minutes later and he answered. More than
+that, to sweep away any trace of doubt, he told me that he had rung me
+up but that he had been cut off."
+
+M. Masseron thought for a moment and then said:
+
+"Did he go out this morning?"
+
+"Ask Mme. Essares."
+
+Without turning round, manifestly wishing to avoid Belval's eyes,
+Coralie answered:
+
+"I don't think that he went out. The suit he was wearing at the time of
+his death was an indoor suit."
+
+"Did you see him after last night?"
+
+"He came and knocked at my room three times this morning, between seven
+and nine o'clock. I did not open the door. At about eleven o'clock I
+started off alone; I heard him call old Simeon and tell him to go with
+me. Simeon caught me up in the street. That is all I know."
+
+A prolonged silence ensued. Each of the three was meditating upon this
+strange series of adventures. In the end, M. Masseron, who had realized
+that a man of Captain Belval's stamp was not the sort to be easily
+thrust aside, spoke in the tone of one who, before coming to terms,
+wishes to know exactly what his adversary's last word is likely to be:
+
+"Let us come to the point, captain. You are building up a theory which
+strikes me as very vague. What is it precisely? And what are you
+proposing to do if I decline to accept it? I have asked you two very
+plain questions. Do you mind answering them?"
+
+"I will answer them, sir, as plainly as you put them."
+
+He went up to the magistrate and said:
+
+"Here, sir, is the field of battle and of attack--yes, of attack, if
+need be--which I select. A man who used to know me, who knew Mme.
+Essares as a child and who was interested in both of us, a man who used
+to collect our portraits at different ages, who had reasons for loving
+us unknown to me, who sent me the key of that garden and who was making
+arrangements to bring us together for a purpose which he would have told
+us, this man was murdered at the moment when he was about to execute
+his plan. Now everything tells me that he was murdered by M. Essares. I
+am therefore resolved to lodge an information, whatever the results of
+my action may be. And believe me, sir, my charge will not be hushed up.
+There are always means of making one's self heard . . . even if I am
+reduced to shouting the truth from the house-tops."
+
+M. Masseron burst out laughing:
+
+"By Jove, captain, but you're letting yourself go!"
+
+"I'm behaving according to my conscience; and Mme. Essares, I feel sure,
+will forgive me. She knows that I am acting for her good. She knows that
+all will be over with her if this case is hushed up and if the
+authorities do not assist her. She knows that the enemies who threaten
+her are implacable. They will stop at nothing to attain their object and
+to do away with her, for she stands in their way. And the terrible thing
+about it is that the most clear-seeing eyes are unable to make out what
+that object is. We are playing the most formidable game against these
+enemies; and we do not even know what the stakes are. Only the police
+can discover those stakes."
+
+M. Masseron waited for a second or two and then, laying his hand on
+Patrice's shoulder, said, calmly:
+
+"And, suppose the authorities knew what the stakes were?"
+
+Patrice looked at him in surprise:
+
+"What? Do you mean to say you know?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"And can you tell me?"
+
+"Oh, well, if you force me to!"
+
+"What are they?"
+
+"Not much! A trifle!"
+
+"But what sort of trifle?"
+
+"A thousand million francs."
+
+"A thousand millions?"
+
+"Just that. A thousand millions, of which two-thirds, I regret to say,
+if not three-quarters, had already left France before the war. But the
+remaining two hundred and fifty or three hundred millions are worth more
+than a thousand millions all the same, for a very good reason."
+
+"What reason?"
+
+"They happen to be in gold."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+ESSARES BEY'S WORK
+
+
+This time Captain Belval seemed to relax to some extent. He vaguely
+perceived the consideration that compelled the authorities to wage the
+battle prudently.
+
+"Are you sure?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, I was instructed to investigate this matter two years ago; and my
+enquiries proved that really remarkable exports of gold were being
+effected from France. But, I confess, it is only since my conversation
+with Mme. Essares that I have seen where the leakage came from and who
+it was that set on foot, all over France, down to the least important
+market-towns, the formidable organization through which the
+indispensable metal was made to leave the country."
+
+"Then Mme. Essares knew?"
+
+"No, but she suspected a great deal; and last night, before you arrived,
+she overheard some words spoken between Essares and his assailants which
+she repeated to me, thus giving me the key to the riddle. I should have
+been glad to work out the complete solution without your assistance--for
+one thing, those were the orders of the minister of the interior; and
+Mme. Essares displayed the same wish--but your impetuosity overcomes my
+hesitation; and, since I can't manage to get rid of you, Captain
+Belval, I will tell you the whole story frankly . . . especially as your
+cooperation is not to be despised."
+
+"I am all ears," said Patrice, who was burning to know more.
+
+"Well, the motive force of the plot was here, in this house. Essares
+Bey, president of the Franco-Oriental Bank, 6, Rue Lafayette, apparently
+an Egyptian, in reality a Turk, enjoyed the greatest influence in the
+Paris financial world. He had been naturalized an Englishman, but had
+kept up secret relations with the former possessors of Egypt; and he had
+received instructions from a foreign power, which I am not yet able to
+name with certainty, to bleed--there is no other word for it--to bleed
+France of all the gold that he could cause to flow into his coffers.
+According to documents which I have seen, he succeeded in exporting in
+this way some seven hundred million francs in two years. A last
+consignment was preparing when war was declared. You can understand that
+thenceforth such important sums could not be smuggled out of the country
+so easily as in times of peace. The railway-wagons are inspected on the
+frontiers; the outgoing vessels are searched in the harbors. In short,
+the gold was not sent away. Those two hundred and fifty or three hundred
+millions remained in France. Ten months passed; and the inevitable
+happened, which was that Essares Bey, having this fabulous treasure at
+his disposal, clung to it, came gradually to look upon it as his own
+and, in the end, resolved to appropriate it. Only there were
+accomplices. . . ."
+
+"The men I saw last night?"
+
+"Yes, half-a-dozen shady Levantines, sham naturalized French citizens,
+more or less well-disguised Bulgarians, secret agents of the little
+German courts in the Balkans. This gang ran provincial branches of
+Essares' bank. It had in its pay, on Essares' account, hundreds of minor
+agents, who scoured the villages, visited the fairs, were
+hail-fellow-well-met with the peasants, offered them bank-notes and
+government securities in exchange for French gold and trousered all
+their savings. When war broke out the gang shut up shop and gathered
+round Essares Bey, who also had closed his offices in the Rue
+Lafayette."
+
+"What happened then?"
+
+"Things that we don't know. No doubt the accomplices learnt from their
+governments that the last despatch of gold had never taken place; and no
+doubt they also guessed that Essares Bey was trying to keep for himself
+the three hundred millions collected by the gang. One thing is certain,
+that a struggle began between the former partners, a fierce, implacable
+struggle, the accomplices wanting their share of the plunder, while
+Essares Bey was resolved to part with none of it and pretended that the
+millions had left the country. Yesterday the struggle attained its
+culminating-point. In the afternoon the accomplices tried to get hold of
+Mme. Essares so that they might have a hostage to use against her
+husband. In the evening . . . in the evening you yourself witnessed the
+final episode."
+
+"But why yesterday evening rather than another?"
+
+"Because the accomplices had every reason to think that the millions
+were intended to disappear yesterday evening. Though they did not know
+the methods employed by Essares Bey when he made his last remittances,
+they believed that each of the remittances, or rather each removal of
+the sacks, was preceded by a signal."
+
+"Yes, a shower of sparks, was it not?"
+
+"Exactly. In a corner of the garden are some old conservatories, above
+which stands the furnace that used to heat them. This grimy furnace,
+full of soot and rubbish, sends forth, when you light it, flakes of fire
+and sparks which are seen at a distance and serve as an intimation.
+Essares Bey lit it last night himself. The accomplices at once took
+alarm and came prepared to go any lengths."
+
+"And Essares' plan failed."
+
+"Yes. But so did theirs. The colonel is dead. The others were only able
+to get hold of a few bundles of notes which have probably been taken
+from them by this time. But the struggle was not finished; and its dying
+agony has been a most shocking tragedy. According to your statement, a
+man who knew you and who was seeking to get into touch with you, was
+killed at nineteen minutes past seven, most likely by Essares Bey, who
+dreaded his intervention. And, five hours later, at twenty-three past
+twelve, Essares Bey himself was murdered, presumably by one of his
+accomplices. There is the whole story, Captain Belval. And, now that you
+know as much of it as I do, don't you think that the investigation of
+this case should remain secret and be pursued not quite in accordance
+with the ordinary rules?"
+
+After a moment's reflection Patrice said:
+
+"Yes, I agree."
+
+"There can be no doubt about it!" cried M. Masseron. "Not only will it
+serve no purpose to publish this story of gold which has disappeared and
+which can't be found, which would startle the public and excite their
+imaginations, but you will readily imagine that an operation which
+consisted in draining off such a quantity of gold in two years cannot
+have been effected without compromising a regrettable number of people.
+I feel certain that my own enquiries will reveal a series of weak
+concessions and unworthy bargains on the part of certain more or less
+important banks and credit-houses, transactions on which I do not wish
+to insist, but which it would be the gravest of blunders to publish.
+Therefore, silence."
+
+"But is silence possible?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Bless my soul, there are a good few corpses to be explained away!
+Colonel Fakhi's, for instance?"
+
+"Suicide."
+
+"Mustapha's, which you will discover or which you have already
+discovered in the Galliera garden?"
+
+"Found dead."
+
+"Essares Bey's?"
+
+"An accident."
+
+"So that all these manifestations of the same power will remain
+separated?"
+
+"There is nothing to show the link that connects them."
+
+"Perhaps the public will think otherwise."
+
+"The public will think what we wish it to think. This is war-time."
+
+"The press will speak."
+
+"The press will do nothing of the kind. We have the censorship."
+
+"But, if some fact or, rather, a fresh crime . . . ?"
+
+"Why should there be a fresh crime? The matter is finished, at least on
+its active and dramatic side. The chief actors are dead. The curtain
+falls on the murder of Essares Bey. As for the supernumeraries, Bournef
+and the others, we shall have them stowed away in an internment-camp
+before a week is past. We therefore find ourselves in the presence of a
+certain number of millions, with no owner, with no one who dares to
+claim them, on which France is entitled to lay hands. I shall devote my
+activity to securing the money for the republic."
+
+Patrice Belval shook his head:
+
+"Mme. Essares remains, sir. We must not forget her husband's threats."
+
+"He is dead."
+
+"No matter, the threats are there. Old Simeon tells you so in a striking
+fashion."
+
+"He's half mad."
+
+"Exactly, his brain retains the impression of great and imminent danger.
+No, the struggle is not ended. Perhaps indeed it is only beginning."
+
+"Well, captain, are we not here? Make it your business to protect and
+defend Mme. Essares by all the means in your power and by all those
+which I place at your disposal. Our collaboration will be uninterrupted,
+because my task lies here and because, if the battle--which you expect
+and I do not--takes place, it will be within the walls of this house and
+garden."
+
+"What makes you think that?"
+
+"Some words which Mme. Essares overheard last night. The colonel
+repeated several times, 'The gold is here, Essares.' He added, 'For
+years past, your car brought to this house all that there was at your
+bank in the Rue Lafayette. Simeon, you and the chauffeur used to let the
+sacks down the last grating on the left. How you used to send it away I
+do not know. But of what was here on the day when the war broke out, of
+the seventeen or eighteen hundred bags which they were expecting out
+yonder, none has left your place. I suspected the trick; and we kept
+watch night and day. The gold is here.'"
+
+"And have you no clue?"
+
+"Not one. Or this at most; but I attach comparatively little value to
+it."
+
+He took a crumpled paper from his pocket, unfolded it and continued:
+
+"Besides the pendant, Essares Bey held in his hand this bit of blotted
+paper, on which you can see a few straggling, hurriedly-written words.
+The only ones that are more or less legible are these: 'golden
+triangle.' What this golden triangle means, what it has to do with the
+case in hand, I can't for the present tell. The most that I am able to
+presume is that, like the pendant, the scrap of paper was snatched by
+Essares Bey from the man who died at nineteen minutes past seven this
+morning and that, when he himself was killed at twenty-three minutes
+past twelve, he was occupied in examining it."
+
+"And then there is the album," said Patrice, making his last point. "You
+see how all the details are linked together. You may safely believe that
+it is all one case."
+
+"Very well," said M. Masseron. "One case in two parts. You, captain, had
+better follow up the second. I grant you that nothing could be stranger
+than this discovery of photographs of Mme. Essares and yourself in the
+same album and in the same pendant. It sets a problem the solution of
+which will no doubt bring us very near to the truth. We shall meet again
+soon, Captain Belval, I hope. And, once more, make use of me and of my
+men."
+
+He shook Patrice by the hand. Patrice held him back:
+
+"I shall make use of you, sir, as you suggest. But is this not the time
+to take the necessary precautions?"
+
+"They are taken, captain. We are in occupation of the house."
+
+"Yes . . . yes . . . I know; but, all the same . . . I have a sort of
+presentiment that the day will not end without. . . . Remember old
+Simeon's strange words. . . ."
+
+M. Masseron began to laugh:
+
+"Come, Captain Belval, we mustn't exaggerate things. If any enemies
+remain for us to fight, they must stand in great need, for the moment,
+of taking council with themselves. We'll talk about this to-morrow,
+shall we, captain?"
+
+He shook hands with Patrice again, bowed to Mme. Essares and left the
+room.
+
+Belval had at first made a discreet movement to go out with him. He
+stopped at the door and walked back again. Mme. Essares, who seemed not
+to hear him, sat motionless, bent in two, with her head turned away from
+him.
+
+"Coralie," he said.
+
+She did not reply; and he uttered her name a second time, hoping that
+again she might not answer, for her silence suddenly appeared to him to
+be the one thing in the world for him to desire. That silence no longer
+implied either constraint or rebellion. Coralie accepted the fact that
+he was there, by her side, as a helpful friend. And Patrice no longer
+thought of all the problems that harassed him, nor of the murders that
+had mounted up, one after another, around them, nor of the dangers that
+might still encompass them. He thought only of Coralie's yielding
+gentleness.
+
+"Don't answer, Coralie, don't say a word. It is for me to speak. I must
+tell you what you do not know, the reasons that made you wish to keep me
+out of this house . . . out of this house and out of your very life."
+
+He put his hand on the back of the chair in which she was sitting; and
+his hand just touched Coralie's hair.
+
+"Coralie, you imagine that it is the shame of your life here that keeps
+you away from me. You blush at having been that man's wife; and this
+makes you feel troubled and anxious, as though you yourself had been
+guilty. But why should you? It was not your fault. Surely you know that
+I can guess the misery and hatred that must have passed between you and
+him and the constraint that was brought to bear upon you, by some
+machination, in order to force your consent to the marriage! No,
+Coralie, there is something else; and I will tell you what it is. There
+is something else. . . ."
+
+He was bending over her still more. He saw her beautiful profile lit up
+by the blazing logs and, speaking with increasing fervor and adopting
+the familiar _tu_ and _toi_ which, in his mouth, retained a note of
+affectionate respect, he cried:
+
+"Am I to speak, Little Mother Coralie? I needn't, need I? You have
+understood; and you read yourself clearly. Ah, I feel you trembling
+from head to foot! Yes, yes, I tell you, I knew your secret from the
+very first day. From the very first day you loved your great beggar of a
+wounded man, all scarred and maimed though he was. Hush! Don't deny it!
+. . . Yes, I understand: you are rather shocked to hear such words as
+these spoken to-day. I ought perhaps to have waited. And yet why should
+I? I am asking you nothing. I know; and that is enough for me. I sha'n't
+speak of it again for a long time to come, until the inevitable hour
+arrives when you are forced to tell it to me yourself. Till then I shall
+keep silence. But our love will always be between us; and it will be
+exquisite, Little Mother Coralie, it will be exquisite for me to know
+that you love me. Coralie. . . . There, now you're crying! And you would
+still deny the truth? Why, when you cry--I know you, Little Mother--it
+means that your dear heart is overflowing with tenderness and love! You
+are crying? Ah, Little Mother, I never thought you loved me to that
+extent!"
+
+Patrice also had tears in his eyes. Coralie's were coursing down her
+pale cheeks; and he would have given much to kiss that wet face. But the
+least outward sign of affection appeared to him an offense at such a
+moment. He was content to gaze at her passionately.
+
+And, as he did so, he received an impression that her thoughts were
+becoming detached from his own, that her eyes were being attracted by an
+unexpected sight and that, amid the great silence of their love, she was
+listening to something that he himself had not heard.
+
+And suddenly he too heard that thing, though it was almost
+imperceptible. It was not so much a sound as the sensation of a presence
+mingling with the distant rumble of the town. What could be happening?
+
+The light had begun to fade, without his noticing it. Also unperceived
+by Patrice, Mme. Essares had opened the window a little way, for the
+boudoir was small and the heat of the fire was becoming oppressive.
+Nevertheless, the two casements were almost touching. It was at this
+that she was staring; and it was from there that the danger threatened.
+
+Patrice's first impulse was to run to the window, but he restrained
+himself. The danger was becoming defined. Outside, in the twilight, he
+distinguished through the slanting panes a human form. Next, he saw
+between the two casements something which gleamed in the light of the
+fire and which looked like the barrel of a revolver.
+
+"Coralie is done for," he thought, "if I allow it to be suspected for an
+instant that I am on my guard."
+
+She was in fact opposite the window, with no obstacle intervening. He
+therefore said aloud, in a careless tone:
+
+"Coralie, you must be a little tired. We will say good-by."
+
+At the same time, he went round her chair to protect her.
+
+But he had not the time to complete his movement. She also no doubt had
+seen the glint of the revolver, for she drew back abruptly, stammering:
+
+"Oh, Patrice! . . . Patrice! . . ."
+
+Two shots rang out, followed by a moan.
+
+"You're wounded!" cried Patrice, springing to her side.
+
+"No, no," she said, "but the fright . . ."
+
+"Oh, if he's touched you, the scoundrel!"
+
+"No, he hasn't."
+
+"Are you quite sure?"
+
+He lost thirty or forty seconds, switching on the electric light,
+looking at Coralie for signs of a wound and waiting in an agony of
+suspense for her to regain full consciousness. Only then did he rush to
+the window, open it wide and climb over the balcony. The room was on the
+first floor. There was plenty of lattice-work on the wall. But, because
+of his leg, Patrice had some difficulty in making his way down.
+
+Below, on the terrace, he caught his foot in the rungs of an overturned
+ladder. Next, he knocked against some policemen who were coming from the
+ground-floor. One of them shouted:
+
+"I saw the figure of a man making off that way."
+
+"Which way?" asked Patrice.
+
+The man was running in the direction of the lane. Patrice followed him.
+But, at that moment, from close beside the little door, there came
+shrill cries and the whimper of a choking voice:
+
+"Help! . . . Help! . . ."
+
+When Patrice came up, the policeman was already flashing his electric
+lantern over the ground; and they both saw a human form writhing in the
+shrubbery.
+
+"The door's open!" shouted Patrice. "The assassin has escaped! Go after
+him!"
+
+The policeman vanished down the lane; and, Ya-Bon appearing on the
+scene, Patrice gave him his orders:
+
+"Quick as you can, Ya-Bon! . . . If the policeman is going up the lane,
+you go down. Run! I'll look after the victim."
+
+All this time, Patrice was stooping low, flinging the light of the
+policeman's lantern on the man who lay struggling on the ground. He
+recognized old Simeon, nearly strangled, with a red-silk cord round his
+neck.
+
+"How do you feel?" he asked. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"
+
+He unfastened the cord and repeated his question. Simeon stuttered out a
+series of incoherent syllables and then suddenly began to sing and
+laugh, a very low, jerky laugh, alternating with hiccoughs. He had gone
+mad.
+
+When M. Masseron arrived, Patrice told him what had happened:
+
+"Do you really believe it's all over?" he asked.
+
+"No. You were right and I was wrong," said M. Masseron. "We must take
+every precaution to ensure Mme. Essares' safety. The house shall be
+guarded all night."
+
+A few minutes later the policeman and Ya-Bon returned, after a vain
+search. The key that had served to open the door was found in the lane.
+It was exactly similar to the one in Patrice Belval's possession,
+equally old and equally rusty. The would-be murderer had thrown it away
+in the course of his flight.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was seven o'clock when Patrice, accompanied by Ya-Bon, left the house
+in the Rue Raynouard and turned towards Neuilly. As usual, Patrice took
+Ya-Bon's arm and, leaning upon him for support as he walked, he said:
+
+"I can guess what you're thinking, Ya-Bon."
+
+Ya-Bon grunted.
+
+"That's it," said Captain Belval, in a tone of approval. "We are
+entirely in agreement all along the line. What strikes you first and
+foremost is the utter incapacity displayed by the police. A pack of
+addle-pates, you say? When you speak like that, Master Ya-Bon, you are
+talking impertinent nonsense, which, coming from you, does not astonish
+me and which might easily make me give you the punishment you deserve.
+But we will overlook it this time. Whatever you may say, the police do
+what they can, not to mention that, in war-time, they have other things
+to do than to occupy themselves with the mysterious relations between
+Captain Belval and Mme. Essares. It is I therefore who will have to act;
+and I have hardly any one to reckon on but myself. Well, I wonder if I
+am a match for such adversaries. To think that here's one who has the
+cheek to come back to the house while it is being watched by the police,
+to put up a ladder, to listen no doubt to my conversation with M.
+Masseron and afterwards to what I said to Little Mother Coralie and,
+lastly, to send a couple of bullets whizzing past our ears! What do you
+say? Am I the man for the job? And could all the French police,
+overworked as they are, give me the indispensable assistance? No, the
+man I need for clearing up a thing like this is an exceptional sort of
+chap, one who unites every quality in himself, in short the type of man
+one never sees."
+
+Patrice leant more heavily on his companion's arm:
+
+"You, who know so many good people, haven't you the fellow I want
+concealed about your person? A genius of sorts? A demigod?"
+
+Ya-Bon grunted again, merrily this time, and withdrew his arm. He always
+carried a little electric lamp. Switching on the light, he put the
+handle between his teeth. Then he took a bit of chalk out of his
+jacket-pocket.
+
+A grimy, weather-beaten plaster wall ran along the street. Ya-Bon took
+his stand in front of the wall and, turning the light upon it, began to
+write with an unskilful hand, as though each letter cost him a
+measureless effort and as though the sum total of those letters were the
+only one that he had ever succeeded in composing and remembering. In
+this way he wrote two words which Patrice read out:
+
+     _Arsene Lupin._
+
+"Arsene Lupin," said Patrice, under his breath. And, looking at Ya-Bon
+in amazement, "Are you in your right mind? What do you mean by Arsene
+Lupin? Are you suggesting Arsene Lupin to me?"
+
+Ya-Bon nodded his head.
+
+"Arsene Lupin? Do you know him?"
+
+"Yes," Ya-Bon signified.
+
+Patrice then remembered that the Senegalese used to spend his days at
+the hospital getting his good-natured comrades to read all the
+adventures of Arsene Lupin aloud to him; and he grinned:
+
+"Yes, you know him as one knows somebody whose history one has read."
+
+"No," protested Ya-Bon.
+
+"Do you know him personally?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Get out, you silly fool! Arsene Lupin is dead. He threw himself into
+the sea from a rock;[2] and you pretend that you know him?"
+
+[Footnote 2: _813_. By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander Teixeira
+de Mattos.]
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you have met him since he died?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"By Jove! And Master Ya-Bon's influence with Arsene Lupin is enough to
+make him come to life again and put himself out at a sign from Master
+Ya-Bon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I say! I had a high opinion of you as it was, but now there is nothing
+for me but to make you my bow. A friend of the late Arsene Lupin! We're
+going it! . . . And how long will it take you to place his ghost at our
+disposal? Six months? Three months? One month? A fortnight?"
+
+Ya-Bon made a gesture.
+
+"About a fortnight," Captain Belval translated. "Very well, evoke your
+friend's spirit; I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance. Only,
+upon my word, you must have a very poor idea of me to imagine that I
+need a collaborator! What next! Do you take me for a helpless
+dunderhead?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+PATRICE AND CORALIE
+
+
+Everything happened as M. Masseron had foretold. The press did not
+speak. The public did not become excited. The various deaths were
+casually paragraphed. The funeral of Essares Bey, the wealthy banker,
+passed unnoticed.
+
+But, on the day following the funeral, after Captain Belval, with the
+support of the police, had made an application to the military
+authorities, a new order of things was established in the house in the
+Rue Raynouard. It was recognized as Home No. 2 attached to the hospital
+in the Champs-Elysees; Mme. Essares was appointed matron; and it became
+the residence of Captain Belval and his seven wounded men exclusively.
+
+Coralie, therefore, was the only woman remaining. The cook and housemaid
+were sent away. The seven cripples did all the work of the house. One
+acted as hall-porter, another as cook, a third as butler. Ya-Bon,
+promoted to parlor-maid, made it his business to wait on Little Mother
+Coralie. At night he slept in the passage outside her door. By day he
+mounted guard outside her window.
+
+"Let no one near that door or that window!" Patrice said to him. "Let no
+one in! You'll catch it if so much as a mosquito succeeds in entering
+her room."
+
+Nevertheless, Patrice was not easy in his mind. The enemy had given him
+too many proofs of reckless daring to let him imagine that he could take
+any steps to ensure her perfect protection. Danger always creeps in
+where it is least expected; and it was all the more difficult to ward
+off in that no one knew whence it threatened. Now that Essares Bey was
+dead, who was continuing his work? Who had inherited the task of revenge
+upon Coralie announced in his last letter?
+
+M. Masseron had at once begun his work of investigation, but the
+dramatic side of the case seemed to leave him indifferent. Since he had
+not found the body of the man whose dying cries reached Patrice Belval's
+ears, since he had discovered no clue to the mysterious assailant who
+had fired at Patrice and Coralie later in the day, since he was not able
+to trace where the assailant had obtained his ladder, he dropped these
+questions and confined his efforts entirely to the search of the
+eighteen hundred bags of gold. These were all that concerned him.
+
+"We have every reason to believe that they are here," he said, "between
+the four sides of the quadrilateral formed by the garden and the house.
+Obviously, a bag of gold weighing a hundredweight does not take up as
+much room, by a long way, as a sack of coal of the same weight. But, for
+all that, eighteen hundred bags represent a cubic content; and a content
+like that is not easily concealed."
+
+In two days he had assured himself that the treasure was hidden neither
+in the house nor under the house. On the evenings when Essares Bey's car
+brought the gold out of the coffers of the Franco-Oriental Bank to the
+Rue Raynouard, Essares, the chauffeur and the man known as Gregoire
+used to pass a thick wire through the grating of which the accomplices
+spoke. This wire was found. Along the wire ran hooks, which were also
+found; and on these the bags were slung and afterwards stacked in a
+large cellar situated exactly under the library. It is needless to say
+that M. Masseron and his detectives devoted all their ingenuity and all
+the painstaking patience of which they were capable to the task of
+searching every corner of this cellar. Their efforts only established
+beyond doubt that it contained no secret, save that of a staircase which
+ran down from the library and which was closed at the top by a trap-door
+concealed by the carpet.
+
+In addition to the grating on the Rue Raynouard, there was another which
+overlooked the garden, on the level of the first terrace. These two
+openings were barricaded on the inside by very heavy shutters, so that
+it was an easy matter to stack thousands and thousands of rouleaus of
+gold in the cellar before sending them away.
+
+"But how were they sent away?" M. Masseron wondered. "That's the
+mystery. And why this intermediate stage in the basement, in the Rue
+Raynouard? Another mystery. And now we have Fakhi, Bournef and Co.
+declaring that, this time, it was not sent away, that the gold is here
+and that it can be found for the searching. We have searched the house.
+There is still the garden. Let us look there."
+
+It was a beautiful old garden and had once formed part of the
+wide-stretching estate where people were in the habit, at the end of the
+eighteenth century, of going to drink the Passy waters. With a
+two-hundred-yard frontage, it ran from the Rue Raynouard to the quay of
+the river-side and led, by four successive terraces, to an expanse of
+lawn as old as the rest of the garden, fringed with thickets of
+evergreens and shaded by groups of tall trees.
+
+But the beauty of the garden lay chiefly in its four terraces and in the
+view which they afforded of the river, the low ground on the left bank
+and the distant hills. They were united by twenty sets of steps; and
+twenty paths climbed from the one to the other, paths cut between the
+buttressing walls and sometimes hidden in the floods of ivy that dashed
+from top to bottom.
+
+Here and there a statue stood out, a broken column, or the fragments of
+a capital. The stone balcony that edged the upper terrace was still
+adorned with all its old terra-cotta vases. On this terrace also were
+the ruins of two little round temples where, in the old days, the
+springs bubbled to the surface. In front of the library windows was a
+circular basin, with in the center the figure of a child shooting a
+slender thread of water through the funnel of a shell. It was the
+overflow from this basin, forming a little stream, that trickled over
+the rocks against which Patrice had stumbled on the first evening.
+
+"Ten acres to explore before we've done," said M. Masseron to himself.
+
+He employed upon this work, in addition to Belval's cripples, a dozen of
+his own detectives. It was not a difficult business and was bound to
+lead to some definite result. As M. Masseron never ceased saying,
+eighteen hundred bags cannot remain invisible. An excavation leaves
+traces. You want a hole to go in and out by. But neither the grass of
+the lawns nor the sand of the paths showed any signs of earth recently
+disturbed. The ivy? The buttressing-walls? The terraces? Everything was
+inspected, but in vain. Here and there, in cutting up the ground, old
+conduit pipes were found, running towards the Seine, and remains of
+aqueducts that had once served to carry off the Passy waters. But there
+was no such thing as a cave, an underground chamber, a brick arch or
+anything that looked like a hiding-place.
+
+Patrice and Coralie watched the progress of the search. And yet, though
+they fully realized its importance and though, on the other hand, they
+were still feeling the strain of the recent dramatic hours, in reality
+they were engrossed only in the inexplicable problem of their fate; and
+their conversation nearly always turned upon the mystery of the past.
+
+Coralie's mother was the daughter of a French consul at Salonica, where
+she married a very rich man of a certain age, called Count Odolavitch,
+the head of an ancient Servian family. He died a year after Coralie was
+born. The widow and child were at that time in France, at this same
+house in the Rue Raynouard, which Count Odolavitch had purchased through
+a young Egyptian called Essares, his secretary and factotum.
+
+Coralie here spent three years of her childhood. Then she suddenly lost
+her mother and was left alone in the world. Essares took her to
+Salonica, to a surviving sister of her grandfather the consul, a woman
+many years younger than her brother. This lady took charge of Coralie.
+Unfortunately, she fell under Essares' influence, signed papers and
+made her little grand-niece sign papers, until the child's whole
+fortune, administered by the Egyptian, gradually disappeared.
+
+At last, when she was about seventeen, Coralie became the victim of an
+adventure which left the most hideous memory in her mind and which had a
+fatal effect on her life. She was kidnaped one morning by a band of
+Turks on the plains of Salonica and spent a fortnight in the palace of
+the governor of the province, exposed to his desires. Essares released
+her. But the release was brought about in so fantastic a fashion that
+Coralie must have often wondered afterwards whether the Turk and the
+Egyptian were not in collusion.
+
+At any rate, sick in body and depressed in spirits, fearing a fresh
+assault upon her liberty and yielding to her aunt's wishes, a month
+later she married this Essares, who had already been paying her his
+addresses and who now definitely assumed in her eyes the figure of a
+deliverer. It was a hopeless union, the horror of which became manifest
+to her on the very day on which it was cemented. Coralie was the wife of
+a man whom she hated and whose love only grew with the hatred and
+contempt which she showed for it.
+
+Before the end of the year they came and took up their residence at the
+house in the Rue Raynouard. Essares, who had long ago established and
+was at that time managing the Salonica branch of the Franco-Oriental
+Bank, bought up almost all the shares of the bank itself, acquired the
+building in the Rue Lafayette for the head office, became one of the
+financial magnates of Paris and received the title of bey in Egypt.
+
+This was the story which Coralie told Patrice one day in the beautiful
+garden at Passy; and, in this unhappy past which they explored together
+and compared with Patrice Belval's own, neither he nor Coralie was able
+to discover a single point that was common to both. The two of them had
+lived in different parts of the world. Not one name evoked the same
+recollection in their minds. There was not a detail that enabled them to
+understand why each should possess a piece of the same amethyst bead nor
+why their joint images should be contained in the same medallion-pendant
+or stuck in the pages of the same album.
+
+"Failing everything else," said Patrice, "we can explain that the
+pendant found in the hand of Essares Bey was snatched by him from the
+unknown friend who was watching over us and whom he murdered. But what
+about the album, which he wore in a pocket sewn inside his vest?"
+
+Neither attempted to answer the question. Then Patrice asked:
+
+"Tell me about Simeon."
+
+"Simeon has always lived here."
+
+"Even in your mother's time?"
+
+"No, it was one or two years after my mother's death and after I went to
+Salonica that Essares put him to look after this property and keep it in
+good condition."
+
+"Was he Essares' secretary?"
+
+"I never knew what his exact functions were. But he was not Essares'
+secretary, nor his confidant either. They never talked together
+intimately. He came to see us two or three times at Salonica. I remember
+one of his visits. I was quite a child and I heard him speaking to
+Essares in a very angry tone, apparently threatening him."
+
+"With what?"
+
+"I don't know. I know nothing at all about Simeon. He kept himself very
+much to himself and was nearly always in the garden, smoking his pipe,
+dreaming, tending the trees and flowers, sometimes with the assistance
+of two or three gardeners whom he would send for."
+
+"How did he behave to you?"
+
+"Here again I can't give any definite impression. We never talked; and
+his occupations very seldom brought him into contact with me.
+Nevertheless I sometimes thought that his eyes used to seek me, through
+their yellow spectacles, with a certain persistency and perhaps even a
+certain interest. Moreover, lately, he liked going with me to the
+hospital; and he would then, either there or on the way, show himself
+more attentive, more eager to please . . . so much so that I have been
+wondering this last day or two . . ."
+
+She hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to speak, and then
+continued:
+
+"Yes, it's a very vague notion . . . but, all the same . . . Look here,
+there's one thing I forgot to tell you. Do you know why I joined the
+hospital in the Champs-Elysees, the hospital where you were lying
+wounded and ill? It was because Simeon took me there. He knew that I
+wanted to become a nurse and he suggested this hospital. . . . And then,
+if you think, later on, the photograph in the pendant, the one showing
+you in uniform and me as a nurse, can only have been taken at the
+hospital. Well, of the people here, in this house, no one except Simeon
+ever went there. . . . You will also remember that he used to come to
+Salonica, where he saw me as a child and afterwards as a girl, and that
+there also he may have taken the snapshots in the album. So that, if we
+allow that he had some correspondent who on his side followed your
+footsteps in life, it would not be impossible to believe that the
+unknown friend whom you assume to have intervened between us, the one
+who sent you the key of the garden . . ."
+
+"Was old Simeon?" Patrice interrupted. "The theory won't hold water."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because this friend is dead. The man who, as you say, sought to
+intervene between us, who sent me the key of the garden, who called me
+to the telephone to tell me the truth, that man was murdered. There is
+not the least doubt about it. I heard the cries of a man who is being
+killed, dying cries, the cries which a man utters when at the moment of
+death."
+
+"You can never be sure."
+
+"I am, absolutely. There is no shadow of doubt in my mind. The man whom
+I call our unknown friend died before finishing his work; he died
+murdered, whereas Simeon is alive. Besides," continued Patrice, "this
+man had a different voice from Simeon, a voice which I had never heard
+before and which I shall never hear again."
+
+Coralie was convinced and did not insist.
+
+They were seated on one of the benches in the garden, enjoying the
+bright April sunshine. The buds of the chestnut-trees shone at the tips
+of the branches. The heavy scent of the wall-flowers rose from the
+borders; and their brown and yellow blossoms, like a cluster of bees and
+wasps pressed close together, swayed to the light breeze.
+
+Suddenly Patrice felt a thrill. Coralie had placed her hand on his, with
+engaging friendliness; and, when he turned to look at her, he saw that
+she was in tears.
+
+"What's the matter, Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+Coralie's head bent down and her cheek touched the officer's shoulder.
+He dared not move. She was treating him as a protecting elder brother;
+and he shrank from showing any warmth of affection that might annoy her.
+
+"What is it, dear?" he repeated. "What's the matter?"
+
+"Oh, it is so strange!" she murmured. "Look, Patrice, look at those
+flowers."
+
+They were on the third terrace, commanding a view of the fourth; and
+this, the lowest of the terraces, was adorned not with borders of
+wall-flowers but with beds in which were mingled all manner of spring
+flowers; tulips, silvery alyssums, hyacinths, with a great round plot of
+pansies in the middle.
+
+"Look over there," she said, pointing to this plot with her outstretched
+arm. "Do you see? . . . Letters. . . ."
+
+Patrice looked and gradually perceived that the clumps of pansies were
+so arranged as to form on the ground some letters that stood out among
+the other flowers. It did not appear at the first glance. It took a
+certain time to see; but, once seen, the letters grouped themselves of
+their own accord, forming three words set down in a single line:
+
+     _Patrice and Coralie_
+
+"Ah," he said, in a low voice, "I understand what you mean!"
+
+It gave them a thrill of inexpressible excitement to read their two
+names, which a friendly hand had, so to speak, sown; their two names
+united in pansy-flowers. It was inexpressibly exciting too that he and
+she should always find themselves thus linked together, linked together
+by events, linked together by their portraits, linked together by an
+unseen force of will, linked together now by the struggling effort of
+little flowers that spring up, waken into life and blossom in
+predetermined order.
+
+Coralie, sitting up, said:
+
+"It's Simeon who attends to the garden."
+
+"Yes," he said, wavering slightly. "But surely that does not affect my
+opinion. Our unknown friend is dead, but Simeon may have known him.
+Simeon perhaps was acting with him in certain matters and must know a
+good deal. Oh, if he could only put us on the right road!"
+
+An hour later, as the sun was sinking on the horizon, they climbed the
+terraces. On reaching the top they saw M. Masseron beckoning to them.
+
+"I have something curious to show you," he said, "something I have found
+which will interest both you, madame, and you, captain, particularly."
+
+He led them to the very end of the terrace, outside the occupied part of
+the house next to the library. Two detectives were standing mattock in
+hand. In the course of their searching, M. Masseron explained, they had
+begun by removing the ivy from the low wall adorned with terra-cotta
+vases. Thereupon M. Masseron's attention was attracted by the fact that
+this wall was covered, for a length of some yards, by a layer of plaster
+which appeared to be more recent in date than the stone.
+
+"What did it mean?" said M. Masseron. "I had to presuppose some motive.
+I therefore had this layer of plaster demolished; and underneath it I
+found a second layer, not so thick as the first and mingled with the
+rough stone. Come closer . . . or, rather, no, stand back a little way:
+you can see better like that."
+
+The second layer really served only to keep in place some small white
+pebbles, which constituted a sort of mosaic set in black pebbles and
+formed a series of large, written letters, spelling three words. And
+these three words once again were:
+
+     _Patrice and Coralie_
+
+"What do you say to that?" asked M. Masseron. "Observe that the
+inscription goes several years back, at least ten years, when we
+consider the condition of the ivy clinging to this part of the wall."
+
+"At least ten years," Patrice repeated, when he was once more alone with
+Coralie. "Ten years ago was when you were not married, when you were
+still at Salonica and when nobody used to come to this garden . . .
+nobody except Simeon and such people as he chose to admit. And among
+these," he concluded, "was our unknown friend who is now dead. And
+Simeon knows the truth, Coralie."
+
+They saw old Simeon, late that afternoon, as they had seen him
+constantly since the tragedy, wandering in the garden or along the
+passages of the house, restless and distraught, with his comforter
+always wound round his head and his spectacles on his nose, stammering
+words which no one could understand. At night, his neighbor, one of the
+maimed soldiers, would often hear him humming to himself.
+
+Patrice twice tried to make him speak. He shook his head and did not
+answer, or else laughed like an idiot.
+
+The problem was becoming complicated; and nothing pointed to a possible
+solution. Who was it that, since their childhood, had promised them to
+each other as a pair betrothed long beforehand by an inflexible
+ordinance? Who was it that arranged the pansy-bed last autumn, when they
+did not know each other? And who was it that had written their two
+names, ten years ago, in white pebbles, within the thickness of a wall?
+
+These were haunting questions for two young people in whom love had
+awakened quite spontaneously and who suddenly saw stretching behind them
+a long past common to them both. Each step that they took in the garden
+seemed to them a pilgrimage amid forgotten memories; and, at every turn
+in a path, they were prepared to discover some new proof of the bond
+that linked them together unknown to themselves.
+
+As a matter of fact, during those few days, they saw their initials
+interlaced twice on the trunk of a tree, once on the back of a bench.
+And twice again their names appeared inscribed on old walls and
+concealed behind a layer of plaster overhung with ivy.
+
+On these two occasions their names were accompanied by two separate
+dates:
+
+     _Patrice and Coralie, 1904_
+     _Patrice and Coralie, 1907_
+
+"Eleven years ago and eight years ago," said the officer. "And always
+our two names: Patrice and Coralie."
+
+Their hands met and clasped each other. The great mystery of their past
+brought them as closely together as did the great love which filled them
+and of which they refrained from speaking.
+
+In spite of themselves, however, they sought out solitude; and it was in
+this way that, a fortnight after the murder of Essares Bey, as they
+passed the little door opening on the lane, they decided to go out by it
+and to stroll down to the river bank. No one saw them, for both the
+approach to the door and the path leading to it were hidden by a screen
+of tall bushes; and M. Masseron and his men were exploring the old
+green-houses, which stood at the other side of the garden, and the old
+furnace and chimney which had been used for signaling.
+
+But, when he was outside, Patrice stopped. Almost in front of him, in
+the opposite wall, was an exactly similar door. He called Coralie's
+attention to it, but she said:
+
+"There is nothing astonishing about that. This wall is the boundary of
+another garden which at one time belonged to the one we have just left."
+
+"But who lives there?"
+
+"Nobody. The little house which overlooks it and which comes before
+mine, in the Rue Raynouard, is always shut up."
+
+"Same door, same key, perhaps," Patrice murmured, half to himself.
+
+He inserted in the lock the rusty key, which had reached him by
+messenger. The lock responded.
+
+"Well," he said, "the series of miracles is continuing. Will this one be
+in our favor?"
+
+The vegetation had been allowed to run riot in the narrow strip of
+ground that faced them. However, in the middle of the exuberant grass, a
+well-trodden path, which looked as if it were often used, started from
+the door in the wall and rose obliquely to the single terrace, on which
+stood a dilapidated lodge with closed shutters. It was built on one
+floor, but was surmounted by a small lantern-shaped belvedere. It had
+its own entrance in the Rue Raynouard, from which it was separated by a
+yard and a very high wall. This entrance seemed to be barricaded with
+boards and posts nailed together.
+
+They walked round the house and were surprised by the sight that awaited
+them on the right-hand side. The foliage had been trained into
+rectangular cloisters, carefully kept, with regular arcades cut in yew-
+and box-hedges. A miniature garden was laid out in this space, the very
+home of silence and tranquillity. Here also were wall-flowers and
+pansies and hyacinths. And four paths, coming from four corners of the
+cloisters, met round a central space, where stood the five columns of a
+small, open temple, rudely constructed of pebbles and unmortared
+building-stones.
+
+Under the dome of this little temple was a tombstone and, in front of
+it, an old wooden praying-chair, from the bars of which hung, on the
+left, an ivory crucifix and, on the right, a rosary composed of amethyst
+beads in a gold filigree setting.
+
+"Coralie, Coralie," whispered Patrice, in a voice trembling with
+emotion, "who can be buried here?"
+
+They went nearer. There were bead wreaths laid in rows on the tombstone.
+They counted nineteen, each bearing the date of one of the last nineteen
+years. Pushing them aside, they read the following inscription in gilt
+letters worn and soiled by the rain:
+
+              HERE LIE
+        PATRICE AND CORALIE,
+     BOTH OF WHOM WERE MURDERED
+     ON THE 14th OF APRIL, 1895.
+     REVENGE TO ME: I WILL REPAY.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE RED CORD
+
+
+Coralie, feeling her legs give way beneath her, had flung herself on the
+prie-dieu and there knelt praying fervently and wildly. She could not
+tell on whose behalf, for the repose of what unknown soul her prayers
+were offered; but her whole being was afire with fever and exaltation
+and the very action of praying seemed able to assuage her.
+
+"What was your mother's name, Coralie?" Patrice whispered.
+
+"Louise," she replied.
+
+"And my father's name was Armand. It cannot be either of them,
+therefore; and yet . . ."
+
+Patrice also was displaying the greatest agitation. Stooping down, he
+examined the nineteen wreaths, renewed his inspection of the tombstone
+and said:
+
+"All the same, Coralie, the coincidence is really too extraordinary. My
+father died in 1895."
+
+"And my mother died in that year too," she said, "though I do not know
+the exact date."
+
+"We shall find out, Coralie," he declared. "These things can all be
+verified. But meanwhile one truth becomes clear. The man who used to
+interlace the names of Patrice and Coralie was not thinking only of us
+and was not considering only the future. Perhaps he thought even more of
+the past, of that Coralie and Patrice whom he knew to have suffered a
+violent death and whom he had undertaken to avenge. Come away, Coralie.
+No one must suspect that we have been here."
+
+They went down the path and through the two doors on the lane. They were
+not seen coming in. Patrice at once brought Coralie indoors, urged
+Ya-Bon and his comrades to increase their vigilance and left the house.
+
+He came back in the evening only to go out again early the next day; and
+it was not until the day after, at three o'clock in the afternoon, that
+he asked to be shown up to Coralie.
+
+"Have you found out?" she asked him at once.
+
+"I have found out a great many things which do not dispel the darkness
+of the present. I am almost tempted to say that they increase it. They
+do, however, throw a very vivid light on the past."
+
+"Do they explain what we saw two days ago?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"Listen to me, Coralie."
+
+He sat down opposite her and said:
+
+"I shall not tell you all the steps that I have taken. I will merely sum
+up the result of those which led to some result. I went, first of all,
+to the Mayor of Passy's office and from there to the Servian Legation."
+
+"Then you persist in assuming that it was my mother?"
+
+"Yes. I took a copy of her death-certificate, Coralie. Your mother died
+on the fourteenth of April, 1895."
+
+"Oh!" she said. "That is the date on the tomb!"
+
+"The very date."
+
+"But the name? Coralie? My father used to call her Louise."
+
+"Your mother's name was Louise Coralie Countess Odolavitch."
+
+"Oh, my mother!" she murmured. "My poor darling mother! Then it was she
+who was murdered. It was for her that I was praying over the way?"
+
+"For her, Coralie, and for my father. I discovered his full name at the
+mayor's office in the Rue Drouot. My father was Armand Patrice Belval.
+He died on the fourteenth of April, 1895."
+
+Patrice was right in saying that a singular light had been thrown upon
+the past. He had now positively established that the inscription on the
+tombstone related to his father and Coralie's mother, both of whom were
+murdered on the same day. But by whom and for what reason, in
+consequence of what tragedies? This was what Coralie asked him to tell
+her.
+
+"I cannot answer your questions yet," he replied. "But I addressed
+another to myself, one more easily solved; and that I did solve. This
+also makes us certain of an essential point. I wanted to know to whom
+the lodge belonged. The outside, in the Rue Raynouard, affords no clue.
+You have seen the wall and the door of the yard: they show nothing in
+particular. But the number of the property was sufficient for my
+purpose. I went to the local receiver and learnt that the taxes were
+paid by a notary in the Avenue de l'Opera. I called on this notary, who
+told me . . ."
+
+He stopped for a moment and then said:
+
+"The lodge was bought twenty-one years ago by my father. Two years
+later my father died; and the lodge, which of course formed part of his
+estate, was put up for sale by the present notary's predecessor and
+bought by one Simeon Diodokis, a Greek subject."
+
+"It's he!" cried Coralie. "Simeon's name is Diodokis."
+
+"Well, Simeon Diodokis," Patrice continued, "was a friend of my
+father's, because my father appointed him the sole executor of his will
+and because it was Simeon Diodokis who, through the notary in question
+and a London solicitor, paid my school-fees and, when I attained my
+majority, made over to me the sum of two hundred thousand francs, the
+balance of my inheritance."
+
+They maintained a long silence. Many things were becoming manifest, but
+indistinctly, as yet, and shaded, like things seen in the evening mist.
+And one thing stood in sharper outline than the rest, for Patrice
+murmured:
+
+"Your mother and my father loved each other, Coralie."
+
+The thought united them more closely and affected them profoundly. Their
+love was the counterpart of another love, bruised by trials, like
+theirs, but still more tragic and ending in bloodshed and death.
+
+"Your mother and my father loved each other," he repeated. "I should say
+they must have belonged to that class of rather enthusiastic lovers
+whose passion indulges in charming little childish ways, for they had a
+trick of calling each other, when alone, by names which nobody else used
+to them; and they selected their second Christian names, which were
+also yours and mine. One day your mother dropped her amethyst rosary.
+The largest of the beads broke in two pieces. My father had one of the
+pieces mounted as a trinket which he hung on his watch-chain. Both were
+widowed. You were two years old and I was eight. In order to devote
+himself altogether to the woman he loved, my father sent me to England
+and bought the lodge in which your mother, who lived in the big house
+next door, used to go and see him, crossing the lane and using the same
+key for both doors. It was no doubt in this lodge, or in the garden
+round it, that they were murdered. We shall find that out, because there
+must be visible proofs of the murder, proofs which Simeon Diodokis
+discovered, since he was not afraid to say so in the inscription on the
+tombstone."
+
+"And who was the murderer?" Coralie asked, under her breath.
+
+"You suspect it, Coralie, as I do. The hated name comes to your mind,
+even though we have no grounds for speaking with certainty."
+
+"Essares!" she cried, in anguish.
+
+"Most probably."
+
+She hid her face in her hands:
+
+"No, no, it is impossible. It is impossible that I should have been the
+wife of the man who killed my mother."
+
+"You bore his name, but you were never his wife. You told him so the
+evening before his death, in my presence. Let us say nothing that we are
+unable to say positively; but all the same let us remember that he was
+your evil genius. Remember also that Simeon, my father's friend and
+executor, the man who bought the lovers' lodge, the man who swore upon
+their tomb to avenge them: remember that Simeon, a few months after your
+mother's death, persuaded Essares to engage him as caretaker of the
+estate, became his secretary and gradually made his way into Essares'
+life. His only object must have been to carry out a plan of revenge."
+
+"There has been no revenge."
+
+"What do we know about it? Do we know how Essares met his death?
+Certainly it was not Simeon who killed him, as Simeon was at the
+hospital. But he may have caused him to be killed. And revenge has a
+thousand ways of manifesting itself. Lastly, Simeon was most likely
+obeying instructions that came from my father. There is little doubt
+that he wanted first to achieve an aim which my father and your mother
+had at heart: the union of our destinies, Coralie. And it was this aim
+that ruled his life. It was he evidently who placed among the
+knick-knacks which I collected as a child this amethyst of which the
+other half formed a bead in your rosary. It was he who collected our
+photographs. He lastly was our unknown friend and protector, the one who
+sent me the key, accompanied by a letter which I never received,
+unfortunately."
+
+"Then, Patrice, you no longer believe that he is dead, this unknown
+friend, or that you heard his dying cries?"
+
+"I cannot say. Simeon was not necessarily acting alone. He may have had
+a confidant, an assistant in the work which he undertook. Perhaps it was
+this other man who died at nineteen minutes past seven. I cannot say.
+Everything that happened on that ill-fated morning remains involved in
+the deepest mystery. The only conviction that we are able to hold is
+that for twenty years Simeon Diodokis has worked unobtrusively and
+patiently on our behalf, doing his utmost to defeat the murderer, and
+that Simeon Diodokis is alive. Alive, but mad!" Patrice added. "So that
+we can neither thank him nor question him about the grim story which he
+knows or about the dangers that threaten you."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Patrice resolved once more to make the attempt, though he felt sure of a
+fresh disappointment. Simeon had a bedroom, next to that occupied by two
+of the wounded soldiers, in the wing which formerly contained the
+servants' quarters. Here Patrice found him.
+
+He was sitting half-asleep in a chair turned towards the garden. His
+pipe was in his mouth; he had allowed it to go out. The room was small,
+sparsely furnished, but clean and light. Hidden from view, the best part
+of the old man's life was spent here. M. Masseron had often visited the
+room, in Simeon's absence, and so had Patrice, each from his own point
+of view.
+
+The only discovery worthy of note consisted of a crude diagram in
+pencil, on the white wall-paper behind a chest of drawers: three lines
+intersecting to form a large equilateral triangle. In the middle of this
+geometrical figure were three words clumsily inscribed in adhesive
+gold-leaf:
+
+     _The Golden Triangle_
+
+There was nothing more, not another clue of any kind, to further M.
+Masseron's search.
+
+Patrice walked straight up to the old man and tapped him on the
+shoulder:
+
+"Simeon!" he said.
+
+The other lifted his yellow spectacles to him, and Patrice felt a sudden
+wish to snatch away this glass obstacle which concealed the old fellow's
+eyes and prevented him from looking into his soul and his distant
+memories. Simeon began to laugh foolishly.
+
+"So this," thought Patrice, "is my friend and my father's friend. He
+loved my father, respected his wishes, was faithful to his memory,
+raised a tomb to him, prayed on it and swore to avenge him. And now his
+mind has gone."
+
+Patrice felt that speech was useless. But, though the sound of his voice
+roused no echo in that wandering brain, it was possible that the eyes
+were susceptible to a reminder. He wrote on a clean sheet of paper the
+words that Simeon had gazed upon so often:
+
+     _Patrice and Coralie_
+        _14 April, 1895_
+
+The old man looked, shook his head and repeated his melancholy, foolish
+chuckle.
+
+The officer added a new line:
+
+     _Armand Belval_
+
+The old man displayed the same torpor. Patrice continued the test. He
+wrote down the names of Essares Bey and Colonel Fakhi. He drew a
+triangle. The old man failed to understand and went on chuckling.
+
+But suddenly his laughter lost some of its childishness. Patrice had
+written the name of Bournef, the accomplice, and this time the old
+secretary appeared to be stirred by a recollection. He tried to get up,
+fell back in his chair, then rose to his feet again and took his hat
+from a peg on the wall.
+
+He left his room and, followed by Patrice, marched out of the house and
+turned to the left, in the direction of Auteuil. He moved like a man in
+a trance who is hypnotized into walking without knowing where he is
+going. He led the way along the Rue de Boulainvilliers, crossed the
+Seine and turned down the Quai de Grenelle with an unhesitating step.
+Then, when he reached the boulevard, he stopped, putting out his arm,
+made a sign to Patrice to do likewise. A kiosk hid them from view. He
+put his head round it. Patrice followed his example.
+
+Opposite, at the corner of the boulevard and a side-street, was a cafe,
+with a portion of the pavement in front of it marked out by dwarf shrubs
+in tubs. Behind these tubs four men sat drinking. Three of them had
+their backs turned to Patrice. He saw the only one that faced him, and
+he at once recognized Bournef.
+
+By this time Simeon was some distance away, like a man whose part is
+played and who leaves it to others to complete the work. Patrice looked
+round, caught sight of a post-office and went in briskly. He knew that
+M. Masseron was at the Rue Raynouard. He telephoned and told him where
+Bournef was. M. Masseron replied that he would come at once.
+
+Since the murder of Essares Bey, M. Masseron's enquiry had made no
+progress in so far as Colonel Fakhi's four accomplices were concerned.
+True, they discovered the man Gregoire's sanctuary and the bedrooms with
+the wall-cupboards; but the whole place was empty. The accomplices had
+disappeared.
+
+"Old Simeon," said Patrice to himself, "was acquainted with their
+habits. He must have known that they were accustomed to meet at this
+cafe on a certain day of the week, at a fixed hour, and he suddenly
+remembered it all at the sight of Bournef's name."
+
+A few minutes later M. Masseron alighted from his car with his men. The
+business did not take long. The open front of the cafe was surrounded.
+The accomplices offered no resistance. M. Masseron sent three of them
+under a strong guard to the Depot and hustled Bournef into a private
+room.
+
+"Come along," he said to Patrice. "We'll question him."
+
+"Mme. Essares is alone at the house," Patrice objected.
+
+"Alone? No. There are all your soldier-men."
+
+"Yes, but I would rather go back, if you don't mind. It's the first time
+that I've left her and I'm justified in feeling anxious."
+
+"It's only a matter of a few minutes," M. Masseron insisted. "One should
+always take advantage of the fluster caused by the arrest."
+
+Patrice followed him, but they soon saw that Bournef was not one of
+those men who are easily put out. He simply shrugged his shoulders at
+their threats:
+
+"It is no use, sir," he said, "to try and frighten me. I risk nothing.
+Shot, do you say? Nonsense! You don't shoot people in France for the
+least thing; and we are all four subjects of a neutral country. Tried?
+Sentenced? Imprisoned? Never! You forget that you have kept everything
+dark so far; and, when you hushed up the murder of Mustapha, of Fakhi
+and of Essares, it was not done with the object of reviving the case for
+no valid reason. No, sir, I am quite easy. The internment-camp is the
+worst that can await me."
+
+"Then you refuse to answer?" said M. Masseron.
+
+"Not a bit of it! I accept internment. But there are twenty different
+ways of treating a man in these camps, and I should like to earn your
+favor and, in so doing, make sure of reasonable comfort till the end of
+the war. But first of all, what do you know?"
+
+"Pretty well everything."
+
+"That's a pity: it decreases my value. Do you know about Essares' last
+night?"
+
+"Yes, with the bargain of the four millions. What's become of the
+money?"
+
+Bournef made a furious gesture:
+
+"Taken from us! Stolen! It was a trap!"
+
+"Who took it?"
+
+"One Gregoire."
+
+"Who was he?"
+
+"His familiar, as we have since learnt. We discovered that this Gregoire
+was no other than a fellow who used to serve as his chauffeur on
+occasion."
+
+"And who therefore helped him to convey the bags of gold from the bank
+to his house."
+
+"Yes. And we also think, we know . . . Look here, you may as well call
+it a certainty. Gregoire . . . is a woman."
+
+"A woman!"
+
+"Exactly. His mistress. We have several proofs of it. But she's a
+trustworthy, capable woman, strong as a man and afraid of nothing."
+
+"Do you know her address?"
+
+"No."
+
+"As to the gold: have you no clue to its whereabouts, no suspicion?"
+
+"No. The gold is in the garden or in the house in the Rue Raynouard. We
+saw it being taken in every day for a week. It has not been taken out
+since. We kept watch every night. The bags are there."
+
+"No clue either to Essares' murderer?"
+
+"No, none."
+
+"Are you quite sure?"
+
+"Why should I tell a lie?"
+
+"Suppose it was yourself? Or one of your friends?"
+
+"We thought that you would suspect us. Fortunately, we happen to have an
+alibi."
+
+"Easy to prove?"
+
+"Impossible to upset."
+
+"We'll look into it. So you have nothing more to reveal?"
+
+"No. But I have an idea . . . or rather a question which you will answer
+or not, as you please. Who betrayed us? Your reply may throw some useful
+light, for one person only knew of our weekly meetings here from four
+to five o'clock, one person only, Essares Bey; and he himself often came
+here to confer with us. Essares is dead. Then who gave us away?"
+
+"Old Simeon."
+
+Bournef started with astonishment:
+
+"What! Simeon? Simeon Diodokis?"
+
+"Yes. Simeon Diodokis, Essares Bey's secretary."
+
+"He? Oh, I'll make him pay for this, the blackguard! But no, it's
+impossible."
+
+"What makes you say that it's impossible?'"
+
+"Why, because . . ."
+
+He stopped and thought for some time, no doubt to convince himself that
+there was no harm in speaking. Then he finished his sentence:
+
+"Because old Simeon was on our side."
+
+"What's that you say?" exclaimed Patrice, whose turn it was to be
+surprised.
+
+"I say and I swear that Simeon Diodokis was on our side. He was our man.
+It was he who kept us informed of Essares Bey's shady tricks. It was he
+who rang us up at nine o'clock in the evening to tell us that Essares
+had lit the furnace of the old hothouses and that the signal of the
+sparks was going to work. It was he who opened the door to us,
+pretending to resist, of course, and allowed us to tie him up in the
+porter's lodge. It was he, lastly, who paid and dismissed the
+men-servants."
+
+"But why? Why this treachery? For the sake of money?"
+
+"No, from hatred. He bore Essares Bey a hatred that often gave us the
+shudders."
+
+"What prompted it?"
+
+"I don't know. Simeon keeps his own counsel. But it dated a long way
+back."
+
+"Did he know where the gold was hidden?" asked M. Masseron.
+
+"No. And it was not for want of hunting to find out. He never knew how
+the bags got out the cellar, which was only a temporary hiding-place."
+
+"And yet they used to leave the grounds. If so, how are we to know that
+the same thing didn't happen this time?"
+
+"This time we were keeping watch the whole way round outside, a thing
+which Simeon could not do by himself."
+
+Patrice now put the question:
+
+"Can you tell us nothing more about him?"
+
+"No, I can't. Wait, though; there was one rather curious thing. On the
+afternoon of the great day, I received a letter in which Simeon gave me
+certain particulars. In the same envelope was another letter, which had
+evidently got there by some incredible mistake, for it appeared to be
+highly important."
+
+"What did it say?" asked Patrice, anxiously.
+
+"It was all about a key."
+
+"Don't you remember the details?"
+
+"Here is the letter. I kept it in order to give it back to him and warn
+him what he had done. Here, it's certainly his writing. . . ."
+
+Patrice took the sheet of notepaper; and the first thing that he saw was
+his own name. The letter was addressed to him, as he anticipated:
+
+      "_Patrice_,
+
+      "You will this evening receive a key. The key opens
+      two doors midway down a lane leading to the river:
+      one, on the right, is that of the garden of the woman
+      you love; the other, on the left, that of a garden
+      where I want you to meet me at nine o'clock in the
+      morning on the 14th of April. She will be there also.
+      You shall learn who I am and the object which I intend
+      to attain. You shall both hear things about the past
+      that will bring you still closer together.
+
+      "From now until the 14th the struggle which begins
+      to-night will be a terrible one. If anything happens
+      to me, it is certain that the woman you love will run
+      the greatest dangers. Watch over her, Patrice; do not
+      leave her for an instant unprotected. But I do not
+      intend to let anything happen to me; and you shall
+      both know the happiness which I have been preparing
+      for you so long.
+
+      "My best love to you."
+
+"It's not signed," said Bournef, "but, I repeat, it's in Simeon's
+handwriting. As for the lady, she is obviously Mme. Essares."
+
+"But what danger can she be running?" exclaimed Patrice, uneasily.
+"Essares is dead, so there is nothing to fear."
+
+"I wouldn't say that. He would take some killing."
+
+"Whom can he have instructed to avenge him? Who would continue his
+work?"
+
+"I can't say, but I should take no risks."
+
+Patrice waited to hear no more. He thrust the letter into M. Masseron's
+hand and made his escape.
+
+"Rue Raynouard, fast as you can," he said, springing into a taxi.
+
+He was eager to reach his destination. The dangers of which old Simeon
+spoke seemed suddenly to hang over Coralie's head. Already the enemy,
+taking advantage of Patrice's absence, might be attacking his beloved.
+And who could defend her?
+
+"If anything happens to me," Simeon had said.
+
+And the supposition was partly realized, since he had lost his wits.
+
+"Come, come," muttered Patrice, "this is sheer idiocy. . . . I am
+fancying things. . . . There is no reason . . ."
+
+But his mental anguish increased every minute. He reminded himself that
+old Simeon was still in full possession of his faculties at the time
+when he wrote that letter and gave the advice which it contained. He
+reminded himself that old Simeon had purposely informed him that the key
+opened the door of Coralie's garden, so that he, Patrice, might keep an
+effective watch by coming to her in case of need.
+
+He saw Simeon some way ahead of him. It was growing late, and the old
+fellow was going home. Patrice passed him just outside the porter's
+lodge and heard him humming to himself.
+
+"Any news?" Patrice asked the soldier on duty.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Where's Little Mother Coralie?"
+
+"She had a walk in the garden and went upstairs half an hour ago."
+
+"Ya-Bon?"
+
+"Ya-Bon went up with Little Mother Coralie. He should be at her door."
+
+Patrice climbed the stairs, feeling a good deal calmer. But, when he
+came to the first floor, he was astonished to find that the electric
+light was not on. He turned on the switch. Then he saw, at the end of
+the passage, Ya-Bon on his knees outside Coralie's room, with his head
+leaning against the wall. The door was open.
+
+"What are you doing there?" he shouted, running up.
+
+Ya-Bon made no reply. Patrice saw that there was blood on the shoulder
+of his jacket. At that moment the Senegalese sank to the floor.
+
+"Damn it! He's wounded! Dead perhaps."
+
+He leapt over the body and rushed into the room, switching on the light
+at once.
+
+Coralie was lying at full length on a sofa. Round her neck was the
+terrible little red-silk cord. And yet Patrice did not experience that
+awful, numbing despair which we feel in the presence of irretrievable
+misfortunes. It seemed to him that Coralie's face had not the pallor of
+death.
+
+He found that she was in fact breathing:
+
+"She's not dead. She's not dead," said Patrice to himself. "And she's
+not going to die, I'm sure of it . . . nor Ya-Bon either. . . . They've
+failed this time."
+
+He loosened the cords. In a few seconds Coralie heaved a deep breath and
+recovered consciousness. A smile lit up her eyes at the sight of him.
+But, suddenly remembering, she threw her arms, still so weak, around
+him:
+
+"Oh, Patrice," she said, in a trembling voice, "I'm frightened . . .
+frightened for you!"
+
+"What are you frightened of, Coralie? Who is the scoundrel?"
+
+"I didn't see him. . . . He put out the light, caught me by the throat
+and whispered, 'You first. . . . To-night it will be your lover's turn!'
+. . . Oh, Patrice, I'm frightened for you! . . ."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+ON THE BRINK
+
+
+Patrice at once made up his mind what to do. He lifted Coralie to her
+bed and asked her not to move or call out. Then he made sure that Ya-Bon
+was not seriously wounded. Lastly, he rang violently, sounding all the
+bells that communicated with the posts which he had placed in different
+parts of the house.
+
+The men came hurrying up.
+
+"You're a pack of nincompoops," he said. "Some one's been here. Little
+Mother Coralie and Ya-Bon have had a narrow escape from being killed."
+
+They began to protest loudly.
+
+"Silence!" he commanded. "You deserve a good hiding, every one of you.
+I'll forgive you on one condition, which is that, all this evening and
+all to-night, you speak of Little Mother Coralie as though she were
+dead."
+
+"But whom are we to speak to, sir?" one of them objected. "There's
+nobody here."
+
+"Yes, there is, you silly fool, since Little Mother Coralie and Ya-Bon
+have been attacked. Unless it was yourselves who did it! . . . It
+wasn't? Very well then. . . . And let me have no more nonsense. It's not
+a question of speaking to others, but of talking among yourselves . . .
+and of thinking, even, without speaking. There are people listening to
+you, spying on you, people who hear what you say and who guess what you
+don't say. So, until to-morrow, Little Mother Coralie will not leave her
+room. You shall keep watch over her by turns. Those who are not watching
+will go to bed immediately after dinner. No moving about the house, do
+you understand? Absolute silence and quiet."
+
+"And old Simeon, sir?"
+
+"Lock him up in his room. He's dangerous because he's mad. They may have
+taken advantage of his madness to make him open the door to them. Lock
+him up!"
+
+Patrice's plan was a simple one. As the enemy, believing Coralie to be
+on the point of death, had revealed to her his intention, which was to
+kill Patrice as well, it was necessary that he should think himself free
+to act, with nobody to suspect his schemes or to be on his guard against
+him. He would enter upon the struggle and would then be caught in a
+trap.
+
+Pending this struggle, for which he longed with all his might, Patrice
+saw to Ya-Bon's wound, which proved to be only slight, and questioned
+him and Coralie. Their answers tallied at all points. Coralie, feeling a
+little tired, was lying down reading. Ya-Bon remained in the passage,
+outside the open door, squatting on the floor, Arab-fashion. Neither of
+them heard anything suspicious. And suddenly Ya-Bon saw a shadow between
+himself and the light in the passage. This light, which came from an
+electric lamp, was put out at just about the same time as the light in
+the bed-room. Ya-Bon, already half-erect, felt a violent blow in the
+back of the neck and lost consciousness. Coralie tried to escape by the
+door of her boudoir, was unable to open it, began to cry out and was at
+once seized and thrown down. All this had happened within the space of a
+few seconds.
+
+The only hint that Patrice succeeded in obtaining was that the man came
+not from the staircase but from the servants' wing. This had a smaller
+staircase of its own, communicating with the kitchen through a pantry by
+which the tradesmen entered from the Rue Raynouard. The door leading to
+the street was locked. But some one might easily possess a key.
+
+After dinner Patrice went in to see Coralie for a moment and then, at
+nine o'clock, retired to his bedroom, which was situated a little lower
+down, on the same side. It had been used, in Essares Bey's lifetime, as
+a smoking-room.
+
+As the attack from which he expected such good results was not likely to
+take place before the middle of the night, Patrice sat down at a
+roll-top desk standing against the wall and took out the diary in which
+he had begun his detailed record of recent events. He wrote on for half
+an hour or forty minutes and was about to close the book when he seemed
+to hear a vague rustle, which he would certainly not have noticed if his
+nerves had not been stretched to their utmost state of tension. And he
+remembered the day when he and Coralie had once before been shot at.
+This time, however, the window was not open nor even ajar.
+
+He therefore went on writing without turning his head or doing anything
+to suggest that his attention had been aroused; and he set down, almost
+unconsciously, the actual phases of his anxiety:
+
+      "He is here. He is watching me. I wonder what he means
+      to do. I doubt if he will smash a pane of glass and
+      fire a bullet at me. He has tried that method before
+      and found it uncertain and a failure. No, his plan is
+      thought out, I expect, in a different and more
+      intelligent fashion. He is more likely to wait for me
+      to go to bed, when he can watch me sleeping and effect
+      his entrance by some means which I can't guess.
+
+      "Meanwhile, it's extraordinarily exhilarating to know
+      that his eyes are upon me. He hates me; and his hatred
+      is coming nearer and nearer to mine, like one sword
+      feeling its way towards another before clashing. He is
+      watching me as a wild animal, lurking in the dark,
+      watches its prey and selects the spot on which to
+      fasten its fangs. But no, I am certain that it's he
+      who is the prey, doomed beforehand to defeat and
+      destruction. He is preparing his knife or his red-silk
+      cord. And it's these two hands of mine that will
+      finish the battle. They are strong and powerful and
+      are already enjoying their victory. They will be
+      victorious."
+
+Patrice shut down the desk, lit a cigarette and smoked it quietly, as
+his habit was before going to bed. Then he undressed, folded his clothes
+carefully over the back of a chair, wound up his watch, got into bed and
+switched off the light.
+
+"At last," he said to himself, "I shall know the truth. I shall know who
+this man is. Some friend of Essares', continuing his work? But why this
+hatred of Coralie? Is he in love with her, as he is trying to finish me
+off too? I shall know . . . I shall soon know. . . ."
+
+An hour passed, however, and another hour, during which nothing happened
+on the side of the window. A single creaking came from somewhere beside
+the desk. But this no doubt was one of those sounds of creaking
+furniture which we often hear in the silence of the night.
+
+Patrice began to lose the buoyant hope that had sustained him so far. He
+perceived that his elaborate sham regarding Coralie's death was a poor
+thing after all and that a man of his enemy's stamp might well refuse to
+be taken in by it. Feeling rather put out, he was on the point of going
+to sleep, when he heard the same creaking sound at the same spot.
+
+The need to do something made him jump out of bed. He turned on the
+light. Everything seemed to be as he had left it. There was no trace of
+a strange presence.
+
+"Well," said Patrice, "one thing's certain: I'm no good. The enemy must
+have smelt a rat and guessed the trap I laid for him. Let's go to sleep.
+There will be nothing happening to-night."
+
+There was in fact no alarm.
+
+Next morning, on examining the window, he observed that a stone ledge
+ran above the ground-floor all along the garden front of the house, wide
+enough for a man to walk upon by holding on to the balconies and
+rain-pipes. He inspected all the rooms to which the ledge gave access.
+None of them was old Simeon's room.
+
+"He hasn't stirred out, I suppose?" he asked the two soldiers posted on
+guard.
+
+"Don't think so, sir. In any case, we haven't unlocked the door."
+
+Patrice went in and, paying no attention to the old fellow, who was
+still sucking at his cold pipe, he searched the room, having it at the
+back of his mind that the enemy might take refuge there. He found
+nobody. But what he did discover, in a press in the wall, was a number
+of things which he had not seen on the occasion of his investigations in
+M. Masseron's company. These consisted of a rope-ladder, a coil of lead
+pipes, apparently gas-pipes, and a small soldering-lamp.
+
+"This all seems devilish odd," he said to himself. "How did the things
+get in here? Did Simeon collect them without any definite object,
+mechanically? Or am I to assume that Simeon is merely an instrument of
+the enemy's? He used to know the enemy before he lost his reason; and he
+may be under his influence at present."
+
+Simeon was sitting at the window, with his back to the room. Patrice
+went up to him and gave a start. In his hands the old man held a
+funeral-wreath made of black and white beads. It bore a date, "14 April,
+1915," and made the twentieth, the one which Simeon was preparing to lay
+on the grave of his dead friends.
+
+"He will lay it there," said Patrice, aloud. "His instinct as an
+avenging friend, which has guided his steps through life, continues in
+spite of his insanity. He will lay it on the grave. That's so, Simeon,
+isn't it: you will take it there to-morrow? For to-morrow is the
+fourteenth of April, the sacred anniversary. . . ."
+
+He leant over the incomprehensible being who held the key to all the
+plots and counterplots, to all the treachery and benevolence that
+constituted the inextricable drama. Simeon thought that Patrice wanted
+to take the wreath from him and pressed it to his chest with a startled
+gesture.
+
+"Don't be afraid," said Patrice. "You can keep it. To-morrow, Simeon,
+to-morrow, Coralie and I will be faithful to the appointment which you
+gave us. And to-morrow perhaps the memory of the horrible past will
+unseal your brain."
+
+The day seemed long to Patrice, who was eager for something that would
+provide a glimmer in the surrounding darkness. And now this glimmer
+seemed about to be kindled by the arrival of this twentieth anniversary
+of the fourteenth of April.
+
+At a late hour in the afternoon M. Masseron called at the Rue Raynouard.
+
+"Look what I've just received," he said to Patrice. "It's rather
+curious: an anonymous letter in a disguised hand. Listen:
+
+      "'_Sir_, be warned. They're going away. Take care.
+      To-morrow evening the 1800 bags will be on their way
+      out of the country.
+
+      A FRIEND OF FRANCE.'"
+
+"And to-morrow is the fourteenth of April," said Patrice, at once
+connecting the two trains of thought in his mind.
+
+"Yes. What makes you say that?"
+
+"Nothing. . . . Something that just occurred to me. . . ."
+
+He was nearly telling M. Masseron all the facts associated with the
+fourteenth of April and all those concerning the strange personality of
+old Simeon. If he did not speak, it was for obscure reasons, perhaps
+because he wished to work out this part of the case alone, perhaps also
+because of a sort of shyness which prevented him from admitting M.
+Masseron into all the secrets of the past. He said nothing about it,
+therefore, and asked:
+
+"What do you think of the letter?"
+
+"Upon my word, I don't know what to think. It may be a warning with
+something to back it, or it may be a trick to make us adopt one course
+of conduct rather than another. I'll talk about it to Bournef."
+
+"Nothing fresh on his side?"
+
+"No; and I don't expect anything in particular. The alibi which he has
+submitted is genuine. His friends and he are so many supers. Their parts
+are played."
+
+The coincidence of dates was all that stuck in Patrice's mind. The two
+roads which M. Masseron and he were following suddenly met on this day
+so long since marked out by fate. The past and the present were about to
+unite. The catastrophe was at hand. The fourteenth of April was the day
+on which the gold was to disappear for good and also the day on which an
+unknown voice had summoned Patrice and Coralie to the same tryst which
+his father and her mother had kept twenty years ago.
+
+And the next day was the fourteenth of April.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At nine o'clock in the morning Patrice asked after old Simeon.
+
+"Gone out, sir. You had countermanded your orders."
+
+Patrice entered the room and looked for the wreath. It was not there.
+Moreover, the three things in the cupboard, the rope-ladder, the coil of
+lead and the glazier's lamp, were not there either.
+
+"Did Simeon take anything with him?"
+
+"Yes, sir, a wreath."
+
+"Nothing else?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+The window was open. Patrice came to the conclusion that the things had
+gone by this way, thus confirming his theory that the old fellow was an
+unconscious confederate.
+
+Shortly before ten o'clock Coralie joined him in the garden. Patrice had
+told her the latest events. She looked pale and anxious.
+
+They went round the lawns and, without being seen, reached the clumps of
+dwarf shrubs which hid the door on the lane. Patrice opened the door. As
+he started to open the other his hand hesitated. He felt sorry that he
+had not told M. Masseron and that he and Coralie were performing by
+themselves a pilgrimage which certain signs warned him to be dangerous.
+He shook off the obsession, however. He had two revolvers with him. What
+had he to fear?
+
+"You're coming in, aren't you, Coralie?"
+
+"Yes," she said.
+
+"I somehow thought you seemed undecided, anxious . . ."
+
+"It's quite true," said Coralie. "I feel a sort of hollowness."
+
+"Why? Are you afraid?"
+
+"No. Or rather yes. I'm not afraid for to-day, but in some way for the
+past. I think of my poor mother, who went through this door, as I am
+doing, one April morning. She was perfectly happy, she was going to
+meet her love. . . . And then I feel as if I wanted to hold her back and
+cry, 'Don't go on. . . . Death is lying in wait for you. . . . Don't go
+on. . . .' And it's I who hear those words of terror, they ring in my
+ears; it's I who hear them and I dare not go on. I'm afraid."
+
+"Let's go back, Coralie."
+
+She only took his arm:
+
+"No," she said, in a firm voice. "We'll walk on. I want to pray. It will
+do me good."
+
+Boldly she stepped along the little slanting path which her mother had
+followed and climbed the slope amid the tangled weeds and the straggling
+branches. They passed the lodge on their left and reached the leafy
+cloisters where each had a parent lying buried. And at once, at the
+first glance, they saw that the twentieth wreath was there.
+
+"Simeon has come," said Patrice. "An all-powerful instinct obliged him
+to come. He must be somewhere near."
+
+While Coralie knelt down beside the tombstone, he hunted around the
+cloisters and went as far as the middle of the garden. There was nothing
+left but to go to the lodge, and this was evidently a dread act which
+they put off performing, if not from fear, at least from the reverent
+awe which checks a man on entering a place of death and crime.
+
+It was Coralie once again who gave the signal for action:
+
+"Come," she said.
+
+Patrice did not know how they would make their way into the lodge, for
+all its doors and windows had appeared to them to be shut. But, as they
+approached, they saw that the back-door opening on the yard was wide
+open, and they at once thought that Simeon was waiting for them inside.
+
+It was exactly ten o'clock when they crossed the threshold of the lodge.
+A little hall led to a kitchen on one side and a bedroom on the other.
+The principal room must be that opposite. The door stood ajar.
+
+"That's where it must have happened . . . long ago," said Coralie, in a
+frightened whisper.
+
+"Yes," said Patrice, "we shall find Simeon there. But, if your courage
+fails you, Coralie, we had better give it up."
+
+An unquestioning force of will supported her. Nothing now would have
+induced her to stop. She walked on.
+
+Though large, the room gave an impression of coziness, owing to the way
+in which it was furnished. The sofas, armchairs, carpet and hangings all
+tended to add to its comfort; and its appearance might well have
+remained unchanged since the tragic death of the two who used to occupy
+it. This appearance was rather that of a studio, because of a skylight
+which filled the middle of the high ceiling, where the belvedere was.
+The light came from here. There were two other windows, but these were
+hidden by curtains.
+
+"Simeon is not here," said Patrice.
+
+Coralie did not reply. She was examining the things around her with an
+emotion which was reflected in every feature. There were books, all of
+them going back to the last century. Some of them were signed "Coralie"
+in pencil on their blue or yellow wrappers. There were pieces of
+unfinished needlework, an embroidery-frame, a piece of tapestry with a
+needle hanging to it by a thread of wool. And there were also books
+signed "Patrice" and a box of cigars and a blotting-pad and an inkstand
+and penholders. And there were two small framed photographs, those of
+two children, Patrice and Coralie. And thus the life of long ago went
+on, not only the life of two lovers who loved each other with a violent
+and fleeting passion, but of two beings who dwell together in the calm
+assurance of a long existence spent in common.
+
+"Oh, my darling, darling mother!" Coralie whispered.
+
+Her emotion increased with each new memory. She leant trembling on
+Patrice's shoulder.
+
+"Let's go," he said.
+
+"Yes, dear, yes, we had better. We will come back again. . . . We will
+come back to them. . . . We will revive the life of love that was cut
+short by their death. Let us go for to-day; I have no strength left."
+
+But they had taken only a few steps when they stopped dismayed.
+
+The door was closed.
+
+Their eyes met, filled with uneasiness.
+
+"We didn't close it, did we?" he asked.
+
+"No," she said, "we didn't close it."
+
+He went to open it and perceived that it had neither handle nor lock.
+
+It was a single door, of massive wood that looked hard and substantial.
+It might well have been made of one piece, taken from the very heart of
+an oak. There was no paint or varnish on it. Here and there were
+scratches, as if some one had been rapping at it with a tool. And then
+. . . and then, on the right, were these few words in pencil:
+
+     _Patrice and Coralie, 14 April, 1895_
+              _God will avenge us_
+
+Below this was a cross and, below the cross, another date, but in a
+different and more recent handwriting:
+
+     _14 April, 1915_
+
+"This is terrible, this is terrible," said Patrice. "To-day's date! Who
+can have written that? It has only just been written. Oh, it's terrible!
+. . . Come, come, after all, we can't . . ."
+
+He rushed to one of the windows, tore back the curtain that veiled it
+and pulled upon the casement. A cry escaped him. The window was walled
+up, walled up with building-stones that filled the space between the
+glass and the shutters.
+
+He ran to the other window and found the same obstacle.
+
+There were two doors, leading probably to the bedroom on the right and
+to a room next to the kitchen on the left. He opened them quickly. Both
+doors were walled up.
+
+He ran in every direction, during the first moment of terror, and then
+hurled himself against the first of the three doors and tried to break
+it down. It did not move. It might have been an immovable block.
+
+Then, once again, they looked at each other with eyes of fear; and the
+same terrible thought came over them both. The thing that had happened
+before was being repeated! The tragedy was being played a second time.
+After the mother and the father, it was the turn of the daughter and the
+son. Like the lovers of yesteryear, those of to-day were prisoners. The
+enemy held them in his powerful grip; and they would doubtless soon know
+how their parents had died by seeing how they themselves would die.
+. . . 14 April, 1895. . . . 14 April, 1915. . . .
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+IN THE ABYSS
+
+
+"No, no, no!" cried Patrice. "I won't stand this!"
+
+He flung himself against the windows and doors, took up an iron dog from
+the fender and banged it against the wooden doors and the stone walls.
+Barren efforts! They were the same which his father had made before him;
+and they could only result in the same mockery of impotent scratches on
+the wood and the stone.
+
+"Oh, Coralie, Coralie!" he cried in his despair. "It's I who have
+brought you to this! What an abyss I've dragged you into! It was madness
+to try to fight this out by myself! I ought to have called in those who
+understand, who are accustomed to it! . . . No, I was going to be so
+clever! . . . Forgive me, Coralie."
+
+She had sunk into a chair. He, almost on his knees beside her, threw his
+arms around her, imploring her pardon.
+
+She smiled, to calm him:
+
+"Come, dear," she said, gently, "don't lose courage. Perhaps we are
+mistaken. . . . After all, there's nothing to show that it is not all an
+accident."
+
+"The date!" he said. "The date of this year, of this day, written in
+another hand! It was your mother and my father who wrote the first . . .
+but this one, Coralie, this one proves premeditation, and an implacable
+determination to do away with us."
+
+She shuddered. Still she persisted in trying to comfort him:
+
+"It may be. But yet it is not so bad as all that. We have enemies, but
+we have friends also. They will look for us."
+
+"They will look for us, but how can they ever find us, Coralie? We took
+steps to prevent them from guessing where we were going; and not one of
+them knows this house."
+
+"Old Simeon does."
+
+"Simeon came and placed his wreath, but some one else came with him,
+some one who rules him and who has perhaps already got rid of him, now
+that Simeon has played his part."
+
+"And what then, Patrice?"
+
+He felt that she was overcome and began to be ashamed of his own
+weakness:
+
+"Well," he said, mastering himself, "we must just wait. After all, the
+attack may not materialize. The fact of our being locked in does not
+mean that we are lost. And, even so, we shall make a fight for it, shall
+we not? You need not think that I am at the end of my strength or my
+resources. Let us wait, Coralie, and act."
+
+The main thing was to find out whether there was any entrance to the
+house which could allow of an unforeseen attack. After an hour's search
+they took up the carpet and found tiles which showed nothing unusual.
+There was certainly nothing except the door, and, as they could not
+prevent this from being opened, since it opened outwards, they heaped
+up most of the furniture in front of it, thus forming a barricade which
+would protect them against a surprise.
+
+Then Patrice cocked his two revolvers and placed them beside him, in
+full sight.
+
+"This will make us easy in our minds," he said. "Any enemy who appears
+is a dead man."
+
+But the memory of the past bore down upon them with all its awful
+weight. All their words and all their actions others before them had
+spoken and performed, under similar conditions, with the same thoughts
+and the same forebodings. Patrice's father must have prepared his
+weapons. Coralie's mother must have folded her hands and prayed.
+Together they had barricaded the door and together sounded the walls and
+taken up the carpet. What an anguish was this, doubled as it was by a
+like anguish!
+
+To dispel the horror of the idea, they turned the pages of the books,
+works of fiction and others, which their parents had read. On certain
+pages, at the end of a chapter or volume, were lines constituting notes
+which Patrice's father and Coralie's mother used to write each other.
+
+      "_Darling Patrice_,
+
+      "I ran in this morning to recreate our life of
+      yesterday and to dream of our life this afternoon. As
+      you will arrive before me, you will read these lines.
+      You will read that I love you. . . ."
+
+And, in another book:
+
+      "_My own Coralie_,
+
+      "You have this minute gone; I shall not see you until
+      to-morrow and I do not want to leave this haven where
+      our love has tasted such delights without once more
+      telling you . . ."
+
+They looked through most of the books in this way, finding, however,
+instead of the clues for which they hoped, nothing but expressions of
+love and affection. And they spent more than two hours waiting and
+dreading what might happen.
+
+"There will be nothing," said Patrice. "And perhaps that is the most
+awful part of it, for, if nothing occurs, it will mean that we are
+doomed not to leave this room. And, in that case . . ."
+
+Patrice did not finish the sentence. Coralie understood. And together
+they received a vision of the death by starvation that seemed to
+threaten them. But Patrice exclaimed:
+
+"No, no, we have not that to fear. No. For people of our age to die of
+hunger takes several days, three or four days or more. And we shall be
+rescued before then."
+
+"How?" asked Coralie.
+
+"How? Why, by our soldiers, by Ya-Bon, by M. Masseron! They will be
+uneasy if we do not come home to-night."
+
+"You yourself said, Patrice, that they cannot know where we are."
+
+"They'll find out. It's quite simple. There is only the lane between the
+two gardens. Besides, everything we do is set down in my diary, which is
+in the desk in my room. Ya-Bon knows of its existence. He is bound to
+speak of it to M. Masseron. And then . . . and then there is Simeon.
+What will have become of him? Surely they will notice his movements?
+And won't he give a warning of some kind?"
+
+But words were powerless to comfort them. If they were not to die of
+hunger, then the enemy must have contrived another form of torture.
+Their inability to do anything kept them on the rack. Patrice began his
+investigations again. A curious accident turned them in a new direction.
+On opening one of the books through which they had not yet looked, a
+book published in 1895, Patrice saw two pages turned down together. He
+separated them and read a letter addressed to him by his father:
+
+      "_Patrice, my dear Son_,
+
+      "If ever chance places this note before your eyes, it
+      will prove that I have met with a violent death which
+      has prevented my destroying it. In that case, Patrice,
+      look for the truth concerning my death on the wall of
+      the studio, between the two windows. I shall perhaps
+      have time to write it down."
+
+The two victims had therefore at that time foreseen the tragic fate in
+store for them; and Patrice's father and Coralie's mother knew the
+danger which they ran in coming to the lodge. It remained to be seen
+whether Patrice's father had been able to carry out his intention.
+
+Between the two windows, as all around the room, was a wainscoting of
+varnished wood, topped at a height of six feet by a cornice. Above the
+cornice was the plain plastered wall. Patrice and Coralie had already
+observed, without paying particular attention to it, that the
+wainscoting seemed to have been renewed in this part, because the
+varnish of the boards did not have the same uniform color. Using one of
+the iron dogs as a chisel, Patrice broke down the cornice and lifted the
+first board. It broke easily. Under this plank, on the plaster of the
+wall, were lines of writing.
+
+"It's the same method," he said, "as that which old Simeon has since
+employed. First write on the walls, then cover it up with wood or
+plaster."
+
+He broke off the top of the other boards and in this way brought several
+complete lines into view, hurried lines, written in pencil and slightly
+worn by time. Patrice deciphered them with the greatest emotion. His
+father had written them at a moment when death was stalking at hand. A
+few hours later he had ceased to live. They were the evidence of his
+death-agony and perhaps too an imprecation against the enemy who was
+killing him and the woman he loved.
+
+Patrice read, in an undertone:
+
+      "I am writing this in order that the scoundrel's plot
+      may not be achieved to the end and in order to ensure
+      his punishment. Coralie and I are no doubt going to
+      perish, but at least we shall not die without
+      revealing the cause of our death.
+
+      "A few days ago, he said to Coralie, 'You spurn my
+      love, you load me with your hatred. So be it. But I
+      shall kill you both, your lover and you, in such a
+      manner that I can never be accused of the death, which
+      will look like suicide. Everything is ready. Beware,
+      Coralie.'
+
+      "Everything was, in fact, ready. He did not know me,
+      but he must have known that Coralie used to meet
+      somebody here daily; and it was in this lodge that he
+      prepared our tomb.
+
+      "What manner of death ours will be we do not know.
+      Lack of food, no doubt. It is four hours since we were
+      imprisoned. The door closed upon us, a heavy door
+      which he must have placed there last night. All the
+      other openings, doors and windows alike, are stopped
+      up with blocks of stone laid and cemented since our
+      last meeting. Escape is impossible. What is to become
+      of us?"
+
+The uncovered portion stopped here. Patrice said:
+
+"You see, Coralie, they went through the same horrors as ourselves. They
+too dreaded starvation. They too passed through long hours of waiting,
+when inaction is so painful; and it was more or less to distract their
+thoughts that they wrote those lines."
+
+He went on, after examining the spot:
+
+"They counted, most likely, on what happened, that the man who was
+killing them would not read this document. Look, one long curtain was
+hung over these two windows and the wall between them, one curtain, as
+is proved by the single rod covering the whole distance. After our
+parents' death no one thought of drawing it, and the truth remained
+concealed until the day when Simeon discovered it and, by way of
+precaution, hid it again under a wooden panel and hung up two curtains
+in the place of one. In this way everything seemed normal."
+
+Patrice set to work again. A few more lines made their appearance:
+
+      "Oh, if I were the only one to suffer, the only one to
+      die! But the horror of it all is that I am dragging my
+      dear Coralie with me. She fainted and is lying down
+      now, prostrate by the fears which she tries so hard to
+      overcome. My poor darling! I seem already to see the
+      pallor of death on her sweet face. Forgive me,
+      dearest, forgive me!"
+
+Patrice and Coralie exchanged glances. Here were the same sentiments
+which they themselves felt, the same scruples, the same delicacy, the
+same effacement of self in the presence of the other's grief.
+
+"He loved your mother," Patrice murmured, "as I love you. I also am not
+afraid of death. I have faced it too often, with a smile! But you,
+Coralie, you, for whose sake I would undergo any sort of torture
+. . . !"
+
+He began to walk up and down, once more yielding to his anger:
+
+"I shall save you, Coralie, I swear it. And what a delight it will then
+be to take our revenge! He shall have the same fate which he was
+devising for us. Do you understand, Coralie? He shall die here, here in
+this room. Oh, how my hatred will spur me to bring that about!"
+
+He tore down more pieces of boarding, in the hope of learning something
+that might be useful to him, since the struggle was being renewed under
+exactly similar conditions. But the sentences that followed, like those
+which Patrice had just uttered, were oaths of vengeance:
+
+      "Coralie, he shall be punished, if not by us, then by
+      the hand of God. No, his infernal scheme will not
+      succeed. No, it will never be believed that we had
+      recourse to suicide to relieve ourselves of an
+      existence that was built up of happiness and joy. No,
+      his crime will be known. Hour by hour I shall here set
+      down the undeniable proofs. . . ."
+
+"Words, words!" cried Patrice, in a tone of exasperation. "Words of
+vengeance and sorrow, but never a fact to guide us. Father, will you
+tell us nothing to save your Coralie's daughter? If your Coralie
+succumbed, let mine escape the disaster, thanks to your aid, father!
+Help me! Counsel me!"
+
+But the father answered the son with nothing but more words of challenge
+and despair:
+
+      "Who can rescue us? We are walled up in this tomb,
+      buried alive and condemned to torture without being
+      able to defend ourselves. My revolver lies there, upon
+      the table. What is the use of it? The enemy does not
+      attack us. He has time on his side, unrelenting time
+      which kills of its own strength, by the mere fact that
+      it is time. Who can rescue us? Who will save my
+      darling Coralie?"
+
+The position was terrible, and they felt all its tragic horror. It
+seemed to them as though they were already dead, once they were enduring
+the same trial endured by others and that they were still enduring it
+under the same conditions. There was nothing to enable them to escape
+any of the phases through which the other two, his father and her
+mother, had passed. The similarity between their own and their parents'
+fate was so striking that they seemed to be suffering two deaths, and
+the second agony was now commencing.
+
+Coralie gave way and began to cry. Moved by her tears, Patrice attacked
+the wainscoting with new fury, but its boards, strengthened by
+cross-laths, resisted his efforts:
+
+At last he read:
+
+      "What is happening? We had an impression that some one
+      was walking outside, in the garden. Yes, when we put
+      our ears to the stone wall built in the embrasure of
+      the window, we thought we heard footsteps. Is it
+      possible? Oh, if it only were! It would mean the
+      struggle, at last. Anything rather than the maddening
+      silence and endless uncertainty!
+
+      "That's it! . . . That's it! . . . The sound is
+      becoming more distinct. . . . It is a different sound,
+      like that which you make when you dig the ground with
+      a pick-ax. Some one is digging the ground, not in
+      front of the house, but on the right, near the
+      kitchen. . . ."
+
+Patrice redoubled his efforts. Coralie came and helped him. This time he
+felt that a corner of the veil was being lifted. The writing went on:
+
+      "Another hour, with alternate spells of sound and
+      silence: the same sound of digging and the same
+      silence which suggests work that is being continued.
+
+      "And then some one entered the hall, one person; he,
+      evidently. We recognized his step. . . . He walks
+      without attempting to deaden it. . . . Then he went to
+      the kitchen, where he worked the same way as before,
+      with a pick-ax, but on the stones this time. We also
+      heard the noise of a pane of glass breaking.
+
+      "And now he has gone outside again and there is a new
+      sort of sound, against the house, a sound that seems
+      to travel up the house as though the wretch had to
+      climb to a height in order to carry out his plan.
+      . . ."
+
+Patrice stopped reading and looked at Coralie. Both of them were
+listening.
+
+"Hark!" he said, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, yes," she answered, "I hear. . . . Steps outside the house . . .
+in the garden. . . ."
+
+They went to one of the windows, where they had left the casement open
+behind the wall of building-stones, and listened. There was really some
+one walking; and the knowledge that the enemy was approaching gave them
+the same sense of relief that their parents had experienced.
+
+Some one walked thrice round the house. But they did not, like their
+parents, recognize the sound of the footsteps. They were those of a
+stranger, or else steps that had changed their tread. Then, for a few
+minutes, they heard nothing more. And suddenly another sound arose; and,
+though in their innermost selves they were expecting it, they were
+nevertheless stupefied at hearing it. And Patrice, in a hollow voice,
+laying stress upon each syllable, uttered the sentence which his father
+had written twenty years before:
+
+"It's the sound which you make when you dig the ground with a pick-ax."
+
+Yes, It must be that. Some one was digging the ground, not in front of
+the house, but on the right, near the kitchen.
+
+And so the abominable miracle of the revived tragedy was continuing.
+Here again the former act was repeated, a simple enough act in itself,
+but one which became sinister because it was one of those which had
+already been performed and because it was announcing and preparing the
+death once before announced and prepared.
+
+An hour passed. The work went on, paused and went on again. It was like
+the sound of a spade at work in a courtyard, when the grave-digger is in
+no hurry and takes a rest and then resumes his work.
+
+Patrice and Coralie stood listening side by side, their eyes in each
+other's eyes, their hands in each other's hands.
+
+"He's stopping," whispered Patrice.
+
+"Yes," said Coralie; "only I think . . ."
+
+"Yes, Coralie, there's some one in the hall. . . . Oh, we need not
+trouble to listen! We have only to remember. There: 'He goes to the
+kitchen and digs as he did just now, but on the stones this time.' . . .
+And then . . . and then . . . oh, Coralie, the same sound of broken
+glass!"
+
+It was memories mingling with the grewsome reality. The present and the
+past formed but one. They foresaw events at the very instant when these
+took place.
+
+The enemy went outside again; and, forthwith, the sound seemed "to
+travel up the house as though the wretch had to climb to a height in
+order to carry out his plans."
+
+And then . . . and then what would happen next? They no longer thought
+of consulting the inscription on the wall, or perhaps they did not dare.
+Their attention was concentrated on the invisible and sometimes
+imperceptible deeds that were being accomplished against them outside,
+an uninterrupted stealthy effort, a mysterious twenty-year-old plan
+whereof each slightest detail was settled as by clockwork!
+
+The enemy entered the house and they heard a rustling at the bottom of
+the door, a rustling of soft things apparently being heaped or pushed
+against the wood. Next came other vague noises in the two adjoining
+rooms, against the walled doors, and similar noises outside, between the
+stones of the windows and the open shutters. And then they heard some
+one on the roof.
+
+They raised their eyes. This time they felt certain that the last act
+was at hand, or at least one of the scenes of the last act. The roof to
+them was the framed skylight which occupied the center of the ceiling
+and admitted the only daylight that entered the room. And still the same
+agonizing question rose to their minds: what was going to happen? Would
+the enemy show his face outside the skylight and reveal himself at last?
+
+This work on the roof continued for a considerable time. Footsteps shook
+the zinc sheets that covered it, moving between the right-hand side of
+the house and the edge of the skylight. And suddenly this skylight, or
+rather a part of it, a square containing four panes, was lifted, a very
+little way, by a hand which inserted a stick to keep it open.
+
+And the enemy again walked across the roof and went down the side of the
+house.
+
+They were almost disappointed and felt such a craving to know the truth
+that Patrice once more fell to breaking the boards of the wainscoting,
+removing the last pieces, which covered the end of the inscription. And
+what they read made them live the last few minutes all over again. The
+enemy's return, the rustle against the walls and the walled windows, the
+noise on the roof, the opening of the skylight, the method of supporting
+it: all this had happened in the same order and, so to speak, within the
+same limit of time. Patrice's father and Coralie's mother had undergone
+the same impressions. Destiny seemed bent on following the same paths
+and making the same movements in seeking the same object.
+
+And the writing went on:
+
+      "He is going up again, he is going up again. . . .
+      There's his footsteps on the roof. . . . He is near
+      the skylight. . . . Will he look through? . . . Shall
+      we see his hated face? . . ."
+
+"He is going up again, he is going up again," gasped Coralie, nestling
+against Patrice.
+
+The enemy's footsteps were pounding over the zinc.
+
+"Yes," said Patrice, "he is going up as before, without departing from
+the procedure followed by the other. Only we do not know whose face will
+appear to us. Our parents knew their enemy."
+
+She shuddered at her image of the man who had killed her mother; and she
+asked:
+
+"It was he, was it not?"
+
+"Yes, it was he. There is his name, written by my father."
+
+Patrice had almost entirely uncovered the inscription. Bending low, he
+pointed with his finger:
+
+"Look. Read the name: Essares. You can see it down there: it was one of
+the last words my father wrote."
+
+And Coralie read:
+
+      "The skylight rose higher, a hand lifted it and we saw
+      . . . we saw, laughing as he looked down on us--oh,
+      the scoundrel--Essares! . . . Essares! . . . And then
+      he passed something through the opening, something
+      that came down, that unrolled itself in the middle of
+      the room, over our heads: a ladder, a rope-ladder.
+
+      "We did not understand. It was swinging in front of
+      us. And then, in the end, I saw a sheet of paper
+      rolled round the bottom rung and pinned to it. On the
+      paper, in Essares' handwriting, are the words, 'Send
+      Coralie up by herself. Her life shall be saved. I give
+      her ten minutes to accept. If not . . .'"
+
+"Ah," said Patrice, rising from his stooping posture, "will this also be
+repeated? What about the ladder, the rope-ladder, which I found in old
+Simeon's cupboard?"
+
+Coralie kept her eyes fixed on the skylight, for the footsteps were
+moving around it. Then they stopped. Patrice and Coralie had not a doubt
+that the moment had come and that they also were about to see their
+enemy. And Patrice said huskily, in a choking voice:
+
+"Who will it be? There are three men who could have played this sinister
+part as it was played before. Two are dead, Essares and my father. And
+Simeon, the third, is mad. Is it he, in his madness, who has set the
+machine working again? But how are we to imagine that he could have done
+it with such precision? No, no, it is the other one, the one who directs
+him and who till now has remained in the background."
+
+He felt Coralie's fingers clutching his arm.
+
+"Hush," she said, "here he is!"
+
+"No, no."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure of it."
+
+Her imagination had foretold what was preparing; and in fact, as once
+before, the skylight was raised higher. A hand lifted it. And suddenly
+they saw a head slipping under the open framework.
+
+It was the head of old Simeon.
+
+"The madman!" Patrice whispered, in dismay. "The madman!"
+
+"But perhaps he isn't mad," she said. "He can't be mad."
+
+She could not check the trembling that shook her.
+
+The man overhead looked down upon them, hidden behind his spectacles,
+which allowed no expression of satisfied hatred or joy to show on his
+impassive features.
+
+"Coralie," said Patrice, in a low voice, "do what I say. . . . Come.
+. . ."
+
+He pushed her gently along, as though he were supporting her and leading
+her to a chair. In reality he had but one thought, to reach the table
+on which he had placed his revolvers, take one of them and fire.
+
+Simeon remained motionless, like some evil genius come to unloose the
+tempest. . . . Coralie could not rid herself of that glance which
+weighted upon her.
+
+"No," she murmured, resisting Patrice, as though she feared that his
+intention would precipitate the dreaded catastrophe, "no, you mustn't.
+. . ."
+
+But Patrice, displaying greater determination, was near his object. One
+more effort and his hand would hold the revolver.
+
+He quickly made up his mind, took rapid aim and fired a shot.
+
+The head disappeared from sight.
+
+"Oh," said Coralie, "you were wrong, Patrice! He will take his revenge
+on us. . . ."
+
+"No, perhaps not," said Patrice, still holding his revolver. "I may very
+well have hit him. The bullet struck the frame of the skylight. But it
+may have glanced off, in which case . . ."
+
+They waited hand in hand, with a gleam of hope, which did not last long,
+however.
+
+The noise on the roof began again. And then, as before--and this they
+really had the impression of not seeing for the first time--as before,
+something passed through the opening, something that came down, that
+unrolled itself in the middle of the room, a ladder, a rope-ladder, the
+very one which Patrice had seen in old Simeon's cupboard.
+
+As before, they looked at it; and they knew so well that everything was
+being done over again, that the facts were inexorably, pitilessly linked
+together, they were so certain of it that their eyes at once sought the
+sheet of paper which must inevitably be pinned to the bottom rung.
+
+It was there, forming a little scroll, dry and discolored and torn at
+the edges. It was the sheet of twenty years ago, written by Essares and
+now serving, as before, to convey the same temptation and the same
+threat:
+
+      "Send Coralie up by herself. Her life shall be saved.
+      I give her ten minutes to accept. If not . . ."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE NAILS IN THE COFFIN
+
+
+"If not . . ."
+
+Patrice repeated the words mechanically, several times over, while their
+formidable significance became apparent to both him and Coralie. The
+words meant that, if Coralie did not obey and did not deliver herself to
+the enemy, if she did not flee from prison to go with the man who held
+the keys of the prison, the alternative was death.
+
+At that moment neither of them was thinking what end was in store for
+them nor even of that death itself. They thought only of the command to
+separate which the enemy had issued against them. One was to go and the
+other to die.
+
+Coralie was promised her life if she would sacrifice Patrice. But what
+was the price of the promise? And what would be the form of the
+sacrifice demanded?
+
+There was a long silence, full of uncertainty and anguish between the
+two lovers. They were coming to grips with something; and the drama was
+no longer taking place absolutely outside them, without their playing
+any other part than that of helpless victims. It was being enacted
+within themselves; and they had the power to alter its ending. It was a
+terrible problem. It had already been set to the earlier Coralie; and
+she had solved it as a lover would, for she was dead. And now it was
+being set again.
+
+Patrice read the inscription; and the rapidly scrawled words became less
+distinct:
+
+      "I have begged and entreated Coralie. . . . She flung
+      herself on her knees before me. She wants to die with
+      me. . . ."
+
+Patrice looked at Coralie. He had read the words in a very low voice;
+and she had not heard them. Then, in a burst of passion, he drew her
+eagerly to him and exclaimed:
+
+"You must go, Coralie! You can understand that my not saying so at once
+was not due to hesitation. No, only . . . I was thinking of that man's
+offer . . . and I am frightened for your sake. . . . What he asks,
+Coralie, is terrible. His reason for promising to save your life is that
+he loves you. And so you understand. . . . But still, Coralie, you must
+obey . . . you must go on living. . . . Go! It is no use waiting for the
+ten minutes to pass. He might change his mind and condemn you to death
+as well. No, Coralie, you must go, you must go at once!"
+
+"I shall stay," she replied, simply.
+
+He gave a start:
+
+"But this is madness! Why make a useless sacrifice? Are you afraid of
+what might happen if you obeyed him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then go."
+
+"I shall stay."
+
+"But why? Why this obstinacy? It can do no good. Then why stay?"
+
+"Because I love you, Patrice."
+
+He stood dumfounded. He knew that she loved him and he had already told
+her so. But that she loved him to the extent of preferring to die in his
+company, this was an unexpected, exquisite and at the same time terrible
+delight.
+
+"Ah," he said, "you love me, Coralie! You love me!"
+
+"I love you, my own Patrice."
+
+She put her arms around his neck; and he felt that hers was an embrace
+too strong to be sundered. Nevertheless, he was resolved to save her;
+and he refused to yield:
+
+"If you love me," he said, "you must obey me and save your life. Believe
+me, it is a hundred times more painful for me to die with you than to
+die alone. If I know that you are free and alive, death will be sweet to
+me."
+
+She did not listen and continued her confession, happy in making it,
+happy in uttering words which she had kept to herself so long:
+
+"I have loved you, Patrice, from the first day I saw you. I knew it
+without your telling me; and my only reason for not telling you earlier
+was that I was waiting for a solemn occasion, for a time when it would
+be a glory to tell you so, while I looked into the depths of your eyes
+and offered myself to you entirely. As I have had to speak on the brink
+of the grave, listen to me and do not force upon me a separation which
+would be worse than death."
+
+"No, no," he said, striving to release himself, "it is your duty to
+go."
+
+He made another effort and caught hold of her hands:
+
+"It is your duty to go," he whispered, "and, when you are free, to do
+all that you can to save me."
+
+"What are you saying, Patrice?"
+
+"Yes," he repeated, "to save me. There is no reason why you should not
+escape from that scoundrel's clutches, report him, seek assistance, warn
+our friends. You can call out, you can play some trick. . . ."
+
+She looked at him with so sad a smile and such a doubting expression
+that he stopped speaking.
+
+"You are trying to mislead me, my poor darling," she said, "but you are
+no more taken in by what you say than I am. No, Patrice, you well know
+that, if I surrender myself to that man, he will reduce me to silence or
+imprison me in some hiding-place, bound hand and foot, until you have
+drawn your last breath."
+
+"You really think that?"
+
+"Just as you do, Patrice. Just as you are sure of what will happen
+afterwards."
+
+"Well, what will happen?"
+
+"Ah, Patrice, if that man saves my life, it will not be out of
+generosity. Don't you see what his plan is, his abominable plan, once I
+am his prisoner? And don't you also see what my only means of escape
+will be? Therefore, Patrice, if I am to die in a few hours, why not die
+now, in your arms . . . at the same time as yourself, with my lips to
+yours? Is that dying? Is it not rather living, in one instant, the most
+wonderful of lives?"
+
+He resisted her embrace. He knew that the first kiss of her proffered
+lips would deprive him of all his power of will.
+
+"This is terrible," he muttered. "How can you expect me to accept your
+sacrifice, you, so young, with years of happiness before you?"
+
+"Years of mourning and despair, if you are gone."
+
+"You must live, Coralie. I entreat you to, with all my soul."
+
+"I cannot live without you, Patrice. You are my only happiness. I have
+no reason for existence except to love you. You have taught me to love.
+I love you!"
+
+Oh, those heavenly words! For the second time they rang between the four
+walls of that room. The same words, spoken by the daughter, which the
+mother had spoken with the same passion and the same glad acceptance of
+her fate! The same words made twice holy by the recollection of death
+past and the thought of death to come!
+
+Coralie uttered them without alarm. All her fears seemed to disappear in
+her love; and it was love alone that shook her voice and dimmed the
+brightness of her eyes.
+
+Patrice contemplated her with a rapt look. He too was beginning to think
+that minutes such as these were worth dying for. Nevertheless, he made a
+last effort:
+
+"And if I ordered you to go, Coralie?"
+
+"That is to say," she murmured, "if you ordered me to go to that man and
+surrender myself to him? Is that what you wish, Patrice?"
+
+The thought was too much for him.
+
+"Oh, the horror of it! That man . . . that man . . . you, my Coralie,
+so stainless and undefiled! . . ."
+
+Neither he nor she pictured the man in the exact image of Simeon. To
+both of them, notwithstanding the hideous vision perceived above, the
+enemy retained a mysterious character. It was perhaps Simeon. It was
+perhaps another, of whom Simeon was but the instrument. Assuredly it was
+the enemy, the evil genius crouching above their heads, preparing their
+death-throes while he pursued Coralie with his foul desire.
+
+Patrice asked one more question:
+
+"Did you ever notice that Simeon sought your company?"
+
+"No, never. If anything, he rather avoided me."
+
+"Then it's because he's mad. . . ."
+
+"I don't think he is mad: he is revenging himself."
+
+"Impossible. He was my father's friend. All his life long he worked to
+bring us together: surely he would not kill us deliberately?"
+
+"I don't know, Patrice, I don't understand. . . ."
+
+They discussed it no further. It was of no importance whether their
+death was caused by this one or that one. It was death itself that they
+had to fight, without troubling who had set it loose against them. And
+what could they do to ward it off?
+
+"You agree, do you not?" asked Coralie, in a low voice.
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"I shall not go," she went on, "but I want you to be of one mind with
+me. I entreat you. It tortures me to think that you are suffering more
+than I do. You must let me bear my share. Tell me that you agree."
+
+"Yes," he said, "I agree."
+
+"My own Patrice! Now give me your two hands, look right into my eyes and
+smile."
+
+Mad with love and longing they plunged themselves for an instant into a
+sort of ecstasy. Then she asked:
+
+"What is it, Patrice? You seem distraught again."
+
+He gave a hoarse cry:
+
+"Look! . . . Look . . ."
+
+This time he was certain of what he had seen. The ladder was going up.
+The ten minutes were over.
+
+He rushed forward and caught hold of one of the rungs. The ladder no
+longer moved.
+
+He did not know exactly what he intended to do. The ladder afforded
+Coralie's only chance of safety. Could he abandon that hope and resign
+himself to the inevitable?
+
+One or two minutes passed. The ladder must have been hooked fast again,
+for Patrice felt a firm resistance up above.
+
+Coralie was entreating him:
+
+"Patrice," she asked, "Patrice, what are you hoping for?"
+
+He looked around and above him, as though seeking an idea, and he seemed
+also to look inside himself, as though he were seeking that idea amid
+all the memories which he had accumulated at the moment when his father
+also held the ladder, in a last effort of will. And suddenly, throwing
+up his leg, he placed his left foot on the fifth rung of the ladder and
+began to raise himself by the uprights.
+
+It was an absurd attempt to scale the ladder, to reach the skylight, to
+lay hold of the enemy and thus save himself and Coralie. If his father
+had failed before him, how could he hope to succeed?
+
+It was all over in less than three seconds. The ladder was at once
+unfastened from the hook that kept it hanging from the skylight; and
+Patrice and the ladder came to the ground together. At the same time a
+strident laugh rang out above, followed the next moment by the sound of
+the skylight closing.
+
+Patrice picked himself up in a fury, hurled insults at the enemy and, as
+his rage increased, fired two revolver shots, which broke two of the
+panes. He next attacked the doors and windows, banging at them with the
+iron dog which he had taken from the fender. He hit the walls, he hit
+the floor, he shook his fist at the invisible enemy who was mocking him.
+But suddenly, after a few blows struck at space, he was compelled to
+stop. Something like a thick veil had glided overhead. They were in the
+dark.
+
+He understood what had happened. The enemy had lowered a shutter upon
+the skylight, covering it entirely.
+
+"Patrice! Patrice!" cried Coralie, maddened by the blotting out of the
+light and losing all her strength of mind. "Patrice! Where are you,
+Patrice? Oh, I'm frightened! Where are you?"
+
+They began to grope for each other, like blind people, and nothing that
+had gone before seemed to them more horrible than to be lost in this
+pitiless blackness.
+
+"Patrice! Oh, Patrice! Where are you?"
+
+Their hands touched, Coralie's poor little frozen fingers and Patrice's
+hands that burned with fever, and they pressed each other and twined
+together and clutched each other as though to assure themselves that
+they were still living.
+
+"Oh, don't leave me, Patrice!" Coralie implored.
+
+"I am here," he replied. "Have no fear: they can't separate us."
+
+"You are right," she panted, "they can't separate us. We are in our
+grave."
+
+The word was so terrible and Coralie uttered it so mournfully that a
+reaction overtook Patrice.
+
+"No! What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "We must not despair.
+There is hope of safety until the last moment."
+
+Releasing one of his hands, he took aim with his revolver. A few faint
+rays trickled through the chinks around the skylight. He fired three
+times. They heard the crack of the wood-work and the chuckle of the
+enemy. But the shutter must have been lined with metal, for no split
+appeared.
+
+Besides, the chinks were forthwith stopped up; and they became aware
+that the enemy was engaged in the same work that he had performed around
+the doors and windows. It was obviously very thorough and took a long
+time in the doing. Next came another work, completing the first. The
+enemy was nailing the shutter to the frame of the skylight.
+
+It was an awful sound! Swift and light as were the taps of the hammer,
+they seemed to drive deep into the brain of those who heard them. It was
+their coffin that was being nailed down, their great coffin with a lid
+hermetically sealed that now bore heavy upon them. There was no hope
+left, not a possible chance of escape. Each tap of the hammer
+strengthened their dark prison, making yet more impregnable the walls
+that stood between them and the outer world and bade defiance to the
+most resolute assault:
+
+"Patrice," stammered Coralie, "I'm frightened . . . That tapping hurts
+me so!" . . .
+
+She sank back in his arms. Patrice felt tears coursing down her cheeks.
+
+Meanwhile the work overhead was being completed. They underwent the
+terrible experience which condemned men must feel on the morning of
+their last day, when from their cells they hear the preparations: the
+engine of death that is being set up, or the electric batteries that are
+being tested. They hear men striving to have everything ready, so that
+not one propitious chance may remain and so that destiny may be
+fulfilled. Death had entered the enemy's service and was working hand in
+hand with him. He was death itself, acting, contriving and fighting
+against those whom he had resolved to destroy.
+
+"Don't leave me," sobbed Coralie, "don't leave me! . . ."
+
+"Only for a second or two," he said. "We must be avenged later."
+
+"What is the use, Patrice? What can it matter to us?"
+
+He had a box containing a few matches. Lighting them one after the
+other, he led Coralie to the panel with the inscription.
+
+"What are you going to do?" she asked.
+
+"I will not have our death put down to suicide. I want to do what our
+parents did before us and to prepare for the future. Some one will read
+what I am going to write and will avenge us."
+
+He took a pencil from his pocket and bent down. There was a free space,
+right at the bottom of the panel. He wrote:
+
+      "Patrice Belval and Coralie, his betrothed, die the
+      same death, murdered by Simeon Diodokis, 14 April,
+      1915."
+
+But, as he finished writing, he noticed a few words of the former
+inscription which he had not yet read, because they were placed outside
+it, so to speak, and did not appear to form part of it.
+
+"One more match," he said. "Did you see? There are some words there, the
+last, no doubt, that my father wrote."
+
+She struck a match. By the flickering light they made out a certain
+number of misshapen letters, obviously written in a hurry and forming
+two words:
+
+      "_Asphyxiated. . . . Oxide. . . ._"
+
+The match went out. They rose in silence. Asphyxiated! They understood.
+That was how their parents had perished and how they themselves would
+perish. But they did not yet fully realize how the thing would happen.
+The lack of air would never be great enough to suffocate them in this
+large room, which contained enough to last them for many days.
+
+"Unless," muttered Patrice, "unless the quality of the air can be
+impaired and therefore . . ."
+
+He stopped. Then he went on:
+
+"Yes, that's it. I remember."
+
+He told Coralie what he suspected, or rather what conformed so well with
+the reality as to leave no room for doubt. He had seen in old Simeon's
+cupboard not only the rope-ladder which the madman had brought with him,
+but also a coil of lead pipes. And now Simeon's behavior from the moment
+when they were locked in, his movements to and fro around the lodge, the
+care with which he had stopped up every crevice, his labors along the
+wall and on the roof: all this was explained in the most definite
+fashion. Old Simeon had simply fitted to a gas-meter, probably in the
+kitchen, the pipe which he had next laid along the wall and on the roof.
+This therefore was the way in which they were about to die, as their
+parents had died before them, stifled by ordinary gas.
+
+Panic-stricken, they began to run aimlessly about the room, holding
+hands, while their disordered brains, bereft of thought or will, seemed
+like tiny things shaken by the fiercest gale. Coralie uttered incoherent
+words. Patrice, while imploring her to keep calm, was himself carried
+away by the storm and powerless to resist the terrible agony of the
+darkness wherein death lay waiting. At such times a man tries to flee,
+to escape the icy breath that is already chilling his marrow. He must
+flee, but where? Which way? The walls are insurmountable and the
+darkness is even harder than the walls.
+
+They stopped, exhausted. A low hiss was heard somewhere in the room, the
+faint hiss that issues from a badly-closed gas-jet. They listened and
+perceived that it came from above. The torture was beginning.
+
+"It will last half an hour, or an hour at most," Patrice whispered.
+
+Coralie had recovered her self-consciousness:
+
+"We shall be brave," she said.
+
+"Oh, if I were alone! But you, you, my poor Coralie!"
+
+"It is painless," she murmured.
+
+"You are bound to suffer, you, so weak!"
+
+"One suffers less, the weaker one is. Besides, I know that we sha'n't
+suffer, Patrice."
+
+She suddenly appeared so placid that he on his side was filled with a
+great peace. Seated on a sofa, their fingers still entwined, they
+silently steeped themselves in the mighty calm which comes when we think
+that events have run their course. This calm is resignation, submission
+to superior forces. Natures such as theirs cease to rebel when destiny
+has manifested its orders and when nothing remains but acquiescence and
+prayer.
+
+She put her arm round Patrice's neck:
+
+"I am your bride in the eyes of God," she said. "May He receive us as He
+would receive a husband and wife."
+
+Her gentle resignation brought tears to his eyes. She dried them with
+her kisses, and, of her own seeking, offered him her lips.
+
+They sat wrapped in an infinite silence. They perceived the first smell
+of gas descending around them, but they felt no fear.
+
+"Everything will happen as it did before, Coralie," whispered Patrice,
+"down to the very last second. Your mother and my father, who loved
+each other as we do, also died in each other's arms, with their lips
+joined together. They had decided to unite us and they have united us."
+
+"Our grave will be near theirs," she murmured.
+
+Little by little their ideas became confused and they began to think
+much as a man sees through a rising mist. They had had nothing to eat;
+and hunger now added its discomfort to the vertigo in which their minds
+were imperceptibly sinking. As it increased, their uneasiness and
+anxiety left them, to be followed by a sense of ecstasy, then lassitude,
+extinction, repose. The dread of the coming annihilation faded out of
+their thoughts.
+
+Coralie, the first to be affected, began to utter delirious words which
+astonished Patrice at first:
+
+"Dearest, there are flowers falling, roses all around us. How
+delightful!"
+
+Presently he himself grew conscious of the same blissful exaltation,
+expressing itself in tenderness and joyful emotion. With no sort of
+dismay he felt her gradually yielding in his arms and abandoning
+herself; and he had the impression that he was following her down a
+measureless abyss, all bathed with light, where they floated, he and
+she, descending slowly and without effort towards a happy valley.
+
+Minutes or perhaps hours passed. They were still descending, he
+supporting her by the waist, she with her head thrown back a little way,
+her eyes closed and a smile upon her lips. He remembered pictures
+showing gods thus gliding through the blue of heaven; and, drunk with
+pure, radiant light and air, he continued to circle above the happy
+valley.
+
+But, as he approached it, he felt himself grow weary. Coralie weighed
+heavily on his bent arm. The descent increased in speed. The waves of
+light turned to darkness. A thick cloud came, followed by others that
+formed a whirl of gloom.
+
+And suddenly, worn out, his forehead bathed in sweat and his body
+shaking with fever, he pitched forward into a great black pit. . . .
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A STRANGE CHARACTER
+
+
+It was not yet exactly death. In his present condition of agony, what
+lingered of Patrice's consciousness mingled, as in a nightmare, the life
+which he knew with the imaginary world in which he now found himself,
+the world which was that of death.
+
+In this world Coralie no longer existed; and her loss distracted him
+with grief. But he seemed to hear and see somebody whose presence was
+revealed by a shadow passing before his closed eyelids. This somebody he
+pictured to himself, though without reason, under the aspect of Simeon,
+who came to verify the death of his victims, began by carrying Coralie
+away, then came back to Patrice and carried him away also and laid him
+down somewhere. And all this was so well-defined that Patrice wondered
+whether he had not woke up.
+
+Next hours passed . . . or seconds. In the end Patrice had a feeling
+that he was falling asleep, but as a man sleeps in hell, suffering the
+moral and physical tortures of the damned. He was back at the bottom of
+the black pit, which he was making desperate efforts to leave, like a
+man who has fallen into the sea and is trying to reach the surface. In
+this way, with the greatest difficulty, he passed through one waste of
+water after another, the weight of which stifled him. He had to scale
+them, gripping with his hands and feet to things that slipped, to
+rope-ladders which, possessing no points of support, gave way beneath
+him.
+
+Meanwhile the darkness became less intense. A little muffled daylight
+mingled with it. Patrice felt less greatly oppressed. He half-opened his
+eyes, drew a breath or two and, looking round, beheld a sight that
+surprised him, the embrasure of an open door, near which he was lying in
+the air, on a sofa. Beside him he saw Coralie, on another sofa. She
+moved restlessly and seemed to be in great discomfort.
+
+"She is climbing out of the black pit," he thought to himself. "Like me,
+she is struggling. My poor Coralie!"
+
+There was a small table between them, with two glasses of water on it.
+Parched with thirst, he took one of them in his hand. But he dared not
+drink.
+
+At that moment some one came through the open door, which Patrice
+perceived to be the door of the lodge; and he observed that it was not
+old Simeon, as he had thought, but a stranger whom he had never seen
+before.
+
+"I am not asleep," he said to himself. "I am sure that I am not asleep
+and that this stranger is a friend."
+
+And he tried to say it aloud, to make certainty doubly sure. But he had
+not the strength.
+
+The stranger, however, came up to him and, in a gentle voice, said:
+
+"Don't tire yourself, captain. You're all right now. Allow me. Have some
+water."
+
+The stranger handed him one of the two glasses; Patrice emptied it at a
+draught, without any feeling of distrust, and was glad to see Coralie
+also drinking.
+
+"Yes, I'm all right now," he said. "Heavens, how good it is to be alive!
+Coralie is really alive, isn't she?"
+
+He did not hear the answer and dropped into a welcome sleep.
+
+When he woke up, the crisis was over, though he still felt a buzzing in
+his head and a difficulty in drawing a deep breath. He stood up,
+however, and realized that all these sensations were not fanciful, that
+he was really outside the door of the lodge and that Coralie had drunk
+the glass of water and was peacefully sleeping.
+
+"How good it is to be alive!" he repeated.
+
+He now felt a need for action, but dared not go into the lodge,
+notwithstanding the open door. He moved away from it, skirting the
+cloisters containing the graves, and then, with no exact object, for he
+did not yet grasp the reason of his own actions, did not understand what
+had happened to him and was simply walking at random, he came back
+towards the lodge, on the other front, the one overlooking the garden.
+
+Suddenly he stopped. A few yards from the house, at the foot of a tree
+standing beside the slanting path, a man lay back in a wicker
+long-chair, with his face in the shade and his legs in the sun. He was
+sleeping, with his head fallen forward and an open book upon his knees.
+
+Then and not till then did Patrice clearly understand that he and
+Coralie had escaped being killed, that they were both really alive and
+that they owed their safety to this man whose sleep suggested a state of
+absolute security and satisfied conscience.
+
+Patrice studied the stranger's appearance. He was slim of figure, but
+broad-shouldered, with a sallow complexion, a slight mustache on his
+lips and hair beginning to turn gray at the temples. His age was
+probably fifty at most. The cut of his clothes pointed to dandyism.
+Patrice leant forward and read the title of the book: _The Memoirs of
+Benjamin Franklin_. He also read the initials inside a hat lying on the
+grass: "L. P."
+
+"It was he who saved me," said Patrice to himself, "I recognize him. He
+carried us both out of the studio and looked after us. But how was the
+miracle brought about? Who sent him?"
+
+He tapped him on the shoulder. The man was on his feet at once, his face
+lit up with a smile:
+
+"Pardon me, captain, but my life is so much taken up that, when I have a
+few minutes to myself, I use them for sleeping, wherever I may be . . .
+like Napoleon, eh? Well, I don't object to the comparison. . . . But
+enough about myself. How are you feeling now? And madame--'Little Mother
+Coralie'--is she better? I saw no use in waking you, after I had opened
+the doors and taken you outside. I had done what was necessary and felt
+quite easy. You were both breathing. So I left the rest to the good pure
+air."
+
+He broke off, at the sight of Patrice's disconcerted attitude; and his
+smile made way for a merry laugh:
+
+"Oh, I was forgetting: you don't know me! Of course, it's true, the
+letter I sent you was intercepted. Let me introduce myself. Don Luis
+Perenna,[3] a member of an old Spanish family, genuine patent of
+nobility, papers all in order. . . . But I can see that all this tells
+you nothing," he went on, laughing still more gaily. "No doubt Ya-Bon
+described me differently when he wrote my name on that street-wall, one
+evening a fortnight ago. Aha, you're beginning to understand! . . . Yes,
+I'm the man you sent for to help you. Shall I mention the name, just
+bluntly? Well, here goes, captain! . . . Arsene Lupin, at your service."
+
+[Footnote 3: _The Teeth of the Tiger._ By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by
+Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. "Luis Perenna" is one of several anagrams
+of "Arsene Lupin."]
+
+Patrice was stupefied. He had utterly forgotten Ya-Bon's proposal and
+the unthinking permission which he had given him to call in the famous
+adventurer. And here was Arsene Lupin standing in front of him, Arsene
+Lupin, who, by a sheer effort of will that resembled an incredible
+miracle, had dragged him and Coralie out of their hermetically-sealed
+coffin.
+
+He held out his hand and said:
+
+"Thank you!"
+
+"Tut!" said Don Luis, playfully. "No thanks! Just a good hand-shake,
+that's all. And I'm a man you can shake hands with, captain, believe me.
+I may have a few peccadilloes on my conscience, but on the other hand I
+have committed a certain number of good actions which should win me the
+esteem of decent folk . . . beginning with my own. And so . . ."
+
+He interrupted himself again, seemed to reflect and, taking Patrice by a
+button of his jacket, said:
+
+"Don't move. We are being watched."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"Some one on the quay, right at the end of the garden. The wall is not
+high. There's a grating on the top of it. They're looking through the
+bars and trying to see us."
+
+"How do you know? You have your back turned to the quay; and then there
+are the trees."
+
+"Listen."
+
+"I don't hear anything out of the way."
+
+"Yes, the sound of an engine . . . the engine of a stopping car. Now
+what would a car want to stop here for, on the quay, opposite a wall
+with no house near it?"
+
+"Then who do you think it is?"
+
+"Why, old Simeon, of course!"
+
+"Old Simeon!"
+
+"Certainly. He's looking to see whether I've really saved the two of
+you."
+
+"Then he's not mad?"
+
+"Mad? No more mad than you or I!"
+
+"And yet . . ."
+
+"What you mean is that Simeon used to protect you; that his object was
+to bring you two together; that he sent you the key of the garden-door;
+and so on and so on."
+
+"Do you know all that?"
+
+"Well, of course! If not, how could I have rescued you?"
+
+"But," said Patrice, anxiously, "suppose the scoundrel returns to the
+attack. Ought we not to take some precautions? Let's go back to the
+lodge: Coralie is all alone."
+
+"There's no danger."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'm here."
+
+Patrice was more astounded than ever:
+
+"Then Simeon knows you?" he asked. "He knows that you are here?"
+
+"Yes, thanks to a letter which I wrote you under cover to Ya-Bon and
+which he intercepted. I told you that I was coming; and he hurried to
+get to work. Only, as my habit is on these occasions, I hastened on my
+arrival by a few hours, so that I caught him in the act."
+
+"At that moment you did not know he was the enemy; you knew nothing?"
+
+"Nothing at all."
+
+"Was it this morning?"
+
+"No, this afternoon, at a quarter to two."
+
+Patrice took out his watch:
+
+"And it's now four. So in two hours . . ."
+
+"Not that. I've been here an hour."
+
+"Did you find out from Ya-Bon?"
+
+"Do you think I've no better use for my time? Ya-Bon simply told me that
+you were not there, which was enough to astonish me."
+
+"After that?"
+
+"I looked to see where you were."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I first searched your room and, doing so in my own thorough fashion,
+ended by discovering that there was a crack at the back of your roll-top
+desk and that this crack faced a hole in the wall of the next room. I
+was able therefore to pull out the book in which you kept your diary and
+acquaint myself with what was going on. This, moreover, was how Simeon
+became aware of your least intentions. This was how he knew of your plan
+to come here, on a pilgrimage, on the fourteenth of April. This was how,
+last night, seeing you write, he preferred, before attacking you, to
+know what you were writing. Knowing it and learning, from your own
+words, that you were on your guard, he refrained. You see how simple it
+all is. If M. Masseron had grown uneasy at your absence, he would have
+been just as successful. Only he would have been successful to-morrow."
+
+"That is to say, too late."
+
+"Yes, too late. This really isn't his business, however, nor that of the
+police. So I would rather that they didn't meddle with it. I asked your
+wounded soldiers to keep silent about anything that may strike them as
+queer. Therefore, if M. Masseron comes to-day, he will think that
+everything is in order. Well, having satisfied my mind in this respect
+and possessing the necessary information from your diary, I took Ya-Bon
+with me and walked across the lane and into the garden."
+
+"Was the door open?"
+
+"No, but Simeon happened to be coming out at that moment. Bad luck for
+him, wasn't it? I took advantage of it boldly. I put my hand on the
+latch and we went in, without his daring to protest. He certainly knew
+who I was."
+
+"But you didn't know at that time that he was the enemy?"
+
+"I didn't know? And what about your diary?"
+
+"I had no notion . . ."
+
+"But, captain, every page is an indictment of the man. There's not an
+incident in which he did not take part, not a crime which he did not
+prepare."
+
+"In that case you should have collared him."
+
+"And if I had? What good would it have done me? Should I have compelled
+him to speak? No, I shall hold him tightest by leaving him his liberty.
+That will give him rope, you know. You see already he's prowling round
+the house instead of clearing out. Besides, I had something better to
+do: I had first to rescue you two . . . if there was still time. Ya-Bon
+and I therefore rushed to the door of the lodge. It was open; but the
+other, the door of the studio, was locked and bolted. I drew the bolts;
+and to force the lock was, for me, child's play. Then the smell of gas
+was enough to tell me what had happened, Simeon must have fitted an old
+meter to some outside pipe, probably the one which supplied the lamps on
+the lane, and he was suffocating you. All that remained for us to do was
+to fetch the two of you out and give you the usual treatment: rubbing,
+artificial respiration and so on. You were saved."
+
+"I suppose he removed all his murderous appliances?" asked Patrice.
+
+"No, he evidently contemplated coming back and putting everything to
+rights, so that his share in the business could not be proved, so too
+that people might believe in your suicide, a mysterious suicide, death
+without apparent cause; in short, the same tragedy that happened with
+your father and Little Mother Coralie's mother."
+
+"Then you know? . . ."
+
+"Why, haven't I eyes to read with? What about the inscription on the
+wall, your father's revelations? I know as much as you do, captain . . .
+and perhaps a bit more."
+
+"More?"
+
+"Well, of course! Habit, you know, experience! Plenty of problems,
+unintelligible to others, seem to me the simplest and clearest that can
+be. Therefore . . ."
+
+Don Luis hesitated whether to go on:
+
+"No," he said, "it's better that I shouldn't speak. The mystery will be
+dispelled gradually. Let us wait. For the moment . . ."
+
+He again stopped, this time to listen:
+
+"There, he must have seen you. And now that he knows what he wants to,
+he's going away."
+
+Patrice grew excited:
+
+"He's going away! You really ought to have collared him. Shall we ever
+find him again, the scoundrel? Shall we ever be able to take our
+revenge?"
+
+Don Luis smiled:
+
+"There you go, calling him a scoundrel, the man who watched over you for
+twenty years, who brought you and Little Mother Coralie together, who
+was your benefactor!"
+
+"Oh, I don't know! All this is so bewildering! I can't help hating him.
+. . . The idea of his getting away maddens me. . . . I should like to
+torture him and yet . . ."
+
+He yielded to a feeling of despair and took his head between his two
+hands. Don Luis comforted him:
+
+"Have no fear," he said. "He was never nearer his downfall than at the
+present moment. I hold him in my hand as I hold this leaf."
+
+"But how?"
+
+"The man who's driving him belongs to me."
+
+"What's that? What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I put one of my men on the driver's seat of a taxi, with
+instructions to hang about at the bottom of the lane, and that Simeon
+did not fail to take the taxi in question."
+
+"That is to say, you suppose so," Patrice corrected him, feeling more
+and more astounded.
+
+"I recognized the sound of the engine at the bottom of the garden when I
+told you."
+
+"And are you sure of your man?"
+
+"Certain."
+
+"What's the use? Simeon can drive far out of Paris, stab the man in the
+back . . . and then when shall we get to know?"
+
+"Do you imagine that people can get out of Paris and go running about
+the high-roads without a special permit? No, if Simeon leaves Paris he
+will have to drive to some railway station or other and we shall know of
+it twenty minutes after. And then we'll be off."
+
+"How?"
+
+"By motor."
+
+"Then you have a pass?"
+
+"Yes, valid for the whole of France."
+
+"You don't mean it!"
+
+"I do; and a genuine pass at that! Made out in the name of Don Luis
+Perenna, signed by the minister of the interior and countersigned . . ."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By the President of the Republic."
+
+Patrice felt his bewilderment change all at once into violent
+excitement. Hitherto, in the terrible adventure in which he was engaged,
+he had undergone the enemy's implacable will and had known little
+besides defeat and the horrors of ever-threatening death. But now a more
+powerful will suddenly arose in his favor. And everything was abruptly
+altered. Fate seemed to be changing its course, like a ship which an
+unexpected fair wind brings back into harbor.
+
+"Upon my word, captain," said Don Luis, "I thought you were going to cry
+like Little Mother Coralie. Your nerves are overstrung. And I daresay
+you're hungry. We must find you something to eat. Come along."
+
+He led him slowly towards the lodge and, speaking in a rather serious
+voice:
+
+"I must ask you," he said, "to be absolutely discreet in this whole
+matter. With the exception of a few old friends and of Ya-Bon, whom I
+met in Africa, where he saved my life, no one in France knows me by my
+real name. I call myself Don Luis Perenna. In Morocco, where I was
+soldiering, I had occasion to do a service to the very gracious
+sovereign of a neighboring neutral nation, who, though obliged to
+conceal his true feelings, is ardently on our side. He sent for me; and,
+in return, I asked him to give me my credentials and to obtain a pass
+for me. Officially, therefore, I am on a secret mission, which expires
+in two days. In two days I shall go back . . . to whence I came, to a
+place where, during the war, I am serving France in my fashion: not a
+bad one, believe me, as people will see one day."
+
+They came to the settee on which Coralie lay sleeping. Don Luis laid his
+hand on Patrice's arm:
+
+"One word more, captain. I swore to myself and I gave my word of honor
+to him who trusted me that, while I was on this mission, my time should
+be devoted exclusively to defending the interests of my country to the
+best of my power. I must warn you, therefore, that, notwithstanding all
+my sympathy for you, I shall not be able to prolong my stay for a single
+minute after I have discovered the eighteen hundred bags of gold. They
+were the one and only reason why I came in answer to Ya-Bon's appeal.
+When the bags of gold are in our possession, that is to say, to-morrow
+evening at latest, I shall go away. However, the two quests are joined.
+The clearing up of the one will mean the end of the other. And now
+enough of words. Introduce me to Little Mother Coralie and let's get to
+work! Make no mystery with her, captain," he added, laughing. "Tell her
+my real name. I have nothing to fear: Arsene Lupin has every woman on
+his side."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Forty minutes later Coralie was back in her room, well cared for and
+well watched. Patrice had taken a substantial meal, while Don Luis
+walked up and down the terrace smoking cigarettes.
+
+"Finished, captain? Then we'll make a start."
+
+He looked at his watch:
+
+"Half-past five. We have more than an hour of daylight left. That'll be
+enough."
+
+"Enough? You surely don't pretend that you will achieve your aim in an
+hour?"
+
+"My definite aim, no, but the aim which I am setting myself at the
+moment, yes . . . and even earlier. An hour? What for? To do what? Why,
+you'll be a good deal wiser in a few minutes!"
+
+Don Luis asked to be taken to the cellar under the library; where
+Essares Bey used to keep the bags of gold until the time had come to
+send them off.
+
+"Was it through this ventilator that the bags were let down?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is there no other outlet?"
+
+"None except the staircase leading to the library and the other
+ventilator."
+
+"Opening on the terrace?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then that's clear. The bags used to come in by the first and go out by
+the second."
+
+"But . . ."
+
+"There's no but about it, captain: how else would you have it happen?
+You see, the mistake people always make is to go looking for
+difficulties where there are none."
+
+They returned to the terrace. Don Luis took up his position near the
+ventilator and inspected the ground immediately around. It did not take
+long. Four yards away, outside the windows of the library, was the basin
+with the statue of a child spouting a jet of water through a shell.
+
+Don Luis went up, examined the basin and, leaning forwards, reached the
+little statue, which he turned upon its axis from right to left. At the
+same time the pedestal described a quarter of a circle.
+
+"That's it," he said, drawing himself up again.
+
+"What?"
+
+"The basin will empty itself."
+
+He was right. The water sank very quickly and the bottom of the fountain
+appeared.
+
+Don Luis stepped into it and squatted on his haunches. The inner wall
+was lined with a marble mosaic composing a wide red-and-white fretwork
+pattern. In the middle of one of the frets was a ring, which Don Luis
+lifted and pulled. All that portion of the wall which formed the pattern
+yielded to his effort and came down, leaving an opening of about twelve
+inches by ten.
+
+"That's where the bags of gold went," said Don Luis. "It was the second
+stage. They were despatched in the same manner, on a hook sliding along
+a wire. Look, here is the wire, in this groove at the top."
+
+"By Jove!" cried Captain Belval. "But you've unraveled this in a
+masterly fashion! What about the wire? Can't we follow it?"
+
+"No, but it will serve our purpose if we know where it finishes. I say,
+captain, go to the end of the garden, by the wall, taking a line at
+right angles to the house. When you get there, cut off a branch of a
+tree, rather high up. Oh, I was forgetting! I shall have to go out by
+the lane. Have you the key of the door? Give it me, please."
+
+Patrice handed him the key and then went down to the wall beside the
+quay.
+
+"A little farther to the right," Don Luis instructed him. "A little more
+still. That's better. Now wait."
+
+He left the garden by the lane, reached the quay and called out from the
+other side of the wall:
+
+"Are you there, captain?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Fix your branch so that I can see it from here. Capital."
+
+Patrice now joined Don Luis, who was crossing the road. All the way down
+the Seine are wharves, built on the bank of the river and used for
+loading and unloading vessels. Barges put in alongside, discharge their
+cargoes, take in fresh ones and often lie moored one next to the other.
+At the spot where Don Luis and Patrice descended by a flight of steps
+there was a series of yards, one of which, the one which they reached
+first, appeared to be abandoned, no doubt since the war. It contained,
+amid a quantity of useless materials, several heaps of bricks and
+building-stones, a hut with broken windows and the lower part of a
+steam-crane. A placard swinging from a post bore the inscription:
+
+           BERTHOU
+     WHARFINGER & BUILDER.
+
+Don Luis walked along the foot of the embankment, ten or twelve feet
+high, above which the quay was suspended like a terrace. Half of it was
+occupied by a heap of sand; and they saw in the wall the bars of an iron
+grating, the lower half of which was hidden by the sand-heap shored up
+with planks.
+
+Don Luis cleared the grating and said, jestingly:
+
+"Have you noticed that the doors are never locked in this adventure?
+Let's hope that it's the same with this one."
+
+His theory was confirmed, somewhat to his own surprise, and they entered
+one of those recesses where workmen put away their tools.
+
+"So far, nothing out of the common," said Don Luis, switching on an
+electric torch. "Buckets, pick-axes, wheelbarrows, a ladder. . . . Ah!
+Ah! Just as I expected: rails, a complete set of light rails! . . . Lend
+me a hand, captain. Let's clear out the back. Good, that's done it."
+
+Level with the ground and opposite the grating was a rectangular
+opening exactly similar to the one in the basin. The wire was visible
+above, with a number of hooks hanging from it.
+
+"So this is where the bags arrived," Don Luis explained. "They dropped,
+so to speak, into one of the two little trollies which you see over
+there, in the corner. The rails were laid across the bank, of course at
+night; and the trollies were pushed to a barge into which they tipped
+their contents."
+
+"So that . . . ?"
+
+"So that the French gold went this way . . . anywhere you like . . .
+somewhere abroad."
+
+"And you think that the last eighteen hundred bags have also been
+despatched?"
+
+"I fear so."
+
+"Then we are too late?"
+
+Don Luis reflected for a while without answering. Patrice, though
+disappointed by a development which he had not foreseen, remained amazed
+at the extraordinary skill with which his companion, in so short a time,
+had succeeded in unraveling a portion of the tangled skein.
+
+"It's an absolute miracle," he said, at last. "How on earth did you do
+it?"
+
+Without a word, Don Luis took from his pocket the book which Patrice had
+seen lying on his knees, _The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin_, and
+motioned to him to read some lines which he indicated with his finger.
+They were written towards the end of the reign of Louis XVI and ran:
+
+      "We go daily to the village of Passy adjoining my
+      home, where you take the waters in a beautiful garden.
+      Streams and waterfalls pour down on all sides, this
+      way and that, in artfully leveled beds. I am known to
+      like skilful mechanism, so I have been shown the basin
+      where the waters of all the rivulets meet and mingle.
+      There stands a little marble figure in the midst; and
+      the weight of water is strong enough to turn it a
+      quarter circle to the left and then pour down straight
+      to the Seine by a conduit, which opens in the ground
+      of the basin."
+
+Patrice closed the book; and Don Luis went on to explain:
+
+"Things have changed since, no doubt, thanks to the energies of Essares
+Bey. The water escapes some other way now; and the aqueduct was used to
+drain off the gold. Besides, the bed of the river has narrowed. Quays
+have been built, with a system of canals underneath them. You see,
+captain, all this was easy enough to discover, once I had the book to
+tell me. _Doctus cum libro._"
+
+"Yes, but, even so, you had to read the book."
+
+"A pure accident. I unearthed it in Simeon's room and put it in my
+pocket, because I was curious to know why he was reading it."
+
+"Why, that's just how he must have discovered Essares Bey's secret!"
+cried Patrice. "He didn't know the secret. He found the book among his
+employer's papers and got up his facts that way. What do you think?
+Don't you agree? You seem not to share my opinion. Have you some other
+view?"
+
+Don Luis did not reply. He stood looking at the river. Beside the
+wharves, at a slight distance from the yard, a barge lay moored, with
+apparently no one on her. But a slender thread of smoke now began to
+rise from a pipe that stood out above the deck.
+
+"Let's go and have a look at her," he said.
+
+The barge was lettered:
+
+     LA NONCHALANTE. BEAUNE
+
+They had to cross the space between the barge and the wharf and to step
+over a number of ropes and empty barrels covering the flat portions of
+the deck. A companion-way brought them to a sort of cabin, which did
+duty as a stateroom and a kitchen in one. Here they found a
+powerful-looking man, with broad shoulders, curly black hair and a
+clean-shaven face. His only clothes were a blouse and a pair of dirty,
+patched canvas trousers.
+
+Don Luis offered him a twenty-franc note. The man took it eagerly.
+
+"Just tell me something, mate. Have you seen a barge lately, lying at
+Berthou's Wharf?"
+
+"Yes, a motor-barge. She left two days ago."
+
+"What was her name?"
+
+"The _Belle Helene_. The people on board, two men and a woman, were
+foreigners talking I don't know what lingo. . . . We didn't speak to one
+another."
+
+"But Berthou's Wharf has stopped work, hasn't it?"
+
+"Yes, the owner's joined the army . . . and the foremen as well. We've
+all got to, haven't we? I'm expecting to be called up myself . . .
+though I've got a weak heart."
+
+"But, if the yard's stopped work, what was the boat doing here?"
+
+"I don't know. They worked the whole of one night, however. They had
+laid rails along the quay. I heard the trollies; and they were loading
+up. What with I don't know. And then, early in the morning, they
+unmoored."
+
+"Where did they go?"
+
+"Down stream, Mantes way."
+
+"Thanks, mate. That's what I wanted to know."
+
+Ten minutes later, when they reached the house, Patrice and Don Luis
+found the driver of the cab which Simeon Diodokis had taken after
+meeting Don Luis. As Don Luis expected, Simeon had told the man to go to
+a railway-station, the Gare Saint-Lazare, and there bought his ticket.
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"To Mantes!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE BELLE HELENE
+
+
+"There's no mistake about it," said Patrice. "The information conveyed
+to M. Masseron that the gold had been sent away; the speed with which
+the work was carried out, at night, mechanically, by the people
+belonging to the boat; their alien nationality; the direction which they
+took: it all agrees. The probability is that, between the cellar into
+which the gold was shot and the place where it finished its journey,
+there was some spot where it used to remain concealed . . . unless the
+eighteen hundred bags can have awaited their despatch, slung one behind
+the other, along the wire. But that doesn't matter much. The great thing
+is to know that the _Belle Helene_, hiding somewhere in the outskirts,
+lay waiting for the favorable opportunity. In the old days Essares Bey,
+by way of precaution, used to send her a signal with the aid of that
+shower of sparks which I saw. This time old Simeon, who is continuing
+Essares' work, no doubt on his own account, gave the crew notice; and
+the bags of gold are on their way to Rouen and Le Havre, where some
+steamer will take them over and carry them . . . eastwards. After all,
+forty or fifty tons, hidden in the hold under a layer of coal, is
+nothing. What do you say? That's it, isn't it? I feel positive about it.
+. . . Then we have Mantes, to which he took his ticket and for which
+the _Belle Helene_ is bound. Could anything be clearer? Mantes, where
+he'll pick up his cargo of gold and go on board in some seafaring
+disguise, unknown and unseen. . . . Loot and looter disappearing
+together. It's as clear as daylight. Don't you agree?"
+
+Once again Don Luis did not answer. However, he must have acquiesced in
+Patrice's theories, for, after a minute, he declared:
+
+"Very well. I'll go to Mantes." And, turning to the chauffeur, "Hurry
+off to the garage," he said, "and come back in the six-cylinder. I want
+to be at Mantes in less than an hour. You, captain . . ."
+
+"I shall come with you."
+
+"And who will look after . . . ?"
+
+"Coralie? She's in no danger! Who can attack her now? Simeon has failed
+in his attempt and is thinking only of saving his own skin . . . and his
+bags of gold."
+
+"You insist, do you?"
+
+"Absolutely."
+
+"I don't know that you're wise. However, that's your affair. Let's go.
+By the way, though, one precaution." He raised his voice. "Ya-Bon!"
+
+The Senegalese came hastening up. While Ya-Bon felt for Patrice all the
+affection of a faithful dog, he seemed to profess towards Don Luis
+something more nearly approaching religious devotion. The adventurer's
+slightest action roused him to ecstasy. He never stopped laughing in the
+great chief's presence.
+
+"Ya-Bon, are you all right now? Is your wound healed? You don't feel
+tired? Good. In that case, come with me."
+
+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 Simeon. 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 Simeon 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 Essares, 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 Simeon'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, Essares 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 Essares 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 Simeon's, had gone to the Hotel 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 Hotel.
+
+He woke late the next morning. Don Luis rang him up and told him that
+Simeon, 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 cafe at the end of the town, facing the Seine. Here
+Patrice saw Simeon 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 Helene_ 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 Simeon a telegram to read. Then they talked for a moment, seemed to
+be taking their bearings, passed by the cafe and stopped a little lower
+down. Here Simeon 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. Simeon
+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 Simeon 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 Helene_!
+
+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 Simeon."
+
+"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 military 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 Hotel 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
+Helene_ was entering the long loop which curves out to La Roche-Guyon,
+turns back and joins the high-road again at Bonnieres. She would need at
+least three hours to cover the distance, whereas the car, climbing the
+hill and keeping straight ahead, arrived at Bonnieres 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 Simeon, but ignorant
+of his actions and knowing nothing of the nature of the cargo. Once we
+have reduced Simeon 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 Simeon 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
+Helene_ was coming towards them.
+
+Patrice felt his excitement increase. The _Belle Helene_ meant Simeon's
+capture, the recovery of the millions, Coralie out of danger, the end of
+that most hideous nightmare and the total extinction of Essares'
+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 Helene_
+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 Simeon'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 Helene_
+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 Simeon 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?"
+
+"Simeon 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.
+Simeon Diodokis is on his way to join her."
+
+"How long have you known Simeon Diodokis?"
+
+"It's the first time we saw him. But we knew that he was in M. Essares'
+service."
+
+"Oh, so you've worked for M. Essares?"
+
+"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 Havre."
+
+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_ . . ."
+
+"_Chamois_? Sham was! I tell you once more, we're done, captain, done
+brown! Old Simeon is a wonderful old hand! He's a match worth meeting.
+He gives you a run for your money. He laid a trap in which I've been
+fairly caught. It's a magnificent joke, but there's moderation in all
+things. We've been fooled enough to last us the rest of our lives. Let's
+be serious now."
+
+"But . . ."
+
+"Aren't you satisfied yet, captain? After the _Belle Helene_ do you want
+to attack the _Chamois_? As you please. You can get out at Mantes: Only,
+I warn you, Simeon is in Paris, with three or four hours' start of us."
+
+Patrice gave a shudder. Simeon in Paris! In Paris, where Coralie was
+alone and unprotected! He made no further protest; and Don Luis ran on:
+
+"Oh, the rascal! How well he played his hand! _The Memoirs of Benjamin
+Franklin_ were a master stroke. Knowing of my arrival, he said to
+himself, 'Arsene Lupin is a dangerous fellow, capable of disentangling
+the affair and putting both me and the bags of gold in his pocket. To
+get rid of him, there's only one thing to be done: I must act in such a
+way as to make him rush along the real track at so fast a rate of speed
+that he does not perceive the moment when the real track becomes a false
+track.' That was clever of him, wasn't it? And so we have the Franklin
+book, held out as a bait; the page opening of itself, at the right
+place; my inevitable easy discovery of the conduit system; the clue of
+Ariadne most obligingly offered. I follow up the clue like a trusting
+child, led by Simeon's own hand, from the cellar down to Berthou's
+Wharf. So far all's well. But, from that moment, take care! There's
+nobody at Berthou's Wharf. On the other hand, there's a barge alongside,
+which means a chance of making enquiries, which means the certainty that
+I shall make enquiries. And I make enquiries. And, having made
+enquiries, I am done for."
+
+"But then that man . . . ?"
+
+"Yes, yes, yes, an accomplice of Simeon's, whom Simeon, knowing that he
+would be followed to the Gare Saint-Lazare, instructs in this way to
+direct me to Mantes for the second time. At Mantes the comedy continues.
+The _Belle Helene_ passes, with her double freight, Simeon and the bags
+of gold. We go running after the _Belle Helene_. Of course, on the
+_Belle Helene_ there's nothing: no Simeon, no bags of gold. 'Run after
+the _Chamois_. We've transhipped it all on the _Chamois_.' We run after
+the _Chamois_, to Rouen, to Le Havre, to the end of the world; and of
+course our pursuit is fruitless, for the _Chamois_ does not exist. But
+we are convinced that she does exist and that she has escaped our
+search. And by this time the trick is played. The millions are gone,
+Simeon has disappeared and there is only one thing left for us to do,
+which is to resign ourselves and abandon our quest. You understand,
+we're to abandon our quest: that's the fellow's object. And he would
+have succeeded if . . ."
+
+The car was traveling at full speed. From time to time Don Luis would
+stop her dead with extraordinary skill. Post of territorials. Pass to be
+produced. Then a leap onward and once more the breakneck pace.
+
+"If what?" asked Patrice, half-convinced. "Which was the clue that put
+you on the track?"
+
+"The presence of that woman at Mantes. It was a vague clue at first. But
+suddenly I remembered that, in the first barge, the _Nonchalante_, the
+person who gave us information--do you recollect?--well, that this
+person somehow gave me the queer impression, I can't tell you why, that
+I might be talking to a woman in disguise. The impression occurred to me
+once more. I made a mental comparison with the woman at Mantes. . . .
+And then . . . and then it was like a flash of light. . . ."
+
+Don Luis paused to think and, in a lower voice, continued:
+
+"But who the devil can this woman be?"
+
+There was a brief silence, after which Patrice said, from instinct
+rather than reason:
+
+"Gregoire, I suppose."
+
+"Eh? What's that? Gregoire?"
+
+"Yes. Yes, Gregoire is a woman."
+
+"What are you talking about?"
+
+"Well, obviously. Don't you remember? The accomplice told me so, on the
+day when I had them arrested outside the cafe."
+
+"Why, your diary doesn't say a word about it!"
+
+"Oh, that's true! . . . I forgot to put down that detail."
+
+"A detail! He calls it a detail! Why, it's of the greatest importance,
+captain! If I had known, I should have guessed that that bargee was no
+other than Gregoire and we should not have wasted a whole night. Hang it
+all, captain, you really are the limit!"
+
+But all this was unable to affect his good-humor. While Patrice,
+overcome with presentiments, grew gloomier and gloomier, Don Luis began
+to sing victory in his turn:
+
+"Thank goodness! The battle is becoming serious! Really, it was too easy
+before; and that was why I was sulking, I, Lupin! Do you imagine things
+go like that in real life? Does everything fit in so accurately?
+Benjamin Franklin, the uninterrupted conduit for the gold, the series of
+clues that reveal themselves of their own accord, the man and the bags
+meeting at Mantes, the _Belle Helene_: no, it all worried me. The cat
+was being choked with cream! And then the gold escaping in a barge! All
+very well in times of peace, but not in war-time, in the face of the
+regulations: passes, patrol-boats, inspections and I don't know what.
+. . . How could a fellow like Simeon risk a trip of that kind? No, I had
+my suspicions; and that was why, captain, I made Ya-Bon mount guard, on
+the off chance, outside Berthou's Wharf. It was just an idea that
+occurred to me. The whole of this adventure seemed to center round the
+wharf. Well, was I right or not? Is M. Lupin no longer able to follow a
+scent? Captain, I repeat, I shall go back to-morrow evening. Besides, as
+I told you, I've got to. Whether I win or lose, I'm going. But we shall
+win. Everything will be cleared up. There will be no more mysteries, not
+even the mystery of the golden triangle. . . . Oh, I don't say that I
+shall bring you a beautiful triangle of eighteen-carat gold! We mustn't
+allow ourselves to be fascinated by words. It may be a geometrical
+arrangement of the bags of gold, a triangular pile . . . or else a hole
+in the ground dug in that shape. No matter, we shall have it! And the
+bags of gold shall be ours! And Patrice and Coralie shall appear before
+monsieur le maire and receive my blessing and live happily ever after!"
+
+They reached the gates of Paris. Patrice was becoming more and more
+anxious:
+
+"Then you think the danger's over?"
+
+"Oh, I don't say that! The play isn't finished. After the great scene of
+the third act, which we will call the scene of the oxide of carbon,
+there will certainly be a fourth act and perhaps a fifth. The enemy has
+not laid down his arms, by any means."
+
+They were skirting the quays.
+
+"Let's get down," said Don Luis.
+
+He gave a faint whistle and repeated it three times.
+
+"No answer," he said. "Ya-Bon's not there. The battle has begun."
+
+"But Coralie . . ."
+
+"What are you afraid of for her? Simeon doesn't know her address."
+
+There was nobody on Berthou's Wharf and nobody on the quay below. But by
+the light of the moon they saw the other barge, the _Nonchalante_.
+
+"Let's go on board," said Don Luis. "I wonder if the lady known as
+Gregoire makes a practise of living here? Has she come back, believing
+us on our way to Le Havre? I hope so. In any case, Ya-Bon must have been
+there and no doubt left something behind to act as a signal. Will you
+come, captain?"
+
+"Right you are. It's a queer thing, though: I feel frightened!"
+
+"What of?" asked Don Luis, who was plucky enough himself to understand
+this presentiment.
+
+"Of what we shall see."
+
+"My dear sir, there may be nothing there!"
+
+Each of them switched on his pocket-lamp and felt the handle of his
+revolver. They crossed the plank between the shore and the boat. A few
+steps downwards brought them to the cabin. The door was locked.
+
+"Hi, mate! Open this, will you?"
+
+There was no reply. They now set about breaking it down, which was no
+easy matter, for it was massive and quite unlike an ordinary cabin-door.
+
+At last it gave way.
+
+"By Jingo!" said Don Luis, who was the first to go in. "I didn't expect
+this!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Look. The woman whom they called Gregoire. She seems to be dead."
+
+She was lying back on a little iron bedstead, with her man's blouse open
+at the top and her chest uncovered. Her face still bore an expression of
+extreme terror. The disordered appearance of the cabin suggested that a
+furious struggle had taken place.
+
+"I was right. Here, by her side, are the clothes she wore at Mantes. But
+what's the matter, captain?"
+
+Patrice had stifled a cry:
+
+"There . . . opposite . . . under the window . . ."
+
+It was a little window overlooking the river. The panes were broken.
+
+"Well?" asked Don Luis. "What? Yes, I believe some one's been thrown out
+that way."
+
+"The veil . . . that blue veil," stammered Patrice, "is her nurse's veil
+. . . Coralie's. . . ."
+
+Don Luis grew vexed:
+
+"Nonsense! Impossible! Nobody knew her address."
+
+"Still . . ."
+
+"Still what? You haven't written to her? You haven't telegraphed to
+her?"
+
+"Yes . . . I telegraphed to her . . . from Mantes."
+
+"What's that? Oh, but look here. This is madness! You don't mean that
+you really telegraphed?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"You telegraphed from the post-office at Mantes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And was there any one in the post-office?"
+
+"Yes, a woman."
+
+"What woman? The one who lies here, murdered?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But she didn't read what you wrote?"
+
+"No, but I wrote the telegram twice over."
+
+"And you threw the first draft anywhere, on the floor, so that any one
+who came along. . . . Oh, really, captain, you must confess . . . !"
+
+But Patrice was running towards the car and was already out of ear-shot.
+
+Half an hour after, he returned with two telegrams which he had found on
+Coralie's table. The first, the one which he had sent, said:
+
+      "All well. Be easy and stay indoors. Fondest love.
+
+      "CAPTAIN PATRICE."
+
+The second, which had evidently been despatched by Simeon, ran as
+follows:
+
+      "Events taking serious turn. Plans changed. Coming
+      back. Expect you nine o'clock this evening at the
+      small door of your garden.
+
+      "CAPTAIN PATRICE."
+
+This second telegram was delivered to Coralie at eight o'clock; and she
+had left the home immediately afterwards.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE FOURTH ACT
+
+
+"Captain," said Don Luis, "you've scored two fine blunders. The first
+was your not telling me that Gregoire was a woman. The second . . ."
+
+But Don Luis saw that the officer was too much dejected for him to care
+about completing his charge. He put his hand on Patrice Belval's
+shoulder:
+
+"Come," he said, "don't upset yourself. The position's not as bad as you
+think."
+
+"Coralie jumped out of the window to escape that man," Patrice muttered.
+
+"Your Coralie is alive," said Don Luis, shrugging his shoulders. "In
+Simeon's hands, but alive."
+
+"Why, what do you know about it? Anyway, if she's in that monster's
+hands, might she not as well be dead? Doesn't it mean all the horrors of
+death? Where's the difference?"
+
+"It means a danger of death, but it means life if we come in time; and
+we shall."
+
+"Have you a clue?"
+
+"Do you imagine that I have sat twiddling my thumbs and that an old hand
+like myself hasn't had time in half an hour to unravel the mysteries
+which this cabin presents?"
+
+"Then let's go," cried Patrice, already eager for the fray. "Let's have
+at the enemy."
+
+"Not yet," said Don Luis, who was still hunting around him. "Listen to
+me. I'll tell you what I know, captain, and I'll tell it you straight
+out, without trying to dazzle you by a parade of reasoning and without
+even telling you of the tiny trifles that serve me as proofs. The bare
+facts, that's all. Well, then . . ."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Little Mother Coralie kept the appointment at nine o'clock. Simeon was
+there with his female accomplice. Between them they bound and gagged her
+and brought her here. Observe that, in their eyes, it was a safe spot
+for the job, because they knew for certain that you and I had not
+discovered the trap. Nevertheless, we may assume that it was a
+provisional base of operations, adopted for part of the night only, and
+that Simeon reckoned on leaving Little Mother Coralie in the hands of
+his accomplice and setting out in search of a definite place of
+confinement, a permanent prison. But luckily--and I'm rather proud of
+this--Ya-Bon was on the spot. Ya-Bon was watching on his bench, in the
+dark. He must have seen them cross the embankment and no doubt
+recognized Simeon's walk in the distance. We'll take it that he gave
+chase at once, jumped on to the deck of the barge and arrived here at
+the same time as the enemy, before they had time to lock themselves in.
+Four people in this narrow space, in pitch darkness, must have meant a
+frightful upheaval. I know my Ya-Bon. He's terrible at such times.
+Unfortunately, it was not Simeon whom he caught by the neck with that
+merciless hand of his, but . . . the woman. Simeon took advantage of
+this. He had not let go of Little Mother Coralie. He picked her up in
+his arms and went up the companionway, flung her on the deck and then
+came back to lock the door on the two as they struggled."
+
+"Do you think so? Do you think it was Ya-Bon and not Simeon who killed
+the woman?"
+
+"I'm sure of it. If there were no other proof, there is this particular
+fracture of the wind-pipe, which is Ya-Bon's special mark. What I do not
+understand is why, when he had settled his adversary, Ya-Bon didn't
+break down the door with a push of his shoulder and go after Simeon. I
+presume that he was wounded and that he had not the strength to make the
+necessary effort. I presume also that the woman did not die at once and
+that she spoke, saying things against Simeon, who had abandoned her
+instead of defending her. This much is certain, that Ya-Bon broke the
+window-panes . . ."
+
+"To jump into the Seine, wounded as he was, with his one arm?" said
+Patrice.
+
+"Not at all. There's a ledge running along the window. He could set his
+feet on it and get off that way."
+
+"Very well. But he was quite ten or twenty minutes behind Simeon?"
+
+"That didn't matter, if the woman had time, before dying, to tell him
+where Simeon was taking refuge."
+
+"How can we get to know?"
+
+"I've been trying to find out all the time that we've been chatting
+. . . and I've just discovered the way."
+
+"Here?"
+
+"This minute; and I expected no less from Ya-Bon. The woman told him of
+a place in the cabin--look, that open drawer, probably--in which there
+was a visiting-card with an address on it. Ya-Bon took it and, in order
+to let me know, pinned the card to the curtain over there. I had seen it
+already; but it was only this moment that I noticed the pin that fixed
+it, a gold pin with which I myself fastened the Morocco Cross to
+Ya-Bon's breast."
+
+"What is the address?"
+
+"Amedee Vacherot, 18, Rue Guimard. The Rue Guimard is close to this,
+which makes me quite sure of the road they took."
+
+The two men at once went away, leaving the woman's dead body behind. As
+Don Luis said, the police must make what they could of it.
+
+As they crossed Berthou's Wharf they glanced at the recess and Don Luis
+remarked:
+
+"There's a ladder missing. We must remember that detail. Simeon has been
+in there. He's beginning to make blunders too."
+
+The car took them to the Rue Guimard, a small street in Passy. No. 18
+was a large house let out in flats, of fairly ancient construction. It
+was two o'clock in the morning when they rang.
+
+A long time elapsed before the door opened; and, as they passed through
+the carriage-entrance, the porter put his head out of his lodge:
+
+"Who's there?" he asked.
+
+"We want to see M. Amedee Vacherot on urgent business."
+
+"That's myself."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Yes, I, the porter. But by what right . . . ?"
+
+"Orders of the prefect of police," said Don Luis, displaying a badge.
+
+They entered the lodge. Amedee Vacherot was a little,
+respectable-looking old man, with white whiskers. He might have been a
+beadle.
+
+"Answer my questions plainly," Don Luis ordered, in a rough voice, "and
+don't try to prevaricate. We are looking for a man called Simeon
+Diodokis."
+
+The porter took fright at once:
+
+"To do him harm?" he exclaimed. "If it's to do him harm, it's no use
+asking me any questions. I would rather die by slow tortures than injure
+that kind M. Simeon."
+
+Don Luis assumed a gentler tone:
+
+"Do him harm? On the contrary, we are looking for him to do him a
+service, to save him from a great danger."
+
+"A great danger?" cried M. Vacherot. "Oh, I'm not at all surprised! I
+never saw him in such a state of excitement."
+
+"Then he's been here?"
+
+"Yes, since midnight."
+
+"Is he here now?"
+
+"No, he went away again."
+
+Patrice made a despairing gesture and asked:
+
+"Perhaps he left some one behind?"
+
+"No, but he intended to bring some one."
+
+"A lady?"
+
+M. Vacherot hesitated.
+
+"We know," Don Luis resumed, "that Simeon Diodokis was trying to find a
+place of safety in which to shelter a lady for whom he entertained the
+deepest respect."
+
+"Can you tell me the lady's name?" asked the porter, still on his guard.
+
+"Certainly, Mme. Essares, the widow of the banker to whom Simeon used to
+act as secretary. Mme. Essares is a victim of persecution; he is
+defending her against her enemies; and, as we ourselves want to help the
+two of them and to take this criminal business in hand, we must insist
+that you . . ."
+
+"Oh, well!" said M. Vacherot, now fully reassured. "I have known Simeon
+Diodokis for ever so many years. He was very good to me at the time when
+I was working for an undertaker; he lent me money; he got me my present
+job; and he used often to come and sit in my lodge and talk about heaps
+of things. . . ."
+
+"Such as relations with Essares Bey?" asked Don Luis, carelessly. "Or
+his plans concerning Patrice Belval?"
+
+"Heaps of things," said the porter, after a further hesitation. "He is
+one of the best of men, does a lot of good and used to employ me in
+distributing his local charity. And just now again he was risking his
+life for Mme. Essares."
+
+"One more word. Had you seen him since Essares Bey's death?"
+
+"No, it was the first time. He arrived a little before one o'clock. He
+was out of breath and spoke in a low voice, listening to the sounds of
+the street outside: 'I've been followed,' said he; 'I've been followed.
+I could swear it.' 'By whom?' said I. 'You don't know him,' said he. 'He
+has only one hand, but he wrings your neck for you.' And then he
+stopped. And then he began again, in a whisper, so that I could hardly
+hear: 'Listen to me, you're coming with me. We're going to fetch a lady,
+Mme. Essares. They want to kill her. I've hidden her all right, but
+she's fainted: we shall have to carry her. . . . Or no, I'll go alone.
+I'll manage. But I want to know, is my room still free?' I must tell
+you, he has a little lodging here, since the day when he too had to hide
+himself. He used to come to it sometimes and he kept it on in case he
+might want it, for it's a detached lodging, away from the other
+tenants."
+
+"What did he do after that?" asked Patrice, anxiously.
+
+"After that, he went away."
+
+"But why isn't he back yet?"
+
+"I admit that it's alarming. Perhaps the man who was following him has
+attacked him. Or perhaps something has happened to the lady."
+
+"What do you mean, something happened to the lady?"
+
+"I'm afraid something may have. When he first showed me the way we
+should have to go to fetch her, he said, 'Quick, we must hurry. To save
+her life, I had to put her in a hole. That's all very well for two or
+three hours. But, if she's left longer, she will suffocate. The want of
+air . . ."
+
+Patrice had leapt upon the old man. He was beside himself, maddened at
+the thought that Coralie, ill and worn-out as she was, might be at the
+point of death in some unknown place, a prey to terror and suffering.
+
+"You shall speak," he cried, "and this very minute! You shall tell us
+where she is! Oh, don't imagine that you can fool us any longer! Where
+is she? You know! He told you!"
+
+He was shaking M. Vacherot by the shoulders and hurling his rage into
+the old man's face with unspeakable violence.
+
+Don Luis, on the other hand, stood chuckling.
+
+"Splendid, captain," he said, "splendid! My best compliments! You're
+making real progress since I joined forces with you. M. Vacherot will go
+through fire and water for us now."
+
+"Well, you see if I don't make the fellow speak," shouted Patrice.
+
+"It's no use, sir," declared the porter, very firmly and calmly. "You
+have deceived me. You are enemies of M. Simeon's. I shall not say
+another word that can give you any information."
+
+"You refuse to speak, do you? You refuse to speak?"
+
+In his exasperation Patrice drew his revolver and aimed it at the man:
+
+"I'm going to count three. If, by that time, you don't make up your mind
+to speak, you shall see the sort of man that Captain Belval is!"
+
+The porter gave a start:
+
+"Captain Belval, did you say? Are you Captain Belval?"
+
+"Ah, old fellow, that seems to give you food for thought!"
+
+"Are you Captain Belval? Patrice Belval?"
+
+"At your service; and, if in two seconds from this you haven't told me
+. . ."
+
+"Patrice Belval! And you are M. Simeon's enemy? And you want to . . . ?"
+
+"I want to do him up like the cur he is, your blackguard of a Simeon
+. . . and you, his accomplice, with him. A nice pair of rascals! . . .
+Well, have you made up your mind?"
+
+"Unhappy man!" gasped the porter. "Unhappy man! You don't know what
+you're doing. Kill M. Simeon! You? You? Why, you're the last man who
+could commit a crime like that!"
+
+"What about it? Speak, will you, you old numskull!"
+
+"You, kill M. Simeon? You, Patrice? You, Captain Belval? You?"
+
+"And why not? Speak, damn it! Why not?"
+
+"You are his son."
+
+All Patrice's fury, all his anguish at the thought that Coralie was in
+Simeon's power or else lying in some pit, all his agonized grief, all
+his alarm: all this gave way, for a moment, to a terrible fit of
+merriment, which revealed itself in a long burst of laughter.
+
+"Simeon's son! What the devil are you talking about? Oh, this beats
+everything! Upon my word, you're full of ideas, when you're trying to
+save him! You old ruffian! Of course, it's most convenient: don't kill
+that man, he's your father. He my father, that putrid Simeon! Simeon
+Diodokis, Patrice Belval's father! Oh, it's enough to make a chap split
+his sides!"
+
+Don Luis had listened in silence. He made a sign to Patrice:
+
+"Will you allow me to clear up this business, captain? It won't take me
+more than a few minutes; and that certainly won't delay us." And,
+without waiting for the officer's reply, he turned to the old man and
+said slowly, "Let's have this out, M. Vacherot. It's of the highest
+importance. The great thing is to speak plainly and not to lose yourself
+in superfluous words. Besides, you have said too much not to finish your
+revelation. Simeon Diodokis is not your benefactor's real name, is it?"
+
+"No, that's so."
+
+"He is Armand Belval; and the woman who loved him used to call him
+Patrice?"
+
+"Yes, his son's name."
+
+"Nevertheless, this Armand Belval was a victim of the same murderous
+attempt as the woman he loved, who was Coralie Essares' mother?"
+
+"Yes, but Coralie Essares' mother died; and he did not."
+
+"That was on the fourteenth of April, 1895."
+
+"The fourteenth of April, 1895."
+
+Patrice caught hold of Don Luis' arm:
+
+"Come," he spluttered, "Coralie's at death's door. The monster has
+buried her. That's the only thing that matters."
+
+"Then you don't believe that monster to be your father?" asked Don Luis.
+
+"You're mad!"
+
+"For all that, captain, you're trembling! . . ."
+
+"I dare say, I dare say, but it's because of Coralie. . . . I can't even
+hear what the man's saying! . . . Oh, it's a nightmare, every word of
+it! Make him stop! Make him shut up! Why didn't I wring his neck?"
+
+He sank into a chair, with his elbows on the table and his head in his
+hands. It was really a horrible moment; and no catastrophe would have
+overwhelmed a man more utterly.
+
+Don Luis looked at him with feeling and then turned to the porter:
+
+"Explain yourself, M. Vacherot," he said. "As briefly as possible, won't
+you? No details. We can go into them later. We were saying, on the
+fourteenth of April, 1895 . . ."
+
+"On the fourteenth of April, 1895, a solicitor's clerk, accompanied by
+the commissary of police, came to my governor's, close by here, and
+ordered two coffins for immediate delivery. The whole shop got to work.
+At ten o'clock in the evening, the governor, one of my mates and I went
+to the Rue Raynouard, to a sort of pavilion or lodge, standing in a
+garden."
+
+"I know. Go on."
+
+"There were two bodies. We wrapped them in winding-sheets and put them
+into the coffins. At eleven o'clock my governor and my fellow-workmen
+went away and left me alone with a sister of mercy. There was nothing
+more to do except to nail the coffins down. Well, just then, the nun,
+who had been watching and praying, fell asleep and something happened
+. . . oh, an awful thing! It made my hair stand on end, sir. I shall
+never forget it as long as I live. My knees gave way beneath me, I shook
+with fright. . . . Sir, the man's body had moved. The man was alive!"
+
+"Then you didn't know of the murder at that time?" asked Don Luis. "You
+hadn't heard of the attempt?"
+
+"No, we were told that they had both suffocated themselves with gas.
+. . . It was many hours before the man recovered consciousness
+entirely. He was in some way poisoned."
+
+"But why didn't you inform the nun?"
+
+"I couldn't say. I was simply stunned. I looked at the man as he slowly
+came back to life and ended by opening his eyes. His first words were,
+'She's dead, I suppose?' And then at once he said, 'Not a word about all
+this. Let them think me dead: that will be better.' And I can't tell you
+why, but I consented. The miracle had deprived me of all power of will.
+I obeyed like a child. . . . He ended by getting up. He leant over the
+other coffin, drew aside the sheet and kissed the dead woman's face over
+and over again, whispering, 'I will avenge you. All my life shall be
+devoted to avenging you and also, as you wished, to uniting our
+children. If I don't kill myself, it will be for Patrice and Coralie's
+sake. Good-by.' Then he told me to help him. Between us, we lifted the
+woman out of the coffin and carried it into the little bedroom next
+door. Then we went into the garden, took some big stones and put them
+into the coffins where the two bodies had been. When this was done, I
+nailed the coffins down, woke the good sister and went away. The man had
+locked himself into the bedroom with the dead woman. Next morning the
+undertaker's men came and fetched away the two coffins."
+
+Patrice had unclasped his hands and thrust his distorted features
+between Don Luis and the porter. Fixing his haggard eyes upon the
+latter, he asked, struggling with his words:
+
+"But the graves? The inscription saying that the remains of both lie
+there, near the lodge where the murder was committed? The cemetery?"
+
+"Armand Belval wished it so. At that time I was living in a garret in
+this house. I took a lodging for him where he came and lived by stealth,
+under the name of Simeon Diodokis, since Armand Belval was dead, and
+where he stayed for several months without going out. Then, in his new
+name and through me, he bought his lodge. And, bit by bit, we dug the
+graves. Coralie's and his. His because, I repeat, he wished it so.
+Patrice and Coralie were both dead. It seemed to him, in this way, that
+he was not leaving her. Perhaps also, I confess, despair had upset his
+balance a little, just a very little, only in what concerned his memory
+of the woman who died on the fourteenth of April, 1895, and his devotion
+for her. He wrote her name and his own everywhere: on the grave and also
+on the walls, on the trees and in the very borders of the flower-beds.
+They were Coralie Essares' name and yours. . . . And for this, for all
+that had to do with his revenge upon the murderer and with his son and
+with the dead woman's daughter, oh, for these matters he had all his
+wits about him, believe me, sir!"
+
+Patrice stretched his clutching hands and his distraught face towards
+the porter:
+
+"Proofs, proofs, proofs!" he insisted, in a stifled voice. "Give me
+proofs at once! There's some one dying at this moment by that
+scoundrel's criminal intentions, there's a woman at the point of death.
+Give me proofs!"
+
+"You need have no fear," said M. Vacherot. "My friend has only one
+thought, that of saving the woman, not killing her. . . ."
+
+"He lured her and me into the lodge to kill us, as our parents were
+killed before us."
+
+"He is trying only to unite you."
+
+"Yes, in death."
+
+"No, in life. You are his dearly-loved son. He always spoke of you with
+pride."
+
+"He is a ruffian, a monster!" shouted the officer.
+
+"He is the very best man living, sir, and he is your father."
+
+Patrice started, stung by the insult:
+
+"Proofs," he roared, "proofs! I forbid you to speak another word until
+you have proved the truth in a manner admitting of no doubt."
+
+Without moving from his seat, the old man put out his arm towards an old
+mahogany escritoire, lowered the lid and, pressing a spring, pulled out
+one of the drawers. Then he held out a bundle of papers:
+
+"You know your father's handwriting, don't you, captain?" he said. "You
+must have kept letters from him, since the time when you were at school
+in England. Well, read the letters which he wrote to me. You will see
+your name repeated a hundred times, the name of his son; and you will
+see the name of the Coralie whom he meant you to marry. Your whole
+life--your studies, your journeys, your work--is described in these
+letters. And you will also find your photographs, which he had taken by
+various correspondents, and photographs of Coralie, whom he had visited
+at Salonica. And you will see above all his hatred for Essares Bey,
+whose secretary he had become, and his plans of revenge, his patience,
+his tenacity. And you will also see his despair when he heard of the
+marriage between Essares and Coralie and, immediately afterwards, his
+joy at the thought that his revenge would be more cruel when he
+succeeded in uniting his son Patrice with Essares' wife."
+
+As the old fellow spoke, he placed the letters one by one under the eyes
+of Patrice, who had at once recognized his father's hand and sat
+greedily devouring sentences in which his own name was constantly
+repeated. M. Vacherot watched him.
+
+"Have you any more doubts, captain?" he asked, at last.
+
+The officer again pressed his clenched fists to his temples:
+
+"I saw his face," he said, "above the skylight, in the lodge into which
+he had locked us. . . . It was gloating over our death, it was a face
+mad with hatred. . . . He hated us even more than Essares did. . . ."
+
+"A mistake! Pure imagination!" the old man protested.
+
+"Or madness," muttered Patrice.
+
+Then he struck the table violently, in a fit of revulsion:
+
+"It's not true, it's not true!" he exclaimed. "That man is not my
+father. What, a scoundrel like that! . . ."
+
+He took a few steps round the little room and, stopping in front of Don
+Luis, jerked out:
+
+"Let's go. Else I shall go mad too. It's a nightmare, there's no other
+word for it, a nightmare in which things turn upside down until the
+brain itself capsizes. Let's go. Coralie is in danger. That's the only
+thing that matters."
+
+The old man shook his head:
+
+"I'm very much afraid . . ."
+
+"What are _you_ afraid of?" bellowed the officer.
+
+"I'm afraid that my poor friend has been caught up by the person who was
+following him . . . and then how can he have saved Mme. Essares? The
+poor thing was hardly able to breathe, he told me."
+
+Hanging on to Don Luis' arm, Patrice staggered out of the porter's lodge
+like a drunken man:
+
+"She's done for, she must be!" he cried.
+
+"Not at all," said Don Luis. "Simeon is as feverishly active as
+yourself. He is nearing the catastrophe. He is quaking with fear and not
+in a condition to weigh his words. Believe me, your Coralie is in no
+immediate danger. We have some hours before us."
+
+"But Ya-Bon? Suppose Ya-Bon has laid hands upon him?"
+
+"I gave Ya-Bon orders not to kill him. Therefore, whatever happens,
+Simeon is alive. That's the great thing. So long as Simeon is alive,
+there is nothing to fear. He won't let your Coralie die."
+
+"Why not, seeing that he hates her? Why not? What is there in that man's
+heart? He devotes all his existence to a work of love on our behalf;
+and, from one minute to the next, that love turns to execration."
+
+He pressed Don Luis' arm and, in a hollow voice, asked:
+
+"Do you believe that he is my father?"
+
+"Simeon Diodokis is your father, captain," replied Don Luis.
+
+"Ah, don't, don't! It's too horrible! God, but we are in the valley of
+the shadow!"
+
+"On the contrary," said Don Luis, "the shadow is lifting slightly; and I
+confess that our talk with M. Vacherot has given me a little light."
+
+"Do you mean it?"
+
+But, in Patrice Belval's fevered brain, one idea jostled another. He
+suddenly stopped:
+
+"Simeon may have gone back to the porter's lodge! . . . And we sha'n't
+be there! . . . Perhaps he will bring Coralie back!"
+
+"No," Don Luis declared, "he would have done that before now, if it
+could be done. No, it's for us to go to him."
+
+"But where?"
+
+"Well, of course, where all the fighting has been . . . where the gold
+lies. All the enemy's operations are centered in that gold; and you may
+be sure that, even in retreat, he can't get away from it. Besides, we
+know that he is not far from Berthou's Wharf."
+
+Patrice allowed himself to be led along without a word. But suddenly Don
+Luis cried:
+
+"Did you hear?"
+
+"Yes, a shot."
+
+At that moment they were on the point of turning into the Rue Raynouard.
+The height of the houses prevented them from perceiving the exact spot
+from which the shot had been fired, but it came approximately from the
+Essares house or the immediate precincts. Patrice was filled with
+alarm:
+
+"Can it be Ya-Bon?"
+
+"I'm afraid so," said Don Luis, "and, as Ya-Bon wouldn't fire, some one
+must have fired a shot at him. . . . Oh, by Jove, if my poor Ya-Bon were
+to be killed . . . !"
+
+"And suppose it was at her, at Coralie?" whispered Patrice.
+
+Don Luis began to laugh:
+
+"Oh, my dear captain, I'm almost sorry that I ever mixed myself up in
+this business! You were much cleverer before I came and a good deal
+clearer-sighted. Why the devil should Simeon attack your Coralie,
+considering that she's already in his power?"
+
+They hurried their steps. As they passed the Essares house they saw that
+everything was quiet and they went on until they came to the lane, down
+which they turned.
+
+Patrice had the key, but the little door which opened on to the garden
+of the lodge was bolted inside.
+
+"Aha!" said Don Luis. "That shows that we're warm. Meet me on the quay,
+captain. I shall run down to Berthou's Wharf to have a look round."
+
+During the past few minutes a pale dawn had begun to mingle with the
+shades of night. The embankment was still deserted, however.
+
+Don Luis observed nothing in particular at Berthou's Wharf; but, when he
+returned to the quay above, Patrice showed him a ladder lying right at
+the end of the pavement which skirted the garden of the lodge; and Don
+Luis recognized the ladder as the one whose absence he had noticed from
+the recess in the yard. With that quick vision which was one of his
+greatest assets, he at once furnished the explanation:
+
+"As Simeon had the key of the garden, it was obviously Ya-Bon who used
+the ladder to make his way in. Therefore he saw Simeon take refuge there
+on returning from his visit to old Vacherot and after coming to fetch
+Coralie. Now the question is, did Simeon succeed in fetching Little
+Mother Coralie, or did he run away before fetching her? That I can't
+say. But, in any case . . ."
+
+Bending low down, he examined the pavement and continued:
+
+"In any case, what is certain is that Ya-Bon knows the hiding-place
+where the bags of gold are stacked and that it is there most likely that
+your Coralie was and perhaps still is, worse luck, if the enemy, giving
+his first thought to his personal safety, has not had time to remove
+her."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Look here, captain, Ya-Bon always carries a piece of chalk in his
+pocket. As he doesn't know how to write, except just the letters forming
+my name, he has drawn these two straight lines which, with the line of
+the wall, make a triangle . . . the golden triangle."
+
+Don Luis drew himself up:
+
+"The clue is rather meager. But Ya-Bon looks upon me as a wizard. He
+never doubted that I should manage to find this spot and that those
+three lines would be enough for me. Poor Ya-Bon!"
+
+"But," objected Patrice, "all this, according to you, took place before
+our return to Paris, between twelve and one o'clock, therefore."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then what about the shot which we have just heard, four or five hours
+later?"
+
+"As to that I'm not so positive. We may assume that Simeon squatted
+somewhere in the dark. Possibly at the first break of day, feeling
+easier and hearing nothing of Ya-Bon, he risked taking a step or two.
+Then Ya-Bon, keeping watch in silence, would have leaped upon him."
+
+"So you think . . ."
+
+"I think that there was a struggle, that Ya-Bon was wounded and that
+Simeon . . ."
+
+"That Simeon escaped?"
+
+"Or else was killed. However, we shall know all about it in a few
+minutes."
+
+He set the ladder against the railing at the top of the wall. Patrice
+climbed over with Don Luis' assistance. Then, stepping over the railing
+in his turn, Don Luis drew up the ladder, threw it into the garden and
+made a careful examination. Finally, they turned their steps, through
+the tall grasses and bushy shrubs, towards the lodge.
+
+The daylight was increasing rapidly and the outlines of everything were
+becoming clearer. The two men walked round the lodge, Don Luis leading
+the way. When he came in sight of the yard, on the street side, he
+turned and said: "I was right."
+
+And he ran forward.
+
+Outside the hall-door lay the bodies of the two adversaries, clutching
+each other in a confused heap. Ya-Bon had a horrible wound in the head,
+from which the blood was flowing all over his face. With his right hand
+he held Simeon by the throat.
+
+Don Luis at once perceived that Ya-Bon was dead and Simeon Diodokis
+alive.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+SIMEON GIVES BATTLE
+
+
+It took them some time to loosen Ya-Bon's grip. Even in death the
+Senegalese did not let go his prey; and his fingers, hard as iron and
+armed with nails piercing as a tiger's claws, dug into the neck of the
+enemy, 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, "that
+Ya-Bon did not have time to squeeze the breath out of you before you
+fired that shot. But I wouldn't chortle overmuch, if I were you. He
+might perhaps have spared you, whereas, now that Ya-Bon's dead, you can
+write to your family and book your seat below. _De profundis_,
+Diodokis!" And, giving way to his grief, he added, "Poor Ya-Bon! He
+saved me from a horrible death one day in Africa . . . and to-day he
+dies by my orders, so to speak. My poor Ya-Bon!"
+
+Assisted by Patrice, he carried the negro's corpse into the little
+bedroom next to the studio.
+
+"We'll inform the police this evening, captain, when the drama is
+finished. For the moment, it's a matter of avenging him and the
+others."
+
+He thereupon applied himself to making a minute inspection of the scene
+of 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 propped
+against the wall of the lodge and was contemplating in silence, with a
+fixed stare of hatred. Simeon! Simeon Diodokis, the execrable demon who,
+two days before, had hatched the terrible plot and, bending over the
+skylight, had laughed as he watched their awful agony! Simeon Diodokis,
+who, like a wild beast, had hidden Coralie in some hole, so that he
+might go back and torture her at his ease!
+
+He seemed to be in pain and to breathe with great difficulty. His
+wind-pipe had no doubt been injured by Ya-Bon's clutch. His yellow
+spectacles had fallen off during the fight. A pair of thick, grizzled
+eyebrows lowered about his heavy lids.
+
+"Search him, captain," said Don Luis.
+
+But, as Patrice seemed to shrink from the task, he himself felt in
+Simeon's jacket and produced a pocket-book, which he handed to the
+officer.
+
+It contained first of all a registration-card, in the name of Simeon
+Diodokis, Greek subject, with his photograph gummed to it. The
+photograph was a recent one, taken with the spectacles, the comforter
+and the long hair, and bore a police-stamp dated December, 1914. There
+was 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 of
+personal 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 the
+letters which he addressed to his friend Vacherot. Oh, it's too hideous
+to be true! What a man! What a scoundrel!"
+
+Simeon moved. His eyes opened and closed repeatedly. Then, coming to
+himself 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 at
+him 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 the
+death with Ya-Bon and closed his eyes again. But Patrice's rage
+increased:
+
+"Will you attend?" he shouted. "I won't wait any longer! It'll cost you
+your life if you don't answer!"
+
+The man's eyes opened again, red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He pointed to
+his throat to indicate his difficulty in speaking. At last, with a
+visible 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 between
+us: Ya-Bon's death, Coralie's perhaps. . . . Where is she? You must
+speak, or . . ."
+
+"Patrice, is it really you?" the man repeated, in a whisper.
+
+The familiarity exasperated the officer. He caught his adversary by the
+lapel of his jacket and shook him. But Simeon had seen the pocket-book
+which he held in his other hand and, without resisting Patrice's
+roughness, whined:
+
+"You wouldn't hurt me, Patrice. You must have found some letters; and
+you now know the link that binds us together. Oh, how happy I should
+have 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 any
+longer, 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 the
+two of us?"
+
+"I was mad, Patrice. Yes, I go mad at times. All these tragedies have
+turned my head. My own Coralie's death . . . and then my life in
+Essares' shadow . . . and then . . . and then, above all, the gold!
+. . . Did I really try to kill you both? I no longer remember. Or at
+least I remember a dream I had: it happened in the lodge, didn't it, as
+before? Oh, madness! What a torture! I'm like a man in the galleys. I
+have to do things against my will! . . . Then it was in the lodge, was
+it, as before? And in the same manner? With the same implements? . . .
+Yes, in my dream, I went through all my agony over again . . . and that
+of my darling. . . . But, instead of being tortured, I was the torturer
+. . . What a torment!"
+
+He spoke low, inside himself, with hesitations and intervals and an
+unspeakable air of suffering. Don Luis kept his eyes fixed on him, as
+though trying to discover what he was aiming at. And Simeon continued:
+
+"My poor Patrice! . . . I was so fond of you! . . . And now you are my
+worst enemy! . . . How indeed could it be otherwise? . . . How could
+you 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 since
+Coralie's death!"
+
+"Coralie!" exclaimed Patrice.
+
+"Yes, the woman I loved. . . . As for little Coralie, I've suffered also
+on 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 rest
+belongs 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 the
+bags of gold. To save her means surrendering the bags of gold."
+
+"Well?" said Patrice, in an almost aggressive tone.
+
+"Well, captain," replied Don Luis, not without a certain touch of
+banter in his voice, "if this honorable gentleman suggested that you
+should 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 of
+mental superiority and balance, when he sent us trundling down the road
+to Mantes, that it would be dangerous to attach the least credit to his
+promises. The consequence is . . ."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"This, captain, that the honorable gentleman means to propose a bargain
+to you, which may be couched thus: 'You can have Coralie, but I'll keep
+the gold.'"
+
+"And then?"
+
+"And then? It would be a capital notion, if you were alone with the
+honorable 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 a
+voice which became openly hostile:
+
+"I presume that you won't raise any opposition. It's a matter of a
+woman's life."
+
+"No doubt. But, on the other hand, it's a matter of three hundred
+million francs."
+
+"Then you refuse?"
+
+"Refuse? I should think so!"
+
+"You refuse when that woman is at her last gasp? You would rather she
+died? . . . Look here, you seem to forget that this is my affair, that
+. . . that . . ."
+
+The two men were standing close together. Don Luis retained that
+chaffing calmness, that air of knowing more than he chose to say, which
+irritated Patrice. At heart Patrice, while yielding to Don Luis'
+mastery, resented it and felt a certain embarrassment at accepting the
+services 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, I
+refuse this bargain, which I consider absurd. Why, it's the
+confidence-trick! By Jingo! Three hundred millions! Give up a windfall
+like that? Never. But I haven't the least objection to leaving you alone
+with the honorable gentleman. That's what he wants, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, talk it over between yourselves. Sign the compact. The honorable
+gentleman, who, for his part, has every confidence in his son, will tell
+you the whereabouts of the hiding-place; and you shall release your
+Coralie."
+
+"And you? What about you?" snarled Patrice, angrily.
+
+"I? I'm going to complete my little enquiry into the present and the
+past by revisiting the room where you nearly met your death. See you
+later, captain. And, whatever you do, insist on guarantees."
+
+Switching on his pocket-lamp, Don Luis entered the lodge and walked
+straight to the studio. Patrice saw the electric rays playing on the
+panels 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 given
+anything for a decisive word; and at the same time he was almost
+strangling 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 breathing
+was interrupted, as though Ya-Bon's hand were still clutching him by the
+throat, 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 on
+Coralie's head that you will not touch the gold and that no one shall
+know . . ."
+
+"I swear it on her head."
+
+"You swear it, yes; but the other one, your damned companion, he'll
+follow 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, because
+Coralie . . ."
+
+"Yes, but that man . . ."
+
+"Oh, Coralie first!"
+
+"What do you mean? Suppose he sees us? Suppose he takes the gold from
+us?"
+
+"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 longer
+counts . . . nor does hatred . . . nor love. . . . There's only the
+gold, 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 whom
+he had never detested with greater vehemence. He was imploring him with
+all the strength of his being. He would have shed tears had he thought
+that 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, to
+shut the door on him. The lock has been forced, but there are the two
+bolts; 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 he
+were not interfering, Coralie would be free. Do you accept?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not? Do you know what that man is? A highway robber . . . a wretch
+who has only one thought, to get hold of the millions. And you have
+scruples! 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't
+realize the position exactly! It's time you did, Patrice. Perhaps it's
+even too late."
+
+"Oh, don't say that!"
+
+"Yes, yes, you must learn the facts and take your share of the
+responsibility. When that damned negro was chasing me, I got rid of
+Coralie as best I could, intending to release her in an hour or two. And
+then . . . and then you know what happened. . . . It was eleven o'clock
+at night . . . nearly eight hours ago. . . . So work it out for yourself
+. . ."
+
+Patrice wrung his hands. Never had he imagined that a man could be
+tortured to such a degree. And Simeon continued, unrelentingly.
+
+"She can't breathe, on my soul she can't! . . . Perhaps just a very
+little air reaches her, but that is all. . . . Then again I can't tell
+that all that covers and protects her hasn't given way. If it has, she's
+suffocating . . . while you stand here arguing. . . . Look here, can it
+matter to you to lock up that man for ten minutes? . . . Only ten
+minutes, you know. And you still hesitate! Then it's you who are killing
+her, Patrice. Think . . . buried alive!"
+
+Patrice drew himself up. His resolve was taken. At that moment he would
+have shrunk from no act, however painful. And what Simeon asked was so
+little.
+
+"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 the
+door, bolt it and come back again."
+
+The officer entered the lodge with a firm step and walked through the
+hall. 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, shot
+both the bolts and hastened back. He felt relieved. The action was a
+base 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 he
+had 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 the
+graves.
+
+"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 on
+your 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 by
+Coralie. . . . May she die on the spot if you betray your oath!"
+
+He stopped. A spasm prevented his going any further until he had drawn a
+little air into his lungs. Nevertheless he went on talking:
+
+"I needn't worry, need I? Besides, you don't care about gold. That being
+so, 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, long
+agony for the officer, this slow crawl and this sort of embrace which he
+was compelled to adopt in order to effect Coralie's release. As he felt
+the contact of the detested man's body, he was more inclined to squeeze
+the life out of it. And yet a vile phrase kept recurring deep down
+within 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't
+you? For he would find our tracks otherwise and he would know that this
+is the place. . . ."
+
+"Let's hurry. . . . So Coralie is here? Down there? Buried? Oh, how
+horrible!"
+
+It seemed to Patrice as if each minute that passed meant more than an
+hour's delay and as if Coralie's safety might be jeopardized by a
+moment's hesitation or a single false step.
+
+He took every oath that was demanded of him. He swore upon Coralie's
+head. He pledged his word of honor. At that moment there was not an
+action which he would not have been ready to perform.
+
+Simeon knelt down on the grass, under the little temple, pointing with
+his finger:
+
+"It's there," he repeated. "Underneath that."
+
+"Under the tombstone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then the stone lifts?" asked Patrice, anxiously. "I can't lift it by
+myself. 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 manage
+quite 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 its
+inscription, "Here lie Patrice and Coralie," and pulled.
+
+The stone rose at the first endeavor, as if a counterweight had forced
+the other end down.
+
+"Wait," said the old man. "We must hold it in position, or it will fall
+down 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 enough
+to contain a man stooping. Patrice saw the iron bar and, propping up the
+stone with his shoulder, took the bar and set it up.
+
+"Good," said Simeon. "That will keep it steady. What you must now do is
+to lie down in the hollow. This was where my coffin was to have been and
+where I often used to come and lie beside my dear Coralie. I would
+remain for hours, flat on the ground, speaking to her. . . . We both
+talked. . . . Yes, I assure you, we used to talk. . . . Oh, Patrice!
+. . ."
+
+Patrice had bent his tall figure in the narrow space where he was hardly
+able to move.
+
+"What am I to do?" he asked.
+
+"Don't you hear your Coralie? There's only a partition-wall between
+you: a few bricks hidden under a thin layer of earth. And a door. The
+other 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 the
+grass:
+
+"The door's on the left. Farther than that. Can't you find it? That's
+odd. 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 than
+one."
+
+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 enormous
+block 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, at
+the sight of his danger. Simeon had taken up the iron bar and now struck
+him 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 few
+seconds.
+
+Simeon did not lose an instant. He knew that Patrice, wounded as he was
+bound to be and weakened by the posture to which he was condemned, was
+incapable of making the necessary effort to lift the lid of his tomb. On
+that side, therefore, there was no danger.
+
+He went back to the lodge and, though he walked with some difficulty, he
+had no doubt exaggerated his injuries, for he did not stop until he
+reached the door. He even scorned to obliterate his footprints and went
+straight ahead.
+
+On entering the hall he listened. Don Luis was tapping against the walls
+and 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 the
+door of the meter and, turning the key, released the gas, thus beginning
+again with Don Luis what he had failed to achieve with Patrice and
+Coralie.
+
+Not till then did he yield to the immense weariness with which he was
+overcome and allow himself to lie back in a chair for two or three
+minutes.
+
+His most terrible enemy also was now out of the way. But it was still
+necessary for him to act and ensure his personal safety. He walked round
+the lodge, looked for his yellow spectacles and put them on, went
+through the garden, opened the door and closed it behind him. Then he
+turned down the lane to the quay.
+
+Once more stopping, in front of the parapet above Berthou's Wharf, he
+seemed to hesitate what to do. But the sight of people passing, carmen,
+market-gardeners and others, put an end to his indecision. He hailed a
+taxi 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're
+in!"
+
+"Hush, no names!" he whispered, entering the lodge. "Has any one seen
+me?"
+
+"No. It's only half-past seven and the house is hardly awake. But, Lord
+forgive us, what have the scoundrels done to you? You look as if you had
+no 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 at
+what I said."
+
+"Where are they now?"
+
+"With Coralie. I was able to save her. I've handed her over to them. But
+it's not a question of her. Quick, I must see a doctor; there's no time
+to 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 de
+Montmorency, with no other house near it."
+
+"That's so, but haven't you heard? There are all sorts of rumors about
+him afloat: something to do with passports and forged certificates."
+
+"Never mind that."
+
+M. Vacherot hunted out the number in the directory and rang up the
+exchange. The line was engaged; and he wrote down the number on the
+margin of a newspaper. Then he telephoned again. The answer was that the
+doctor 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 surgical
+case."
+
+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? Can
+you leave it?"
+
+"Five minutes won't hurt."
+
+The lodge opened at the back on a small courtyard, which communicated
+with a long corridor. At the end of this passage was another yard, in
+which 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. The
+third had a door opening straight on a street that ran parallel with the
+Rue 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 victim
+fell in a heap, stone dead. Simeon flung aside the revolver and remained
+impassive, a little undecided as to his next step. He opened out his
+fingers, one by one, up to six, apparently counting the six persons of
+whom 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 flight
+and safety were assured.
+
+For the moment he was incapable of making the endeavor. His head
+whirled. His arms struck out at space. He fell into a faint, with a
+gurgle in his throat, his chest crushed under an unbearable weight.
+
+But, at a quarter to ten, with an effort of will, he picked himself up
+and, mastering himself and disregarding the pain, he went out by the
+other door of the house.
+
+At ten o'clock, after twice changing his taxi, he arrived at the
+Boulevard Montmorency, just at the moment when Dr. Geradec was alighting
+from his car and mounting the steps of the handsome villa in which his
+private hospital had been installed since the beginning of the war.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+SIMEON'S LAST VICTIM
+
+
+Dr. Geradec's hospital had several annexes, each of which served a
+specific purpose, grouped around it in a fine garden. The villa itself
+was used for the big operations. The doctor had his consulting-room here
+also; and it was to this room that Simeon Diodokis was first shown. But,
+after answering a few questions put to him by a male nurse, Simeon was
+taken to another room in a separate wing.
+
+Here he was received by the doctor, a man of about sixty, still young in
+his movements, clean-shaven and wearing a glass screwed into his right
+eye, which contracted his features into a constant grimace. He was
+wrapped from the shoulders to the feet in a large white operating-apron.
+
+Simeon explained his case with great difficulty, for he could hardly
+speak. A footpad had attacked him the night before, taken him by the
+throat and robbed him, leaving him half-dead in the road.
+
+"You have had time to send for a doctor since," said Dr. Geradec, fixing
+him with a glance.
+
+Simeon did not reply; and the doctor added:
+
+"However, it's nothing much. The fact that you are alive shows that
+there's no fracture. It reduces itself therefore to a contraction of the
+larynx, which we shall easily get rid of by tubing."
+
+He gave his assistant some instructions. A long aluminum tube was
+inserted in the patient's wind-pipe. The doctor, who had absented
+himself meanwhile, returned and, after removing the tube, examined the
+patient, who was already beginning to breathe with greater ease.
+
+"That's over," said Dr. Geradec, "and much quicker than I expected.
+There was evidently in your case an inhibition which caused the throat
+to shrink. Go home now; and, when you've had a rest, you'll forget all
+about it."
+
+Simeon asked what the fee was and paid it. But, as the doctor was seeing
+him to the door, he stopped and, without further preface, said:
+
+"I am a friend of Mme. Albonin's."
+
+The doctor did not seem to understand what he meant.
+
+"Perhaps you don't recognize the name," Simeon insisted. "When I tell
+you, however, that it conceals the identity of Mme. Mosgranem, I have no
+doubt that we shall be able to arrange something."
+
+"What about?" asked the doctor, while his face displayed still greater
+astonishment.
+
+"Come, doctor, there's no need to be on your guard. We are alone. You
+have sound-proof, double doors. Sit down and let's talk."
+
+He took a chair. The doctor sat down opposite him, looking more and more
+surprised. And Simeon proceeded with his statement:
+
+"I am a Greek subject. Greece is a neutral; indeed, I may say, a
+friendly country; and I can easily obtain a passport and leave France.
+But, for personal reasons, I want the passport made out not in my own
+name but in some other, which you and I will decide upon together and
+which will enable me, with your assistance, to go away without any
+danger."
+
+The doctor rose to his feet indignantly.
+
+Simeon persisted:
+
+"Oh, please don't be theatrical! It's a question of price, is it not? My
+mind is made up. How much do you want?"
+
+The doctor pointed to the door.
+
+Simeon raised no protest. He put on his hat. But, on reaching the door,
+he said:
+
+"Twenty thousand francs? Is that enough?"
+
+"Do you want me to ring?" asked the doctor, "and have you turned out?"
+
+Simeon laughed and quietly, with a pause after each figure:
+
+"Thirty thousand?" he asked. "Forty? . . . Fifty? . . . Oh, I see, we're
+playing a great game, we want a round sum. . . . All right. Only, you
+know, everything must be included in the price we settle. You must not
+only fix me up a passport so genuine that it can't be disputed, but you
+must guarantee me the means of leaving France, as you did for Mme.
+Mosgranem, on terms not half so handsome, by Jove! However, I'm not
+haggling. I need your assistance. Is it a bargain? A hundred thousand
+francs?"
+
+Dr. Geradec bolted the door, came back, sat down at his desk and said,
+simply:
+
+"We'll talk about it."
+
+"I repeat the question," said Simeon, coming closer. "Are we agreed at a
+hundred thousand?"
+
+"We are agreed," said the doctor, "unless any complications appear
+later."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that the figure of a hundred thousand francs forms a suitable
+basis for discussion, that's all."
+
+Simeon hesitated a second. The man struck him as rather greedy. However,
+he sat down once more; and the doctor at once resumed the conversation:
+
+"Your real name, please."
+
+"You mustn't ask me that. I tell you, there are reasons . . ."
+
+"Then it will be two hundred thousand francs."
+
+"Eh?" said Simeon, with a start. "I say, that's a bit steep! I never
+heard of such a price."
+
+"You're not obliged to accept," replied Geradec, calmly. "We are
+discussing a bargain. You are free to do as you please."
+
+"But, look here, once you agree to fix me up a false passport, what can
+it matter to you whether you know my name or not?"
+
+"It matters a great deal. I run an infinitely greater risk in assisting
+the escape--for that's the only word--of a spy than I do in assisting
+the escape of a respectable man."
+
+"I'm not a spy."
+
+"How do I know? Look here, you come to me to propose a shady
+transaction. You conceal your name and your identity; and you're in such
+a hurry to disappear from sight that you're prepared to pay me a hundred
+thousand francs to help you. And, in the face of that, you lay claim to
+being a respectable man! Come, come! It's absurd! A respectable man does
+not behave like a burglar or a murderer."
+
+Old Simeon did not wince. He slowly wiped his forehead with his
+handkerchief. He was evidently thinking that Geradec was a hardy
+antagonist and that he would perhaps have done better not to go to him.
+But, after all, the contract was a conditional one. There would always
+be time enough to break it off.
+
+"I say, I say!" he said, with an attempt at a laugh. "You are using big
+words!"
+
+"They're only words," said the doctor. "I am stating no hypothesis. I am
+content to sum up the position and to justify my demands."
+
+"You're quite right."
+
+"Then we're agreed?"
+
+"Yes. Perhaps, however--and this is the last observation I propose to
+make--you might let me off more cheaply, considering that I'm a friend
+of Mme. Mosgranem's."
+
+"What do you suggest by that?" asked the doctor.
+
+"Mme. Mosgranem herself told me that you charged her nothing."
+
+"That's true, I charged her nothing," replied the doctor, with a fatuous
+smile, "but perhaps she presented me with a good deal. Mme. Mosgranem
+was one of those attractive women whose favors command their own price."
+
+There was a silence. Old Simeon seemed to feel more and more
+uncomfortable in his interlocutor's presence. At last the doctor sighed:
+
+"Poor Mme. Mosgranem!"
+
+"What makes you speak like that?" asked Simeon.
+
+"What! Haven't you heard?"
+
+"I have had no letters from her since she left."
+
+"I see. I had one last night; and I was greatly surprised to learn that
+she was back in France."
+
+"In France! Mme. Mosgranem!"
+
+"Yes. And she even gave me an appointment for this morning, a very
+strange appointment."
+
+"Where?" asked Simeon, with visible concern.
+
+"You'll never guess. On a barge, yes, called the _Nonchalante_, moored
+at the Quai de Passy, alongside Berthou's Wharf."
+
+"Is it possible?" said Simeon.
+
+"It's as I tell you. And do you know how the letter was signed? It was
+signed Gregoire."
+
+"Gregoire? A man's name?" muttered the old man, almost with a groan.
+
+"Yes, a man's name. Look, I have the letter on me. She tells me that she
+is leading a very dangerous life, that she distrusts the man with whom
+her fortunes are bound up and that she would like to ask my advice."
+
+"Then . . . then you went?"
+
+"Yes, I was there this morning, while you were ringing up here.
+Unfortunately . . ."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I arrived too late. Gregoire, or rather Mme. Mosgranem, was dead. She
+had been strangled."
+
+"So you know nothing more than that?" asked Simeon, who seemed unable to
+get his words out.
+
+"Nothing more about what?"
+
+"About the man whom she mentioned."
+
+"Yes, I do, for she told me his name in the letter. He's a Greek, who
+calls himself Simeon Diodokis. She even gave me a description of him. I
+haven't read it very carefully."
+
+He unfolded the letter and ran his eyes down the second page, mumbling:
+
+"A broken-down old man. . . . Passes himself off as mad. . . . Always
+goes about in a comforter and a pair of large yellow spectacles. . . ."
+
+Dr. Geradec ceased reading and looked at Simeon with an air of
+amazement. Both of them sat for a moment without speaking. Then the
+doctor said:
+
+"You are Simeon Diodokis."
+
+The other did not protest. All these incidents were so strangely and, at
+the same time, so naturally interlinked as to persuade him that lying
+was useless.
+
+"This alters the situation," declared the doctor. "The time for trifling
+is past. It's a most serious and terribly dangerous matter for me, I can
+tell you! You'll have to make it a million."
+
+"Oh, no!" cried Simeon, excitedly. "Certainly not! Besides, I never
+touched Mme. Mosgranem. I was myself attacked by the man who strangled
+her, the same man--a negro called Ya-Bon--who caught me up and took me
+by the throat."
+
+"Ya-Bon? Did you say Ya-Bon?"
+
+"Yes, a one-armed Senegalese."
+
+"And did you two fight?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And did you kill him?"
+
+"Well . . ."
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders with a smile:
+
+"Listen, sir, to a curious coincidence. When I left the barge, I met
+half-a-dozen wounded soldiers. They spoke to me and said that they were
+looking for a comrade, this very Ya-Bon, and also for their captain,
+Captain Belval, and a friend of this officer's and a lady, the lady they
+were staying with. All these people had disappeared; and they accused a
+certain person . . . wait, they told me his name. . . . Oh, but this is
+more and more curious! The man's name was Simeon Diodokis. It was you
+they accused! . . . Isn't it odd? But, on the other hand, you must
+confess that all this constitutes fresh facts and therefore . . ."
+
+There was a pause. Then the doctor formulated his demand in plain tones:
+
+"I shall want two millions."
+
+This time Simeon remained impassive. He felt that he was in the man's
+clutches, like a mouse clawed by a cat. The doctor was playing with him,
+letting him go and catching him again, without giving him the least hope
+of escaping from this grim sport.
+
+"This is blackmail," he said, quietly.
+
+The doctor nodded:
+
+"There's no other word for it," he admitted. "It's blackmail. Moreover,
+it's a case of blackmail in which I have not the excuse of creating the
+opportunity that gives me my advantage. A wonderful chance comes within
+reach of my hand. I grab at it, as you would do in my place. What else
+is possible? I have had a few differences, which you know of, with the
+police. We've signed a peace, the police and I. But my professional
+position has been so much injured that I cannot afford to reject with
+scorn what you so kindly bring me."
+
+"Suppose I refuse to submit?"
+
+"Then I shall telephone to the headquarters of police, with whom I stand
+in great favor at present, as I am able to do them a good turn now and
+again."
+
+Simeon glanced at the window and at the door. The doctor had his hand on
+the receiver of the telephone. There was no way out of it.
+
+"Very well," he declared. "After all, it's better so. You know me; and
+I know you. We can come to terms."
+
+"On the basis suggested?"
+
+"Yes. Tell me your plan."
+
+"No, it's not worth while. I have my methods; and there's no object in
+revealing them beforehand. The point is to secure your escape and to put
+an end to your present danger. I'll answer for all that."
+
+"What guarantee have I. . . ?"
+
+"You will pay me half the money now and the other half when the business
+is done. There remains the matter of the passport, a secondary matter
+for me. Still, we shall have to make one out. In what name is it to be?"
+
+"Any name you like."
+
+The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, looking
+at Simeon between the phrases and muttering:
+
+"Gray hair. . . . Clean-shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . ."
+
+Then he stopped and asked:
+
+"But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That's essential, you
+know. I want bank-notes, real ones."
+
+"You shall have them."
+
+"Where are they?"
+
+"In a hiding-place that can't be got at."
+
+"Tell me where."
+
+"I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position,
+you'll never find it."
+
+"Well, go on."
+
+"Gregoire had the money in her keeping, four million francs. It's on
+board the barge. We'll go there together and I'll count you out the
+first million."
+
+"You say those millions are on board the barge?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And there are four of those millions?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I won't accept any of them in payment."
+
+"Why not? You must be mad!"
+
+"Why not? Because you can't pay a man with what already belongs to him."
+
+"What's that you're saying?" cried Simeon, in dismay.
+
+"Those four millions belong to me, so you can't offer them to me."
+
+Simeon shrugged his shoulders:
+
+"You're talking nonsense. For the money to belong to you, it must first
+be in your possession."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"And is it?"
+
+"It is."
+
+"Explain yourself, explain yourself at once!" snarled Simeon, beside
+himself with anger and alarm.
+
+"I will explain myself. The hiding-place that couldn't be got at
+consisted of four old books, back numbers of Bottin's directory for
+Paris and the provinces, each in two volumes. The four volumes were
+hollow inside, as though they had been scooped out; and there was a
+million francs in each of them."
+
+"You lie! You lie!"
+
+"They were on a shelf, in a little lumber-room next the cabin."
+
+"Well, what then?"
+
+"What then? They're here."
+
+"Here?"
+
+"Yes, here, on that bookshelf, in front of your nose. So, in the
+circumstances, you see, as I am already the lawful owner, I can't accept
+. . ."
+
+"You thief! You thief!" shouted Simeon, shaking with rage and clenching
+his fist. "You're nothing but a thief; and I'll make you disgorge. Oh,
+you dirty thief!"
+
+Dr. Geradec smiled very calmly and raised his hand in protest:
+
+"This is strong language and quite unjustified! quite unjustified! Let
+me remind you that Mme. Mosgranem honored me with her affection. One
+day, or rather one morning, after a moment of expansiveness, 'My dear
+friend,' she said--she used to call me her dear friend--'my dear friend,
+when I die'--she was given to those gloomy forebodings--'when I die, I
+bequeath to you the contents of my home!' Her home, at that moment, was
+the barge. Do you suggest that I should insult her memory by refusing to
+obey so sacred a wish?"
+
+Old Simeon was not listening. An infernal thought was awakening in him;
+and he turned to the doctor with a movement of affrighted attention.
+
+"We are wasting precious time, my dear sir," said the doctor. "What have
+you decided to do?"
+
+He was playing with the sheet of paper on which he had written the
+particulars required for the passport. Simeon came up to him without a
+word. At last the old man whispered:
+
+"Give me that sheet of paper. . . . I want to see . . ."
+
+He took the paper out of the doctor's hand, ran his eyes down it and
+suddenly leapt backwards:
+
+"What name have you put? What name have you put? What right have you to
+give me that name? Why did you do it?"
+
+"You told me to put any name I pleased, you know."
+
+"But why this one? Why this one?"
+
+"Can it be your own?"
+
+The old man started with terror and, bending lower and lower over the
+doctor, said, in a trembling voice:
+
+"One man alone, one man alone was capable of guessing . . ."
+
+There was a long pause. Then the doctor gave a little chuckle:
+
+"I know that only one man was capable of it. So let's take it that I'm
+the man."
+
+"One man alone," continued the other, while his breath once again seemed
+to fail him, "one man alone could find the hiding-place of the four
+millions in a few seconds."
+
+The doctor did not answer. He smiled; and his features gradually
+relaxed.
+
+In a sort of terror-stricken tone Simeon hissed out:
+
+"Arsene Lupin! . . . Arsene Lupin! . . ."
+
+"You've hit it in one," exclaimed the doctor, rising.
+
+He dropped his eye-glass, took from his pocket a little pot of grease,
+smeared his face with it, washed it off in a basin in a recess and
+reappeared with a clear skin, a smiling, bantering face and an easy
+carriage.
+
+"Arsene Lupin!" repeated Simeon, petrified. "Arsene Lupin! I'm in for
+it!"
+
+"Up to the neck, you old fool! And what a silly fool you must be! Why,
+you know me by reputation, you feel for me the intense and wholesome awe
+with which a decent man of my stamp is bound to inspire an old rascal
+like you . . . and you go and imagine that I should be ass enough to let
+myself be bottled up in that lethal chamber of yours! Mind you, at that
+very moment I could have taken you by the hair of the head and gone
+straight on to the great scene in the fifth act, which we are now
+playing. Only my fifth act would have been a bit short, you see; and I'm
+a born actor-manager. As it is, observe how well the interest is
+sustained! And what fun it was seeing the thought of it take birth in
+your old Turkish noddle! And what a lark to go into the studio, fasten
+my electric lamp to a bit of string, make poor, dear Patrice believe
+that I was there and go out and hear Patrice denying me three times and
+carefully bolting the door on . . . what? My electric lamp! That was all
+first-class work, don't you think? What do you say to it? I can feel
+that you're speechless with admiration. . . . And, ten minutes after,
+when you came back, the same scene in the wings and with the same
+success. Of course, you old Simeon, I was banging at the walled-up door,
+between the studio and the bedroom on the left. Only I wasn't in the
+studio: I was in the bedroom; and you went away quietly, like a good
+kind landlord. As for me, I had no need to hurry. I was as certain as
+that twice two is four that you would go to your friend M. Amedee
+Vacherot, the porter. And here, I may say, old Simeon, you committed a
+nice piece of imprudence, which got me out of my difficulty. No one in
+the porter's lodge: that couldn't be helped; but what I did find was a
+telephone-number on a scrap of newspaper. I did not hesitate for a
+moment. I rang up the number, coolly: 'Monsieur, it was I who telephoned
+to you just now. Only I've got your number, but not your address.' Back
+came the answer: 'Dr. Geradec, Boulevard de Montmorency.' Then I
+understood. Dr. Geradec? You would want your throat tubed for a bit,
+then the all-essential passport; and I came off here, without troubling
+about your poor friend M. Vacherot, whom you murdered in some corner or
+other to escape a possible give-away on his side. And I saw Dr. Geradec,
+a charming man, whose worries have made him very wise and submissive and
+who . . . lent me his place for the morning. I had still two hours
+before me. I went to the barge, took the millions, cleared up a few odds
+and ends and here I am!"
+
+He came and stood in front of the old man:
+
+"Well, are you ready?" he asked.
+
+Simeon, who seemed absorbed in thought, gave a start.
+
+"Ready for what?" said Don Luis, replying to his unspoken question.
+"Why, for the great journey, of course! Your passport is in order. Your
+ticket's taken: Paris to Hell, single. Non-stop hearse. Sleeping-coffin.
+Step in, sir!"
+
+The old man, tottering on his legs, made an effort and stammered:
+
+"And Patrice?"
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"I offer you his life in exchange for my own."
+
+Don Luis folded his arms across his chest:
+
+"Well, of all the cheek! Patrice is a friend; and you think me capable
+of abandoning him like that? Do you see me, Lupin, making more or less
+witty jokes upon your imminent death while my friend Patrice is in
+danger? Old Simeon, you're getting played out. It's time you went and
+rested in a better world."
+
+He lifted a hanging, opened a door and called out:
+
+"Well, captain, how are you getting on? Ah, I see you've recovered
+consciousness! Are you surprised to see me? No, no thanks, but please
+come in here. Our old Simeon's asking for you."
+
+Then, turning to the old man, he said:
+
+"Here's your son, you unnatural father!"
+
+Patrice entered the room with his head bandaged, for the blow which
+Simeon had struck him and the weight of the tombstone had opened his old
+wounds. He was very pale and seemed to be in great pain.
+
+At the sight of Simeon Diodokis he gave signs of terrible anger. He
+controlled himself, however. The two men stood facing each other,
+without stirring, and Don Luis, rubbing his hands, said, in an
+undertone:
+
+"What a scene! What a splendid scene? Isn't it well-arranged? The father
+and the son! The murderer and his victim! Listen to the orchestra! . . .
+A slight tremolo. . . . What are they going to do? Will the son kill his
+father or the father kill his son? A thrilling moment. . . . And the
+mighty silence! Only the call of the blood is heard . . . and in what
+terms! Now we're off! The call of the blood has sounded; and they are
+going to throw themselves into each other's arms, the better to strangle
+the life out of each other!"
+
+Patrice had taken two steps forward; and the movement suggested by Don
+Luis was about to be performed. Already the officer's arms were flung
+wide for the fight. But suddenly Simeon, weakened by pain and dominated
+by a stronger will than his own, let himself go and implored his
+adversary:
+
+"Patrice!" he entreated. "Patrice! What are you thinking of doing?"
+
+Stretching out his hands, he threw himself upon the other's pity; and
+Patrice, arrested in his onrush, stood perplexed, staring at the man to
+whom he was bound by so mysterious and strange a tie:
+
+"Coralie," he said, without lowering his hands, "Coralie . . . tell me
+where she is and I'll spare your life."
+
+The old man started. His evil nature was stimulated by the remembrance
+of Coralie; and he recovered a part of his energy at the possibility of
+wrong-doing. He gave a cruel laugh:
+
+"No, no," he answered. "Coralie in one scale and I in the other? I'd
+rather die. Besides, Coralie's hiding-place is where the gold is. No,
+never! I may just as well die."
+
+"Kill him then, captain," said Don Luis, intervening. "Kill him, since
+he prefers it."
+
+Once more the thought of immediate murder and revenge sent the red blood
+rushing to the officer's face. But the same hesitation unnerved him.
+
+"No, no," he said, in a low voice, "I can't do it."
+
+"Why not?" Don Luis insisted. "It's so easy. Come along! Wring his neck,
+like a chicken's, and have done with it!"
+
+"I can't."
+
+"But why? Do you dislike the thought of strangling him? Does it repel
+you? And yet, if it were a Boche, on the battlefield . . ."
+
+"Yes . . . but this man . . ."
+
+"Is it your hands that refuse? The idea of taking hold of the flesh and
+squeezing? . . . Here, captain, take my revolver and blow out his
+brains."
+
+Patrice accepted the weapon eagerly and aimed it at old Simeon. The
+silence was appalling. Old Simeon's eyes had closed and drops of sweat
+were streaming down his livid cheeks.
+
+At last the officer lowered his arm:
+
+"I can't do it," he said.
+
+"Nonsense," said Don Luis. "Get on with the work."
+
+"No. . . . No. . . ."
+
+"But, in Heaven's name, why not?"
+
+"I can't."
+
+"You can't? Shall I tell you the reason? You are thinking of that man as
+if he were your father."
+
+"Perhaps it's that," said the officer, speaking very low. "There's a
+chance of it, you know."
+
+"What does it matter, if he's a beast and a blackguard?"
+
+"No, no, I haven't the right. Let him die by all means, but not by my
+hand. I haven't the right."
+
+"You have the right."
+
+"No, it would be abominable! It would be monstrous!"
+
+Don Luis went up to him and, tapping him on the shoulder, said, gravely:
+
+"You surely don't believe that I should stand here, urging you to kill
+that man, if he were your father?"
+
+Patrice looked at him wildly:
+
+"Do you know something? Do you know something for certain? Oh, for
+Heaven's sake . . . !"
+
+Don Luis continued:
+
+"Do you believe that I would even encourage you to hate him, if he were
+your father?"
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Patrice. "Do you mean that he's not my father?"
+
+"Of course he's not!" cried Don Luis, with irresistible conviction and
+increasing eagerness. "Your father indeed! Why, look at him! Look at
+that scoundrelly head. Every sort of vice and violence is written on the
+brute's face. Throughout this adventure, from the first day to the last,
+there was not a crime committed but was his handiwork: not one, do you
+follow me? There were not two criminals, as we thought, not Essares, to
+begin the hellish business, and old Simeon, to finish it. There was only
+one criminal, one, do you understand, Patrice? Before killing Coralie
+and Ya-Bon and Vacherot the porter and the woman who was his own
+accomplice, he killed others! He killed one other in particular, one
+whose flesh and blood you are, the man whose dying cries you heard over
+the telephone, the man who called you Patrice and who only lived for
+you! He killed that man; and that man was your father, Patrice; he was
+Armand Belval! Now do you understand?"
+
+Patrice did not understand. Don Luis' words fell uncomprehended; not one
+of them lit up the darkness of Patrice's brain. However, one thought
+insistently possessed him; and he stammered:
+
+"_That_ was my father? I heard his voice, you say? Then it was _he_ who
+called to me?"
+
+"Yes, Patrice, your father."
+
+"And the man who killed him . . . ?"
+
+"Was this one," said Don Luis, pointing to Simeon.
+
+The old man remained motionless, wild-eyed, like a felon awaiting
+sentence of death. Patrice, quivering with rage, stared at him fixedly:
+
+"Who are you? Who are you?" he asked. And, turning to Don Luis, "Tell me
+his name, I beseech you. I want to know his name, before I destroy him."
+
+"His name? Haven't you guessed it yet? Why, from the very first day, I
+took it for granted! After all, it was the only possible theory."
+
+"But what theory? What was it you took for granted?" cried Patrice,
+impatiently.
+
+"Do you really want to know?"
+
+"Oh, please! I'm longing to kill him, but I must first know his name."
+
+"Well, then . . ."
+
+There was a long silence between the two men, as they stood close
+together, looking into each other's eyes. Then Lupin let fall these four
+syllables:
+
+"Essares Bey."
+
+Patrice felt a shock that ran through him from head to foot. Not for a
+second did he try to understand by what prodigy this revelation came to
+be merely an expression of the truth. He instantly accepted this truth,
+as though it were undeniable and proved by the most evident facts. The
+man was Essares Bey and had killed his father. He had killed him, so to
+speak, twice over: first years ago, in the lodge in the garden, taking
+from him all the light of life and any reason for living; and again the
+other day, in the library, when Armand Belval had telephoned to his son.
+
+This time Patrice was determined to do the deed. His eyes expressed an
+indomitable resolution. His father's murderer, Coralie's murderer, must
+die then and there. His duty was clear and precise. The terrible Essares
+was doomed to die by the hand of the son and the bridegroom.
+
+"Say your prayers," said Patrice, coldly. "In ten seconds you will be a
+dead man."
+
+He counted out the seconds and, at the tenth, was about to fire, when
+his enemy, in an access of mad energy proving that, under the outward
+appearance of old Simeon, there was hidden a man still young and
+vigorous, shouted with a violence so extraordinary that it made Patrice
+hesitate:
+
+"Very well, kill me! . . . Yes, let it be finished! . . . I am beaten: I
+accept defeat. But it is a victory all the same, because Coralie is dead
+and my gold is saved! . . . I shall die, but nobody shall have either
+one or the other, the woman whom I love or the gold that was my life.
+Ah, Patrice, Patrice, the woman whom we both loved to distraction is no
+longer alive . . . or else she is dying without a possibility of saving
+her now. If I cannot have her, you shall not have her either, Patrice.
+My revenge has done its work. Coralie is lost!"
+
+He had recovered a fierce energy and was shouting and stammering at the
+same time. Patrice stood opposite him, holding him covered with the
+revolver, ready to act, but still waiting to hear the terrible words
+that tortured him.
+
+"She is lost, Patrice!" Simeon continued, raising his voice still
+louder. "Lost! There's nothing to be done! And you will not find even
+her body in the bowels of the earth, where I buried her with the bags of
+gold. Under the tombstone? No, not such a fool! No, Patrice, you will
+never find her. The gold is stifling her. She's dead! Coralie is dead!
+Oh, the delight of throwing that in your face! The anguish you must be
+feeling! Coralie is dead! Coralie is dead!"
+
+"Don't shout so, you'll wake her," said Don Luis, calmly.
+
+The brief sentence was followed by a sort of stupor which paralyzed the
+two adversaries. Patrice's arms dropped to his sides. Simeon turned
+giddy and sank into a chair. Both of them, knowing the things of which
+Don Luis was capable, knew what he meant.
+
+But Patrice wanted something more than a vague sentence that might just
+as easily be taken as a jest. He wanted a certainty.
+
+"Wake her?" he asked, in a broken voice.
+
+"Well, of course!" said Don Luis. "When you shout too loud, you wake
+people up."
+
+"Then she's alive?"
+
+"You can't wake the dead, whatever people may say. You can only wake the
+living."
+
+"Coralie is alive! Coralie is alive!" Patrice repeated, in a sort of
+rapture that transfigured his features. "Can it be possible? But then
+she must be here! Oh, I beg of you, say you're in earnest, give me your
+word! . . . Or no, it's not true, is it? I can't believe it . . . you
+must be joking. . . ."
+
+"Let me answer you, captain, as I answered that wretch just now. You are
+admitting that it is possible for me to abandon my work before
+completing it. How little you know me! What I undertake to do I do.
+It's one of my habits and a good one at that. That's why I cling to it.
+Now watch me."
+
+He turned to one side of the room. Opposite the hanging that covered the
+door by which Patrice had entered was a second curtain, concealing
+another door. He lifted the curtain.
+
+"No, no, she's not there," said Patrice, in an almost inaudible voice.
+"I dare not believe it. The disappointment would be too great. Swear to
+me . . ."
+
+"I swear nothing, captain. You have only to open your eyes. By Jove, for
+a French officer, you're cutting a pretty figure! Why, you're as white
+as a sheet! Of course it's she! It's Little Mother Coralie! Look, she's
+in bed asleep, with two nurses to watch her. But there's no danger;
+she's not wounded. A bit of a temperature, that's all, and extreme
+weakness. Poor Little Mother Coralie! I never could have imagined her in
+such a state of exhaustion and coma."
+
+Patrice had stepped forward, brimming over with joy. Don Luis stopped
+him:
+
+"That will do, captain. Don't go any nearer. I brought her here, instead
+of taking her home, because I thought a change of scene and atmosphere
+essential. But she must have no excitement. She's had her share of that;
+and you might spoil everything by showing yourself."
+
+"You're right," said Patrice. "But are you quite sure . . . ?"
+
+"That she's alive?" asked Don Luis, laughing. "She's as much alive as
+you or I and quite ready to give you the happiness you deserve and to
+change her name to Mme. Patrice Belval. You must have just a little
+patience, that's all. And there is yet one obstacle to overcome,
+captain, for remember she's a married woman!"
+
+He closed the door and led Patrice back to Essares Bey:
+
+"There's the obstacle, captain. Is your mind made up now? This wretch
+still stands between you and your Coralie."
+
+Essares had not even glanced into the next room, as though he knew that
+there could be no doubt about Don Luis' word. He sat shivering in his
+chair, cowering, weak and helpless.
+
+"You don't seem comfortable," said Don Luis. "What's worrying you?
+You're frightened, perhaps? What for? I promise you that we will do
+nothing except by mutual consent and until we are all of the same
+opinion. That ought to cheer you up. We'll be your judges, the three of
+us, here and now. Captain Patrice Belval, Arsene Lupin and old Simeon
+will form the court. Let the trial begin. Does any one wish to speak in
+defense of the prisoner at the bar, Essares Bey? No one. The prisoner at
+the bar is sentenced to death. Extenuating circumstances? No notice of
+appeal? No. Commutation of sentence? No. Reprieve? No. Immediate
+execution? Yes. You see, there's no delay. What about the means of
+death? A revolver-shot? That will do. It's clean, quick work. Captain
+Belval, your bird. The gun's loaded. Here you are."
+
+Patrice did not move. He stood gazing at the foul brute who had done him
+so many injuries. His whole being seethed with hatred. Nevertheless, he
+replied:
+
+"I will not kill that man."
+
+"I agree, captain. Your scruples do you honor. You have not the right to
+kill a man whom you know to be the husband of the woman you love. It is
+not for you to remove the obstacle. Besides, you hate taking life. So do
+I. This animal is too filthy for words. And so, my good man, there's no
+one left but yourself to help us out of this delicate position."
+
+Don Luis ceased speaking for a moment and leant over Essares. Had the
+wretched man heard? Was he even alive? He looked as if he were in a
+faint, deprived of consciousness.
+
+Don Luis shook him by the shoulder.
+
+"The gold," moaned Essares, "the bags of gold . . ."
+
+"Oh, you're thinking of that, you old scoundrel, are you? You're still
+interested? The bags of gold are in my pocket . . . if a pocket can
+contain eighteen hundred bags of gold."
+
+"The hiding-place?"
+
+"Your hiding-place? It doesn't exist, so far as I'm concerned. I needn't
+prove it to you, need I, since Coralie's here? As Coralie was buried
+among the bags of gold, you can draw your own conclusion. So you're
+nicely done. The woman you wanted is free and, what is worse still, free
+by the side of the man whom she adores and whom she will never leave.
+And, on the other hand, your treasure is discovered. So it's all
+finished, eh? We are agreed? Come, here's the toy that will release
+you."
+
+He handed him the revolver. Essares took it mechanically and pointed it
+at Don Luis; but his arm lacked the strength to take aim and fell by his
+side.
+
+"Capital!" said Don Luis. "We understand each other; and the action
+which you are about to perform will atone for your evil life, you old
+blackguard. When a man's last hope is dispelled, there's nothing for it
+but death. That's the final refuge."
+
+He took hold of the other's hand and, bending Essares' nerveless fingers
+round the revolver, forced him to point it towards his own face.
+
+"Come," said he, "just a little pluck. What you've resolved to do is a
+very good thing. As Captain Belval and I refuse to disgrace ourselves by
+killing you, you've decided to do the job yourself. We are touched; and
+we congratulate you. But you must behave with courage. No resistance,
+come! That's right, that's much more like it. Once more, my compliments.
+It's very smart, your manner of getting out of it. You perceive that
+there's no room for you on earth, that you're standing in the way of
+Patrice and Coralie and that the best thing you can do is to retire. And
+you're jolly well right! No love and no gold! No gold, Simeon! The
+beautiful shiny coins which you coveted, with which you would have
+managed to secure a nice, comfortable existence, all fled, vanished! You
+may just as well vanish yourself, what?"
+
+Whether because he felt himself to be helpless or because he really
+understood that Don Luis was right and that his life was no longer worth
+living, Simeon offered hardly any resistance. The revolver rose to his
+forehead. The barrel touched his temple.
+
+At the touch of the cold steel he gave a moan:
+
+"Mercy!"
+
+"No, no, no!" said Don Luis. "You mustn't show yourself any mercy. And I
+won't help you either. Perhaps, if you hadn't killed my poor Ya-Bon, we
+might have put our heads together and sought for another ending. But,
+honestly, you inspire me with no more pity than you feel for yourself.
+You want to die and you are right. I won't prevent you. Besides, your
+passport is made out; you've got your ticket in your pocket. They are
+expecting you down below. And, you know, you need have no fear of being
+bored. Have you ever seen a picture of Hell? Every one has a huge stone
+over his tomb; and every one is lifting the stone and supporting it with
+his back, in order to escape the flames bursting forth beneath him. You
+see, there's plenty of fun. Well, your grave is reserved. Bath's ready,
+sir!"
+
+Slowly and patiently he had succeeded in slipping the wretched man's
+fore-finger under the handle, so as to bring it against the trigger.
+Essares was letting himself go. He was little more than a limp rag.
+Death had already cast its shadow upon him.
+
+"Mind you," said Don Luis, "you're perfectly free. You can pull the
+trigger if you feel like it. It's not my business. I'm not here to
+compel you to commit suicide, but only to advise you and to lend you a
+hand."
+
+He had in fact let go the fore-finger and was holding only the arm. But
+he was bearing upon Essares with all his extraordinary power of will,
+the will to seek destruction, the will to seek annihilation, an
+indomitable will which Essares was unable to resist. Every second death
+sank a little deeper into that invertebrate body, breaking up instinct,
+obscuring thought and bringing an immense craving for rest and inaction.
+
+"You see how easy it is. The intoxication is flying to your brain. It's
+an almost voluptuous feeling, isn't it? What a riddance! To cease
+living! To cease suffering! To cease thinking of that gold which you no
+longer possess and can never possess again, of that woman who belongs to
+another and offers him her lips and all her entrancing self! . . . You
+couldn't live, could you, with that thought on you? Then come on! . . ."
+
+Seized with cowardice, the wretch was yielding by slow degrees. He found
+himself face to face with one of those crushing forces, one of nature's
+forces, powerful as fate, which a man must needs accept. His head turned
+giddy and swam. He was descending into the abyss.
+
+"Come along now, show yourself a man. Don't forget either that you are
+dead already. Remember, you can't appear in this world again without
+falling into the hands of the police. And, of course, I'm there to
+inform them in case of need. That means prison and the scaffold. The
+scaffold, my poor fellow, the icy dawn, the knife . . ."
+
+It was over. Essares was sinking into the depths of darkness. Everything
+whirled around him. Don Luis' will penetrated him and annihilated his
+own.
+
+For one moment he turned to Patrice and tried to implore his aid. But
+Patrice persisted in his impassive attitude. Standing with his arms
+folded, he gazed with eyes devoid of pity upon his father's murderer.
+The punishment was well-deserved. Fate must be allowed to take its
+course. Patrice did not interfere.
+
+And Don Luis continued, unrelentingly and without intermission:
+
+"Come along, come along! . . . It's a mere nothing and it means eternal
+rest! . . . How good it feels, already! To forget! To cease fighting!
+. . . Think of the gold which you have lost. . . . Three hundred
+millions gone for ever! . . . And Coralie lost as well. Mother and
+daughter: you can't have either. In that case, life is nothing but a
+snare and a delusion. You may as well leave it. Come, one little effort,
+one little movement. . . ."
+
+That little movement the miscreant made. Hardly knowing what he did, he
+pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the room; and Essares fell
+forward, with his knees on the floor. Don Luis had to spring to one side
+to escape being splashed by the blood that trickled from the man's
+shattered head.
+
+"By Jove!" he cried. "The blood of vermin like that would have brought
+me ill-luck. And, Lord, what crawling vermin it is! . . . Upon my word,
+I believe that this makes one more good action I've done in my life and
+that this suicide entitles me to a little seat in Paradise. What say
+you, captain?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+FIAT LUX!
+
+
+On the evening of the same day, Patrice was pacing up and down the Quai
+de Passy. It was nearly six o'clock. From time to time, a tram-car
+passed, or some motor-lorry. There were very few people about on foot.
+Patrice had the pavement almost to himself.
+
+He had not seen Don Luis Perenna since the morning, had merely received
+a line in which Don Luis asked him to have Ya-Bon's body moved into the
+Essares' house and afterwards to meet him on the quay above Berthou's
+Wharf. The time appointed for the meeting was near at hand and Patrice
+was looking forward to this interview in which the truth would be
+revealed to him at last. He partly guessed the truth, but no little
+darkness and any number of unsolved problems remained. The tragedy was
+played out. The curtain had fallen on the villain's death. All was well:
+there was nothing more to fear, no more pitfalls in store for them. The
+formidable enemy was laid low. But Patrice's anxiety was intense as he
+waited for the moment when light would be cast freely and fully upon the
+tragedy.
+
+"A few words," he said to himself, "a few words from that incredible
+person known as Arsene Lupin, will clear up the mystery. It will not
+take him long. He will be gone in an hour. Will he take the secret of
+the gold with him, I wonder? Will he solve the secret of the golden
+triangle for me? And how will he keep the gold for himself? How will he
+take it away?"
+
+A motor-car arrived from the direction of the Trocadero. It slowed down
+and stopped beside the pavement. It must be Don Luis, thought Patrice.
+But, to his great surprise, he recognized M. Masseron, who opened the
+door and came towards him with outstretched hand:
+
+"Well, captain, how are you? I'm punctual for the appointment, am I not?
+But, I say, have you been wounded in the head again?"
+
+"Yes, an accident of no importance," replied Patrice. "But what
+appointment are you speaking of?"
+
+"Why, the one you gave me, of course!"
+
+"I gave you no appointment."
+
+"Oh, I say!" said M. Masseron. "What does this mean? Why, here's the
+note they brought me at the police-office: 'Captain Belval's compliments
+to M. Masseron. The problem of the golden triangle is solved. The
+eighteen hundred bags are at his disposal. Will he please come to the
+Quai de Passy, at six o'clock, with full powers from the government to
+accept the conditions of delivery. It would be well if he brought with
+him twenty powerful detectives, of whom half should be posted a hundred
+yards on one side of Essares' property and the other half on the other.'
+There you are. Is it clear?"
+
+"Perfectly clear," said Patrice, "but I never sent you that note."
+
+"Who sent it then?"
+
+"An extraordinary man who deciphered all those problems like so many
+children's riddles and who certainly will be here himself to bring you
+the solution."
+
+"What's his name?"
+
+"I sha'n't say."
+
+"Oh, I don't know about that! Secrets are hard to keep in war-time."
+
+"Very easy, on the contrary, sir," said a voice behind M. Masseron. "All
+you need do is to make up your mind to it."
+
+M. Masseron and Patrice turned round and saw a gentleman dressed in a
+long, black overcoat, cut like a frock-coat, and a tall collar which
+gave him a look of an English clergyman.
+
+"This is the friend I was speaking of," said Patrice, though he had some
+difficulty in recognizing Don Luis. "He twice saved my life and also
+that of the lady whom I am going to marry. I will answer for him in
+every respect."
+
+M. Masseron bowed; and Don Luis at once began, speaking with a slight
+accent:
+
+"Sir, your time is valuable and so is mine, for I am leaving Paris
+to-night and France to-morrow. My explanation therefore will be brief. I
+will pass over the drama itself, of which you have followed the main
+vicissitudes so far. It came to an end this morning. Captain Belval will
+tell you all about it. I will merely add that our poor Ya-Bon is dead
+and that you will find three other bodies: that of Gregoire, whose real
+name was Mme. Mosgranem, in the barge over there; that of one Vacherot,
+a hall-porter, in some corner of a block of flats at 18, Rue Guimard;
+and lastly the body of Simeon Diodokis, in Dr. Geradec's private
+hospital on the Boulevard de Montmorency."
+
+"Old Simeon?" asked M. Masseron in great surprise.
+
+"Old Simeon has killed himself. Captain Belval will give you every
+possible information about that person and his real identity; and I
+think you will agree with me that this business will have to be hushed
+up. But, as I said, we will pass over all this. There remains the
+question of the gold, which, if I am not mistaken, interests you more
+than anything else. Have you brought your men?"
+
+"Yes, I have. But why? The hiding-place, even after you have told me
+where it is, will be what it was before, undiscovered by those who do
+not know it."
+
+"Certainly; but, as the number of those who do know it increases, the
+secret may slip out. In any case that is one of my two conditions."
+
+"As you see, it is accepted. What is the other?"
+
+"A more serious condition, sir, so serious indeed that, whatever powers
+may have been conferred upon you, I doubt whether they will be
+sufficient."
+
+"Let me hear; then we shall see."
+
+"Very well."
+
+And Don Luis, speaking in a phlegmatic tone, as though he were telling
+the most unimportant story, calmly set forth his incredible proposal:
+
+"Two months ago, sir, thanks to my connection with the Near East and to
+my influence in certain Ottoman circles, I persuaded the clique which
+rules Turkey to-day to accept the idea of a separate peace. It was
+simply a question of a few hundred millions for distribution. I had the
+offer transmitted to the Allies, who rejected it, certainly not for
+financial reasons, but for reasons of policy, which it is not for me to
+judge. But I am not content to suffer this little diplomatic check. I
+failed in my first negotiation; I do not mean to fail in the second.
+That is why I am taking my precautions."
+
+He paused and then resumed, while his voice took on a rather more
+serious tone:
+
+"At this moment, in April, 1915, as you are well aware, conferences are
+in progress between the Allies and the last of the great European powers
+that has remained neutral. These conferences are going to succeed; and
+they will succeed because the future of that power demands it and
+because the whole nation is uplifted with enthusiasm. Among the
+questions raised is one which forms the object of a certain divergency
+of opinion. I mean the question of money. This foreign power is asking
+us for a loan of three hundred million francs in gold, while making it
+quite clear that a refusal on our part would in no way affect a decision
+which is already irrevocably taken. Well, I have three hundred millions
+in gold; I have them at my command; and I desire to place them at the
+disposal of our new allies. This is my second and, in reality, my only
+condition."
+
+M. Masseron seemed utterly taken aback:
+
+"But, my dear sir," he said, "these are matters quite outside our
+province; they must be examined and decided by others, not by us."
+
+"Every one has the right to dispose of his money as he pleases."
+
+M. Masseron made a gesture of distress:
+
+"Come, sir, think a moment. You yourself said that this power was only
+putting forward the question as a secondary one."
+
+"Yes, but the mere fact that it is being discussed will delay the
+conclusion of the agreement for a few days."
+
+"Well, a few days will make no difference, surely?"
+
+"Sir, a few hours _will_ make a difference."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"For a reason which you do not know and which nobody knows . . . except
+myself and a few people some fifteen hundred miles away."
+
+"What reason?"
+
+"The Russians have no munitions left."
+
+M. Masseron shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What had all this to do
+with the matter?
+
+"The Russians have no munitions left," repeated Don Luis. "Now there is
+a tremendous battle being fought over there, a battle which will be
+decided not many hours hence. The Russian front will be broken and the
+Russian troops will retreat and retreat . . . Heaven knows when they'll
+stop retreating! Of course, this assured, this inevitable contingency
+will have no influence on the wishes of the great power of which we are
+talking. Nevertheless, that nation has in its midst a very considerable
+party on the side of neutrality, a party which is held in check, but
+none the less violent for that. Think what a weapon you will place in
+its hands by postponing the agreement! Think of the difficulties which
+you are making for rulers preparing to go to war! It would be an
+unpardonable mistake, from which I wish to save my country. That is why
+I have laid down this condition."
+
+M. Masseron seemed quite discomforted. Waving his hands and shaking his
+head, he mumbled:
+
+"It's impossible. Such a condition as that will never be accepted. It
+will take time, it will need discussion. . . ."
+
+A hand was laid on his arm by some one who had come up a moment before
+and who had listened to Don Luis' little speech. Its owner had alighted
+from a car which was waiting some way off; and, to Patrice's great
+astonishment, his presence had aroused no opposition on the part of
+either M. Masseron or Don Luis Perenna. He was a man well-advanced in
+years, with a powerful, lined face.
+
+"My dear Masseron," he said, "it seems to me that you are not looking at
+the question from the right point of view."
+
+"That's what I think, monsieur le president," said Don Luis.
+
+"Ah, do you know me, sir?"
+
+"M. Valenglay, I believe? I had the honor of calling on you some years
+ago, sir, when you were president of the council."
+
+"Yes, I thought I remembered . . . though I can't say exactly . . ."
+
+"Please don't tax your memory, sir. The past does not concern us. What
+matters is that you should be of my opinion."
+
+"I don't know that I am of your opinion. But I consider that this makes
+no difference. And that is what I was telling you, my dear Masseron.
+It's not a question of knowing whether you ought to discuss this
+gentleman's conditions. It's a question of accepting them or refusing
+them without discussion. There's no bargain to be driven in the
+circumstances. A bargain presupposes that each party has something to
+offer. Now we have no offer to make, whereas this gentleman comes with
+his offer in his hand and says, 'Would you like three hundred million
+francs in gold? In that case you must do so-and-so with it. If that
+doesn't suit you, good-evening.' That's the position, isn't it,
+Masseron?"
+
+"Yes, monsieur le president."
+
+"Well, can you dispense with our friend here? Can you, without his
+assistance, find the place where the gold is hidden? Observe that he
+makes things very easy for you by bringing you to the place and almost
+pointing out the exact spot to you. Is that enough? Have you any hope of
+discovering the secret which you have been seeking for weeks and
+months?"
+
+M. Masseron was very frank in his reply:
+
+"No, monsieur le president," he said, plainly and without hesitation.
+
+"Well, then. . . ."
+
+And, turning to Don Luis:
+
+"And you, sir," Valenglay asked, "is it your last word?"
+
+"My last word."
+
+"If we refuse . . . good-evening?"
+
+"You have stated the case precisely, monsieur le president."
+
+"And, if we accept, will the gold be handed over at once?"
+
+"At once."
+
+"We accept."
+
+And, after a slight pause, he repeated:
+
+"We accept. The ambassador shall receive his instructions this
+evening."
+
+"Do you give me your word, sir?"
+
+"I give you my word."
+
+"In that case, we are agreed."
+
+"We are agreed. Now then! . . ."
+
+All these sentences were uttered rapidly. Not five minutes had elapsed
+since the former prime minister had appeared upon the scene. Nothing
+remained to do but for Don Luis to keep his promise.
+
+It was a solemn moment. The four men were standing close together, like
+acquaintances who have met in the course of a walk and who stop for a
+minute to exchange their news. Valenglay, leaning with one arm on the
+parapet overlooking the lower quay, had his face turned to the river and
+kept raising and lowering his cane above the sand-heap. Patrice and M.
+Masseron stood silent, with faces a little set.
+
+Don Luis gave a laugh:
+
+"Don't be too sure, monsieur le president," he said, "that I shall make
+the gold rise from the ground with a magic wand or show you a cave in
+which the bags lie stacked. I always thought those words, 'the golden
+triangle,' misleading, because they suggest something mysterious and
+fabulous. Now according to me it was simply a question of the space
+containing the gold, which space would have the shape of a triangle. The
+golden triangle, that's it: bags of gold arranged in a triangle, a
+triangular site. The reality is much simpler, therefore; and you will
+perhaps be disappointed."
+
+"I sha'n't be," said Valenglay, "if you put me with my face towards the
+eighteen hundred bags of gold."
+
+"You're that now, sir."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Exactly what I say. Short of touching the bags of gold, it would be
+difficult to be nearer to them than you are."
+
+For all his self-control, Valenglay could not conceal his surprise:
+
+"You are not suggesting, I suppose, that I am walking on gold and that
+we have only to lift up the flags of the pavement or to break down this
+parapet?"
+
+"That would be removing obstacles, sir, whereas there is no obstacle
+between you and what you are seeking."
+
+"No obstacle!"
+
+"None, monsieur le president, for you have only to make the least little
+movement in order to touch the bags."
+
+"The least little movement!" said Valenglay, mechanically repeating Don
+Luis' words.
+
+"I call a little movement what one can make without an effort, almost
+without stirring, such as dipping one's stick into a sheet of water, for
+instance, or . . ."
+
+"Or what?"
+
+"Well, or a heap of sand."
+
+Valenglay remained silent and impassive, with at most a slight shiver
+passing across his shoulders. He did not make the suggested movement. He
+had no need to make it. He understood.
+
+The others also did not speak a word, struck dumb by the simplicity of
+the amazing truth which had suddenly flashed upon them like lightning.
+And, amid this silence, unbroken by protest or sign of incredulity, Don
+Luis went on quietly talking:
+
+"If you had the least doubt, monsieur le president--and I see that you
+have not--you would dig your cane, no great distance, twenty inches at
+most, into the sand beneath you. You would then encounter a resistance
+which would compel you to stop. That is the bags of gold. There ought to
+be eighteen hundred of them; and, as you see, they do not make an
+enormous heap. A kilogram of gold represents three thousand one hundred
+francs. Therefore, according to my calculation, a bag containing
+approximately fifty kilograms, or one hundred and fifty-five thousand
+francs done up in rouleaus of a thousand francs, is not a very large
+bag. Piled one against the other and one on top of the other, the bags
+represent a bulk of about fifteen cubic yards, no more. If you shape the
+mass roughly like a triangular pyramid you will have a base each of
+whose sides would be three yards long at most, or three yards and a half
+allowing for the space lost between the rouleaus of coins. The height
+will be that of the wall, nearly. Cover the whole with a layer of sand
+and you have the heap which lies before your eyes . . ."
+
+Don Luis paused once more before continuing:
+
+"And which has been there for months, monsieur le president, safe from
+discovery not only by those who were looking for it, but also by
+accident on the part of a casual passer-by. Just think, a heap of sand!
+Who would dream of digging a hole in it to see what is going on inside?
+The dogs sniff at it, the children play beside it and make mudpies, an
+occasional tramp lies down against it and takes a snooze. The rain
+softens it, the sun hardens it, the snow whitens it all over; but all
+this happens on the surface, in the part that shows. Inside reigns
+impenetrable mystery, darkness unexplored. There is not a hiding-place
+in the world to equal the inside of a sand heap exposed to view in a
+public place. The man who thought of using it to hide three hundred
+millions of gold, monsieur le president, knew what he was about."
+
+The late prime minister had listened to Don Luis' explanation without
+interrupting him. When Don Luis had finished, Valenglay nodded his head
+once or twice and said:
+
+"He did indeed. But there is one man who is cleverer still."
+
+"I don't believe it."
+
+"Yes, there's the man who guessed that the heap of sand concealed the
+three hundred million francs. That man is a master, before whom we must
+all bow."
+
+Flattered by the compliment, Don Luis raised his hat. Valenglay gave him
+his hand:
+
+"I can think of no reward worthy of the service which you have done the
+country."
+
+"I ask for no reward," said Don Luis.
+
+"I daresay, sir, but I should wish you at least to be thanked by voices
+that carry more weight than mine."
+
+"Is it really necessary, monsieur le president?"
+
+"I consider it essential. May I also confess that I am curious to learn
+how you discovered the secret? I should be glad, therefore, if you would
+call at my department in an hour's time."
+
+"I am very sorry, sir, but I shall be gone in fifteen minutes."
+
+"No, no, you can't go like this," said Valenglay, with authority.
+
+"Why not, sir?"
+
+"Well, because we don't know your name or anything about you."
+
+"That makes so little difference!"
+
+"In peace-time, perhaps. But, in war-time, it won't do at all."
+
+"Surely, monsieur le president, you will make an exception in my case?"
+
+"An exception, indeed? What next?"
+
+"Suppose it's the reward which I ask, will you refuse me then?"
+
+"It's the only one which we are obliged to refuse you. However, you
+won't ask for it. A good citizen like yourself understands the
+constraints to which everybody is bound to submit. My dear Masseron,
+arrange it with this gentleman. At the department in an hour from now.
+Good-by till then, sir. I shall expect you."
+
+And, after a very civil bow, he walked away to his car, twirling his
+stick gaily and escorted by M. Masseron.
+
+"Well, on my soul!" chuckled Don Luis. "There's a character for you! In
+the twinkling of an eye, he accepts three hundred millions in gold,
+signs an epoch-making treaty and orders the arrest of Arsene Lupin!"
+
+"What do you mean?" cried Patrice, startled out of his life. "Your
+arrest?"
+
+"Well, he orders me to appear before him, to produce my papers and the
+devil knows what."
+
+"But that's monstrous!"
+
+"It's the law of the land, my dear captain. We must bow to it."
+
+"But . . ."
+
+"Captain, believe me when I say that a few little worries of this sort
+deprive me of none of the whole-hearted satisfaction which I feel at
+rendering this great service to my country. I wanted, during the war, to
+do something for France and to make the most of the time which I was
+able to devote to her during my stay. I've done it. And then I have
+another reward: the four millions. For I think highly enough of your
+Coralie to believe her incapable of wishing to touch this money . . .
+which is really her property."
+
+"I'll go bail for her over that."
+
+"Thank you. And you may be sure that the gift will be well employed. So
+everything is settled. I have still a few minutes to give you. Let us
+turn them to good account. M. Masseron is collecting his men by now. To
+simplify their task and avoid a scandal, we'll go down to the lower
+quay, by the sand-heap. It'll be easier for him to collar me there."
+
+"I accept your few minutes," said Patrice, as they went down the steps.
+"But first of all I want to apologize . . ."
+
+"For what? For behaving a little treacherously and locking me into the
+studio of the lodge? You couldn't help yourself: you were trying to
+assist your Coralie. For thinking me capable of keeping the treasure on
+the day when I discovered it? You couldn't help that either: how could
+you imagine that Arsene Lupin would despise three hundred million
+francs?"
+
+"Very well, no apologies," said Patrice, laughing. "But all my thanks."
+
+"For what? For saving your life and saving Coralie's? Don't thank me.
+It's a hobby of mine, saving people."
+
+Patrice took Don Luis' hand and pressed it firmly. Then, in a chaffing
+tone which hid his emotion, he said:
+
+"Then I won't thank you. I won't tell you that you rid me of a hideous
+nightmare by letting me know that I was not that monster's son and by
+unveiling his real identity. I will not tell you either that I am a
+happy man now that life is opening radiantly before me, with Coralie
+free to love me. No, we won't talk of it. But shall I confess to you
+that my happiness is still a little--what shall I say?--a little dim, a
+little timid? I no longer feel any doubt; but in spite of all, I don't
+quite understand the truth, and, until I do understand it, the truth
+will cause me some anxiety. So tell me . . . explain to me . . . I want
+to know . . ."
+
+"And yet the truth is so obvious!" cried Don Luis. "The most complex
+truths are always so simple! Look here, don't you understand anything?
+Just think of the way in which the problem is set. For sixteen or
+eighteen years, Simeon Diodokis behaves like a perfect friend, devoted
+to the pitch of self-denial, in short, like a father. He has not a
+thought, outside that of his revenge, but to secure your happiness and
+Coralie's. He wants to bring you together. He collects your photographs.
+He follows the whole course of your life. He almost gets into touch with
+you. He sends you the key of the garden and prepares a meeting.
+Then, suddenly, a complete change takes place. He becomes your
+inveterate enemy and thinks of nothing but killing the pair of you. What
+is there that separates those two states of mind? One fact, that's all,
+or rather one date, the night of the third of April and the tragedy that
+takes place that night and the following day at Essares' house. Until
+that date, you were Simeon Diodokis' son. After that date, you were
+Simeon Diodokis' greatest enemy. Does that suggest nothing to you? It's
+really curious. As for me, all my discoveries are due to this general
+view of the case which I took from the beginning."
+
+Patrice shook his head without replying. He did not understand. The
+riddle retained a part of its unfathomable secret.
+
+"Sit down there," said Don Luis, "on our famous sand-heap, and listen to
+me. It won't take me ten minutes."
+
+They were on Berthou's Wharf. The light was beginning to wane and the
+outlines on the opposite bank of the river were becoming indistinct. The
+barge rocked lazily at the edge of the quay.
+
+Don Luis expressed himself in the following terms:
+
+"On the evening when, from the inner gallery of the library, you
+witnessed the tragedy at Essares' house, you saw before your eyes two
+men bound by their accomplices: Essares Bey and Simeon Diodokis. They
+are both dead. One of them was your father. Let us speak first of the
+other. Essares Bey's position was a critical one that evening. After
+draining our gold currency on behalf of an eastern power, he was trying
+to filch the remainder of the millions of francs collected. The _Belle
+Helene_, summoned by the rain of sparks, was lying moored alongside
+Berthou's Wharf. The gold was to be shifted at night from the sand-bags
+to the motor-barge. All was going well, when the accomplices, warned by
+Simeon, broke in. Thereupon we have the blackmailing-scene, Colonel
+Fakhi's death and so on, with Essares learning at one and the same time
+that his accomplices knew of his schemes and his plan to pilfer the gold
+and also that Colonel Fakhi had informed the police about him. He was
+cornered. What could he do? Run away? But, in war-time, running away is
+almost impossible. Besides, running away meant giving up the gold and
+likewise giving up Coralie, which would never have done. So there was
+only one thing, to disappear from sight. To disappear from sight and yet
+to remain there, on the battlefield, near the gold and near Coralie.
+Night came; and he employed it in carrying out his plan. So much for
+Essares. We now come to Simeon Diodokis."
+
+Don Luis stopped to take breath. Patrice had been listening eagerly, as
+though each word had brought its share of light into the oppressive
+darkness.
+
+"The man who was known as old Simeon," continued Don Luis, "that is to
+say, your father, Armand Belval, a former victim, together with
+Coralie's mother, of Essares Bey, had also reached a turning-point of
+his career. He was nearly achieving his object. He had betrayed and
+delivered his enemy, Essares, into the hands of Colonel Fakhi and the
+accomplices. He had succeeded in bringing you and Coralie together. He
+had sent you the key of the lodge. He was justified in hoping that, in
+a few days more, everything would end according to his wishes. But, next
+morning, on waking, certain indications unknown to me revealed to him a
+threatening danger; and he no doubt foresaw the plan which Essares was
+engaged in elaborating. And he too put himself the same question: What
+was he to do? What was there for him to do? He must warn you, warn you
+without delay, telephone to you at once. For time was pressing, the
+danger was becoming definite. Essares was watching and hunting down the
+man whom he had chosen as his victim for the second time. You can
+picture Simeon possibly feeling himself pursued and locking himself into
+the library. You can picture him wondering whether he would ever be able
+to telephone to you and whether you would be there. He asks for you. He
+calls out to you. Essares hammers away at the door. And your father,
+gasping for breath, shouts, 'Is that you, Patrice? Have you the key?
+. . . And the letter? . . . No? . . . But this is terrible! Then you
+don't know' . . . And then a hoarse cry, which you hear at your end of
+the wire, and incoherent noises, the sound of an altercation. And then
+the lips gluing themselves to the instrument and stammering words at
+random: 'Patrice, the amethyst pendant . . . Patrice, I should so much
+have liked . . . Patrice, Coralie!' Then a loud scream . . . cries that
+grow weaker and weaker . . . silence, and that is all. Your father is
+dead, murdered. This time, Essares Bey, who had failed before, in the
+lodge, took his revenge on his old rival."
+
+"Oh, my unhappy father!" murmured Patrice, in great distress.
+
+"Yes, it was he. That was at nineteen minutes past seven in the morning,
+as you noted. A few minutes later, eager to know and understand, you
+yourself rang up; and it was Essares who replied, with your father's
+dead body at his feet."
+
+"Oh, the scoundrel! So that this body, which we did not find and were
+not able to find . . ."
+
+"Was simply made up by Essares, made up, disfigured, transformed into
+his own likeness. That, captain, is how--and the whole mystery lies in
+this--Simeon Diodokis, dead, became Essares Bey, while Essares Bey,
+transformed into Simeon Diodokis, played the part of Simeon Diodokis."
+
+"Yes," said Patrice, "I see, I understand."
+
+"As to the relations existing between the two men," continued Don Luis,
+"I am not certain. Essares may or may not have known before that old
+Simeon was none other than his former rival, the lover of Coralie's
+mother, the man in short who had escaped death. He may or may not have
+known that Simeon was your father. These are points which will never be
+decided and which, moreover, do not matter. What I do take for granted
+is that this new murder was not improvised on the spot. I firmly believe
+that Essares, having noticed certain similarities in height and figure,
+had made every preparation to take Simeon's place if circumstances
+obliged him to disappear. And it was easily done. Simeon Diodokis wore a
+wig and no beard. Essares, on the contrary, was bald-headed and had a
+beard. He shaved himself, smashed Simeon's face against the grate,
+mingled the hairs of his own beard with the bleeding mass, dressed the
+body in his clothes, took his victim's clothes for himself, put on the
+wig, the spectacles and the comforter. The transformation was complete."
+
+Patrice thought for a moment. Then he raised an objection:
+
+"Yes, that's what happened at nineteen minutes past seven. But something
+else happened at twenty-three minutes past twelve."
+
+"No, nothing at all."
+
+"But that clock, which stopped at twenty-three minutes past twelve?"
+
+"I tell you, nothing happened at all. Only, he had to put people off the
+scent. He had above all to avoid the inevitable accusation that would
+have been brought against the new Simeon."
+
+"What accusation?"
+
+"What accusation? Why, that he had killed Essares Bey, of course! A dead
+body is discovered in the morning. Who has committed the murder?
+Suspicion would at once have fallen on Simeon. He would have been
+questioned and arrested. And Essares would have been found under
+Simeon's mask. No, he needed liberty and facilities to move about as he
+pleased. To achieve this, he kept the murder concealed all the morning
+and arranged so that no one set foot in the library. He went three times
+and knocked at his wife's door, so that she should say that Essares Bey
+was still alive during the morning. Then, when she went out, he raised
+his voice and ordered Simeon, in other words himself, to see her to the
+hospital in the Champs-Elysees. And in this way Mme. Essares thought
+that she was leaving her husband behind her alive and that she was
+escorted by old Simeon, whereas actually she was leaving old Simeon's
+corpse in an empty part of the house and was escorted by her husband.
+Then what happened? What the rascal had planned. At one o'clock, the
+police, acting on the information laid by Colonel Fakhi, arrived and
+found themselves in the presence of a corpse. Whose corpse? There was
+not a shadow of hesitation on that point. The maids recognized their
+master; and, when Mme. Essares returned, it was her husband whom she saw
+lying in front of the fireplace at which he had been tortured the night
+before. Old Simeon, that is to say, Essares himself, helped to establish
+the identification. You yourself were taken in. The trick was played."
+
+"Yes," said Patrice, nodding his head, "that is how things must have
+gone. They all fit in."
+
+"The trick was played," Don Luis repeated, "and nobody could make out
+how it was done. Was there not this further proof, the letter written in
+Essares' own hand and found on his desk? The letter was dated at twelve
+o'clock on the fourth of April, addressed to his wife, and told her that
+he was going away. Better still, the trick was so successfully played
+that the very clues which ought to have revealed the truth merely
+concealed it. For instance, your father used to carry a tiny album of
+photographs in a pocket stitched inside his under-vest. Essares did not
+notice it and did not remove the vest from the body. Well, when they
+found the album, they at once accepted that most unlikely hypothesis:
+Essares Bey carrying on his person an album filled with photographs of
+his wife and Captain Belval! In the same way, when they found in the
+dead man's hand an amethyst pendant containing your two latest
+photographs and when they also found a crumpled paper with something on
+it about the golden triangle, they at once admitted that Essares Bey had
+stolen the pendant and the document and was holding them in his hand
+when he died! So absolutely certain were they all that it was Essares
+Bey who had been murdered, that his dead body lay before their eyes and
+that they must not trouble about the question any longer. And in this
+way the new Simeon was master of the situation. Essares Bey is dead,
+long live Simeon!"
+
+Don Luis indulged in a hearty laugh. The adventure struck him as really
+amusing.
+
+"Then and there," he went on, "Essares, behind his impenetrable mask,
+set to work. That very day he listened to your conversation with Coralie
+and, overcome with fury at seeing you bend over her, fired a shot from
+his revolver. But, when this new attempt failed, he ran away and played
+an elaborate comedy near the little door in the garden, crying murder,
+tossing the key over the wall to lay a false scent and falling to the
+ground half dead, as though he had been strangled by the enemy who was
+supposed to have fired the shot. The comedy ended with a skilful
+assumption of madness."
+
+"But what was the object of this madness?"
+
+"What was the object? Why, to make people leave him alone and keep them
+from questioning him or suspecting him. Once he was looked upon as mad,
+he could remain silent and unobserved. Otherwise, Mme. Essares would
+have recognized his voice at the first words he spoke, however cleverly
+he might have altered his tone. From this time onward, he is mad. He is
+an irresponsible being. He goes about as he pleases. He is a madman! And
+his madness is so thoroughly admitted that he leads you, so to speak, by
+the hand to his former accomplices and causes you to have them arrested,
+without asking yourself for an instant if this madman is not acting with
+the clearest possible sense of his own interest. He's a madman, a poor,
+harmless madman, one of those unfortunates with whom nobody dreams of
+interfering. Henceforth, he has only his last two adversaries to fight:
+Coralie and you. And this is an easy matter for him. I presume that he
+got hold of a diary kept by your father. At any rate, he knows every day
+of the one which you keep. From this he learns the whole story of the
+graves; and he knows that, on the fourteenth of April, Coralie and you
+are both going on a pilgrimage to those graves. Besides, he plans to
+make you go there, for his plot is laid. He prepares against the son and
+the daughter, against the Patrice and Coralie of to-day, the attempt
+which he once prepared against the father and the mother. The attempt
+succeeds at the start. It would have succeeded to the end, but for an
+idea that occurred to our poor Ya-Bon, thanks to which a new adversary,
+in the person of myself, entered the lists. . . . But I need hardly go
+on. You know the rest as well as I do; and, like myself, you can judge
+in all his glory the inhuman villain who, in the space of those
+twenty-four hours, allowed his accomplice Gregoire to be strangled,
+buried your Coralie under the sand-heap, killed Ya-Bon, locked me in the
+lodge, or thought he did, buried you alive in the grave dug by your
+father and made away with Vacherot, the porter. And now, Captain
+Belval, do you think that I ought to have prevented him from committing
+suicide, this pretty gentleman who, in the last resort, was trying to
+pass himself off as your father?"
+
+"You were right," said Patrice. "You have been right all through, from
+start to finish. I see it all now, as a whole and in every detail. Only
+one point remains: the golden triangle. How did you find out the truth?
+What was it that brought you to this sand-heap and enabled you to save
+Coralie from the most awful death?"
+
+"Oh, that part was even simpler," replied Don Luis, "and the light came
+almost without my knowing it! I'll tell it you in a few words. But let
+us move away first. M. Masseron and his men are becoming a little
+troublesome."
+
+The detectives were distributed at the two entrances to Berthou's Wharf.
+M. Masseron was giving them his instructions. He was obviously speaking
+to them of Don Luis and preparing to accost him.
+
+"Let's get on the barge," said Don Luis. "I've left some important
+papers there."
+
+Patrice followed him. Opposite the cabin containing Gregoire's body was
+another cabin, reached by the same companion-way. It was furnished with
+a table and a chair.
+
+"Here, captain," said Don Luis, taking a letter from the drawer of the
+table and settling it, "is a letter which I will ask you to . . . but
+don't let us waste words. I shall hardly have time to satisfy your
+curiosity. Our friends are coming nearer. Well, we were saying, the
+golden triangle . . ."
+
+He listened to what was happening outside with an attention whose real
+meaning Patrice was soon to understand. And, continuing to give ear, he
+resumed:
+
+"The golden triangle? There are problems which we solve more or less by
+accident, without trying. We are guided to a right solution by external
+events, among which we choose unconsciously, feeling our way in the
+dark, examining this one, thrusting aside that one and suddenly
+beholding the object aimed at. . . . Well, this morning, after taking
+you to the tombs and burying you under the stone, Essares Bey came back
+to me. Believing me to be locked into the studio, he had the pretty
+thought to turn on the gas-meter and then went off to the quay above
+Berthou's Wharf. Here he hesitated; and his hesitation provided me with
+a precious clue. He was certainly then thinking of releasing Coralie.
+People passed and he went away. Knowing where he was going, I returned
+to your assistance, told your friends at Essares' house and asked them
+to look after you. Then I came back here. Indeed, the whole course of
+events obliged me to come back. It was unlikely that the bags of gold
+were inside the conduit; and, as the _Belle Helene_ had not taken them
+off, they must be beyond the garden, outside the conduit and therefore
+somewhere near here. I explored the barge we are now on, not so much
+with the object of looking for the bags as with the hope of finding some
+unexpected piece of information and also, I confess, the four millions
+in Gregoire's possession. Well, when I start exploring a place where I
+fail to find what I want, I always remember that capital story of Edgar
+Allan Poe's, _The Purloined Letter_. Do you recollect? The stolen
+diplomatic document which was known to be hidden in a certain room. The
+police investigate every nook and corner of the room and take up all the
+boards of the floor, without results. But Dupin arrives and almost
+immediately goes to a card-rack dangling from a little brass knob on the
+wall and containing a solitary soiled and crumpled letter. This is the
+document of which he was in search. Well, I instinctively adopted the
+same process. I looked where no one would dream of looking, in places
+which do not constitute a hiding-place because it would really be too
+easy to discover. This gave me the idea of turning the pages of four old
+directories standing in a row on that shelf. The four millions were
+there. And I knew all that I wanted to know."
+
+"About what?"
+
+"About Essares' temperament, his habits, the extent of his attainments,
+his notion of a good hiding-place. We had plunged on the expectation of
+meeting with difficulties; we ought to have looked at the outside, to
+have looked at the surface of things. I was assisted by two further
+clues. I had noticed that the uprights of the ladder which Ya-Bon must
+have taken from here had a few grains of sand on them. Lastly, I
+remembered that Ya-Bon had drawn a triangle on the pavement with a piece
+of chalk and that this triangle had only two sides, the third side being
+formed by the foot of the wall. Why this detail? Why not a third line in
+chalk? . . . To make a long story short, I lit a cigarette, sat down
+upstairs, on the deck of the barge, and, looking round me, said to
+myself, 'Lupin, my son, five minutes and no more.' When I say, 'Lupin,
+my son,' I simply can't resist myself. By the time I had smoked a
+quarter of the cigarette, I was there."
+
+"You had found out?"
+
+"I had found out. I can't say which of the factors at my disposal
+kindled the spark. No doubt it was all of them together. It's a rather
+complicated psychological operation, you know, like a chemical
+experiment. The correct idea is formed suddenly by mysterious reactions
+and combinations among the elements in which it existed in a potential
+stage. And then I was carrying within myself an intuitive principle, a
+very special incentive which obliged me, which inevitably compelled me,
+to discover the hiding-place: Little Mother Coralie was there! I knew
+for certain that failure on my part, prolonged weakness or hesitation
+would mean her destruction. There was a woman there, within a radius of
+a dozen yards or so. I had to find out and I found out. The spark was
+kindled. The elements combined. And I made straight for the sand-heap. I
+at once saw the marks of footsteps and, almost at the top, the signs of
+a slight stamping. I started digging. You can imagine my excitement when
+I first touched one of the bags. But I had no time for excitement. I
+shifted a few bags. Coralie was there, unconscious, hardly protected
+from the sand which was slowly stifling her, trickling through, stopping
+up her eyes, suffocating her. I needn't tell you more, need I? The wharf
+was deserted, as usual. I got her out. I hailed a taxi. I first took her
+home. Then I turned my attention to Essares, to Vacherot the porter;
+and, when I had discovered our enemy's plans, I went and made my
+arrangements with Dr. Geradec. Lastly, I had you moved to the private
+hospital on the Boulevard de Montmorency and gave orders for Coralie to
+be taken there too. And there you are, captain! All done in three hours.
+When the doctor's car brought me back to the hospital, Essares arrived
+at the same time, to have his injuries seen to. I had him safe."
+
+Don Luis ceased speaking. There were no words necessary between the two
+men. One had done the other the greatest services which a man has it in
+his power to render; and the other knew that these were services for
+which no thanks are adequate. And he also knew that he would never have
+an opportunity to prove his gratitude. Don Luis was in a manner above
+those proofs, owing to the mere fact that they were impossible. There
+was no service to be rendered to a man like him, disposing of his
+resources and performing miracles with the same ease with which we
+perform the trivial actions of everyday life.
+
+Patrice once again pressed his hand warmly, without a word. Don Luis
+accepted the homage of this silent emotion and said:
+
+"If ever people talk of Arsene Lupin before you, captain, say a good
+word for him, won't you? He deserves it." And he added, with a laugh,
+"It's funny, but, as I get on in life, I find myself caring about my
+reputation. The devil was old, the devil a monk would be!"
+
+He pricked up his ears and, after a moment, said:
+
+"Captain, it is time for us to part. Present my respects to Little
+Mother Coralie. I shall not have known her, so to speak, and she will
+not know me. It is better so. Good-by, captain."
+
+"Then we are taking leave of each other?"
+
+"Yes, I hear M. Masseron. Go to him, will you, and have the kindness to
+bring him here?"
+
+Patrice hesitated. Why was Don Luis sending him to meet M. Masseron? Was
+it so that he, Patrice, might intervene in his favor?
+
+The idea appealed to him; and he ran up the companion-way.
+
+Then a thing happened which Patrice was destined never to understand,
+something very quick and quite inexplicable. It was as though a long and
+gloomy adventure were to finish suddenly with melodramatic
+unexpectedness.
+
+Patrice met M. Masseron on the deck of the barge.
+
+"Is your friend here?" asked the magistrate.
+
+"Yes. But one word first: you don't mean to . . . ?"
+
+"Have no fear. We shall do him no harm, on the contrary."
+
+The answer was so definite that the officer could find nothing more to
+say. M. Masseron went down first, with Patrice following him.
+
+"Hullo!" said Patrice. "I left the cabin-door open!"
+
+He pushed the door. It opened. But Don Luis was no longer in the cabin.
+
+Immediate enquiries showed that no one had seen him go, neither the men
+remaining on the wharf nor those who had already crossed the gangway.
+
+"When you have time to examine this barge thoroughly," said Patrice,
+"I've no doubt you will find it pretty nicely faked."
+
+"So your friend has probably escaped through some trap-door and swum
+away?" asked M. Masseron, who seemed greatly annoyed.
+
+"I expect so," said Patrice, laughing. "Unless he's gone off on a
+submarine!"
+
+"A submarine in the Seine?"
+
+"Why not? I don't believe that there's any limit to my friend's
+resourcefulness and determination."
+
+But what completely dumbfounded M. Masseron was the discovery, on the
+table, of a letter directed to himself, the letter which Don Luis had
+placed there at the beginning of his interview with Patrice.
+
+"Then he knew that I should come here? He foresaw, even before we met,
+that I should ask him to fulfil certain formalities?"
+
+The letter ran as follows:
+
+      "_Sir_,
+
+      "Forgive my departure and believe that I, on my side,
+      quite understand the reason that brings you here. My
+      position is not in fact regular; and you are entitled
+      to ask me for an explanation. I will give you that
+      explanation some day or other. You will then see that,
+      if I serve France in a manner of my own, that manner
+      is not a bad one and that my country will owe me some
+      gratitude for the immense services, if I may venture
+      to use the word, which I have done her during this
+      war. On the day of our interview, I should like you to
+      thank me, sir. You will then--for I know your secret
+      ambition--be prefect of police. Perhaps I shall even
+      be able personally to forward a nomination which I
+      consider well-deserved. I will exert myself in that
+      direction without delay.
+
+      "I have the honor to be, etc."
+
+M. Masseron remained silent for a time.
+
+"A strange character!" he said, at last. "Had he been willing, we should
+have given him great things to do. That was what I was instructed to
+tell him."
+
+"You may be sure, sir," said Patrice, "that the things which he is
+actually doing are greater still." And he added, "A strange character,
+as you say. And stranger still, more powerful and more extraordinary
+than you can imagine. If each of the allied nations had had three or
+four men of his stamp at its disposal, the war would have been over in
+six months."
+
+"I quite agree," said M. Masseron. "Only those men are usually solitary,
+intractable people, who act solely upon their own judgment and refuse to
+accept any authority. I'll tell you what: they're something like that
+famous adventurer who, a few years ago, compelled the Kaiser to visit
+him in prison and obtain his release . . . and afterwards, owing to a
+disappointment in love, threw himself into the sea from the cliffs at
+Capri."
+
+"Who was that?"
+
+"Oh, you know the fellow's name as well as I do! . . . Lupin, that's it:
+Arsene Lupin."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the
+original edition have been corrected.
+
+In Chapter II, a missing quotation mark was added before "Why, what's
+the matter?"
+
+In Chapter III, "never uttered a compaint" was changed to "never uttered
+a complaint".
+
+In Chapter V, "Bourney turned this fifth rose" was changed to "Bournef
+turned this fifth rose", and "bending over her huband" was changed to
+"bending over her husband".
+
+In Chapter VI, "Is Mmme. Essares ill" was changed to "Is Mme. Essares
+ill".
+
+In Chapter VIII, missing quotation marks were added after "Oh, Patrice!
+. . . Patrice! . . ." and "Help! . . . Help! . . .".
+
+In Chapter X, "They do, howover, throw" was changed to "They do,
+however, throw", "Simeon keeps his own council" was changed to "Simeon
+keeps his own counsel", and a quotation mark was removed after "And who
+could defend her?".
+
+In Chapter XIII, a quotation mark was removed after "what could they do
+to ward it off?", and "he shook his first at the invisible enemy" was
+changed to "he shook his fist at the invisible enemy".
+
+In Chapter XV, a quotation mark was removed before "There was a brief
+silence".
+
+In Chapter XVI, "your're trembling" was changed to "you're trembling".
+
+In Chapter XVII, "and then, above all, the gold! . ." was changed to
+"and then, above all, the gold! . . .", "How indeed could it be
+otherwise? . ." was changed to "How indeed could it be otherwise?
+. . .", and a missing quotation mark was added before "But what a state
+you're in!"
+
+In Chapter XVIII, "Gray hair . . ." was changed to "Gray hair. . . .",
+"Gregoire had the money in his keeping" was changed to "Gregoire had the
+money in her keeping", and "suddenly leapt backwords" was changed to
+"suddenly leapt backwards".
+
+In Chapter XIX, "Rue Guimart" was changed to "Rue Guimard", "which
+stoppd at twenty-three minutes past twelve" was changed to "which
+stopped at twenty-three minutes past twelve", and "to discovered the
+hiding-place" was changed to "to discover the hiding-place".
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE ***
+
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