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diff --git a/34795-h/34795-h.htm b/34795-h/34795-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8de07f --- /dev/null +++ b/34795-h/34795-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12274 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Golden Triangle, by Maurice Le Blanc</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr.wide { width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.thin { width: 45%; margin-top: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 1.25em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .bigtext {font-size: 120%;} + .smalltext {font-size: 80%;} + .signature {text-align: right; font-variant: small-caps;} + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align: center; + margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + + .chapnum {text-align: right;} + .chapname {text-align: left; font-variant: small-caps; + padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 3em;} + .newchapter {margin-top: 4em;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Golden Triangle<br /> + The Return of Arsène Lupin</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Maurice Leblanc</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 30, 2010 [eBook #34795]<br /> +[Most recently updated: November 11, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="350" height="533" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/front.jpg" width="350" height="547" alt="“Send Coralie up by herself and her life shall be saved,” read the scroll" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="caption">“Send Coralie up by herself and her life shall be saved,” +read the scroll (Page <a href="#scroll">205</a>)</p> + +<h1>THE<br /> +GOLDEN TRIANGLE</h1> + +<p class="center bigtext"><i>The Return of Arsène Lupin</i></p> + +<p class="center">BY<br /> +<span class="bigtext">MAURICE LE BLANC</span></p> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF “THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY,” “CONFESSIONS OF +ARSÈNE LUPIN,” ETC.</p> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +THE MACAULAY COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1917<br /> +By The Macaulay Company</span></p> + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table class="figcenter" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum smalltext">CHAPTER</td> +<td class="chapname smalltext"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">I.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Coralie</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">II.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Right Hand and Left Leg</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">III.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The Rusty Key</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IV.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Before the Flames</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">V.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Husband and Wife</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VI.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Nineteen Minutes Past Seven</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Twenty-three Minutes Past Twelve</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">VIII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Essarès Bey’s Work</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">IX.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Patrice and Coralie</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">X.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Red Cord</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XI.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">On the Brink</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">In the Abyss</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">The Nails in the Coffin</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIV.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">A Strange Character</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XV.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Belle Hélène</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVI.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Fourth Act</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Siméon Gives Battle</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XVIII.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Siméon’s Last Victim</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="chapnum">XIX.</td> +<td class="chapname"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Fiat Lux!</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a></span></p> + +<h2>THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE</h2> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +<span class="smalltext">CORALIE</span></h2> + +<p>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 Musée Galliéra, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Almost at the same time two more soldiers came out of the Rue Galliéra. +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a></span> sported a Zouave’s <i>chechia</i>, the other +an artilleryman’s <i>képi</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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-Élysées, which he went up, taking the left pavement.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Here she comes,” said the officer.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At this moment there was nobody in sight, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a></span>“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!”</p> + +<p>He supported the girl with his arm. She was trembling all over and +seemed ready to faint.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be frightened, Little Mother Coralie,” he said, very anxiously. +“It’s I, Captain Belval, Patrice Belval.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, it’s you, captain!” she stammered.</p> + +<p>“Yes; all your friends have gathered round to defend you, all your old +patients from the hospital, whom I found in the convalescent home.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Thank you.” And she added, in a quivering voice, “The +others? Those two men?”</p> + +<p>“Run away. Ya-Bon’s gone after them.”</p> + +<p>“But what did they want with me? And what miracle brought you all here?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” he said.</p> + +<p>She dropped into a chair; and the captain at once gave his orders:</p> + +<p>“You, Poulard, go and fetch a glass in the dining-room. And you, Ribrac, +draw a jug of cold water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a></span> in the kitchen. . . . Chatelain, you’ll find a +decanter of rum in the pantry. . . . Or, stay, she doesn’t like rum. +. . . Then . . .”</p> + +<p>“Then,” she said, smiling, “just a glass of water, please.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Aha!” cried the captain, gaily, when she had drunk the water. “You’re +feeling better, I think, eh, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“Much better.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>They all pressed round her, the one-armed and the one-legged, the +crippled and the sick, all glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a></span> to see her. And she shook hands with +them affectionately:</p> + +<p>“Well, Ribrac, how’s that leg of yours?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel it any longer, Little Mother Coralie.”</p> + +<p>“And you, Vatinel? That wound in your shoulder?”</p> + +<p>“Not a sign of it, Little Mother Coralie.”</p> + +<p>“And you, Poulard? And you, Jorisse?”</p> + +<p>Her emotion increased at seeing them again, the men whom she called her +children. And Patrice Belval exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And I used to cry still more,” she said, “just because you were afraid +of hurting me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She rose suddenly:</p> + +<p>“Do you think he can have overtaken one of the two men?”</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>They had gone towards the hall. The Senegalese was already on the steps. +With his right hand he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Drop him,” said the captain.</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon loosened his fingers. The man fell on the flags in the hall.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Good,” said the officer. “But, next time, go to work more gently.”</p> + +<p>He bent over the man, felt his heart and, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a></span> seeing that he had only +fainted, asked the nurse:</p> + +<p>“Do you know him?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure? Have you never seen that head anywhere?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Never . . . never,” the girl declared.</p> + +<p>Captain Belval searched the man’s pockets. They contained no papers.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>And, when good-by had been said, he pushed them outside, came back to +the nurse, led her into the drawing-room and said:</p> + +<p>“Now let’s talk, Little Mother Coralie. First of all, before we try to +explain things, listen to me. It won’t take long.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a></span> 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 café-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 café 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.”</p> + +<p>He took the note-book from his pocket and went on:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No. Why?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a></span> 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 . . . ?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a></span>The captain stopped. The girl reflected, with a thoughtful air. +Presently she asked:</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you warn me?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>She gave him her hand:</p> + +<p>“I think you have saved me from an unknown danger that looks like a very +great one; and I thank you.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Without a second’s hesitation, she replied:</p> + +<p>“I have none. Not a word, not an incident, in all that you have told me, +suggests the least idea to me.”</p> + +<p>“You have no enemies, to your knowledge?”</p> + +<p>“Personally, no.”</p> + +<p>“What about that man to whom your two assailants were to hand you over +and who says that he knows you?”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t every woman,” she said, with a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a></span> blush, “come across men +who pursue her more or less openly? I can’t tell who it is.”</p> + +<p>The captain was silent for a while and then went on:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The girl gave a start:</p> + +<p>“The police?”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course. What would you have me do with the fellow? He doesn’t +belong to me. He belongs to the police.”</p> + +<p>“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? . . .”</p> + +<p>“And yet, Little Mother Coralie, I can’t . . .”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>The captain looked at her, somewhat surprised to see her in such a state +of agitation, and said:</p> + +<p>“You sha’n’t be talked about, Little Mother Coralie, I promise you.”</p> + +<p>“Then what will you do with that man?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He rose:</p> + +<p>“Do you wish to see him, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a></span>“No,” she said, “I am so tired! If you don’t want me, question him by +yourself. You can tell me about it afterwards. . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She heard him saying:</p> + +<p>“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 +. . .”</p> + +<p>A cry escaped him. The girl ran to the hall. She met the captain, who +tried to bar her way.</p> + +<p>“Don’t come,” he said, in great agitation. “What’s the use!”</p> + +<p>“But you’re hurt!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>“There’s blood on your shirt-cuff.”</p> + +<p>“So there is, but it’s nothing: it’s the man’s blood that must have +stained me.”</p> + +<p>“Then he was wounded?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, or at least his mouth was bleeding. Some blood-vessel . . .”</p> + +<p>“Why, surely Ya-Bon didn’t grip as hard as that?”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t Ya-Bon.”</p> + +<p>“Then who was it?”</p> + +<p>“His accomplices.”</p> + +<p>“Did they come back?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and they’ve strangled him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a></span>“But it’s not possible!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +<span class="smalltext">RIGHT HAND AND LEFT LEG</span></h2> + +<p>“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 Rovalaïof, the name of a rogue!”</p> + +<p>He spoke gaily, with no emotion in his voice, and continued, as he +walked up and down the room:</p> + +<p>“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 Rovalaïof 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 Musée +Galliéra. 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.”</p> + +<p>He stopped to laugh:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>Captain Belval’s merriment increased:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He stopped to look at Coralie, whose shapely profile stood out against +the gleams from the fireplace. Then he came and sat beside her:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“No,” she murmured, “you are mistaken. My life is quite simple. I do not +need to be defended.”</p> + +<p>“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 . . . ?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a></span>“Well, if you decline the offer of my assistance, I shall force it on +you.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I shall force it on you,” he repeated, firmly. “It is my duty and my +right.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, in an undertone.</p> + +<p>“My absolute right,” said Captain Belval, “for a reason which outweighs +all the others and makes it unnecessary for me even to consult you.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I love you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She lowered her eyes and blushed; and he cried, exultantly:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a></span> speak +without hesitation or embarrassment, believe me.”</p> + +<p>Coralie had put her hands to her burning cheeks and sat silent, bending +forward.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He stopped, as though to take breath, and then, rising, went on:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a></span> +set as ourselves, is absolute equality with the rest, who have been +saved from our fate by their lucky stars or their cowardice.”</p> + +<p>The captain once more struck the mantelpiece:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He began to laugh:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a></span> 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? . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He stooped and, with infinite gentleness, drawing aside the slender +fingers, uncovered her beautiful face:</p> + +<p>“Why are you crying, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a></span>He was calling her <i>tu</i> 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.</p> + +<p>“Have <i>I</i> made you cry?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her:</p> + +<p>“Then you’re not angry with me for saying . . . what I said?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then your answer . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“My answer, dear friend, is that you must not speak those words again.”</p> + +<p>He put on a solemn air:</p> + +<p>“You forbid me?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a></span>“In that case, I swear to say nothing more until I see you again.”</p> + +<p>“You will not see me again,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>Captain Belval was greatly amused at this:</p> + +<p>“I say, I say! And why sha’n’t I see you again, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“Because I don’t wish it.”</p> + +<p>“And your reason, please?”</p> + +<p>“My reason?”</p> + +<p>She turned her eyes to him and said, slowly:</p> + +<p>“I am married.”</p> + +<p>Belval seemed in no way disconcerted by this news. On the contrary, he +said, in the calmest of tones:</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Don’t jest, please.”</p> + +<p>He caught hold of her hand, just as she was rising to go:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he declared, “that is how things will happen.”</p> + +<p>“It is not. They will not and shall not happen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“You are wrong. . . . You have no right to expose yourself to danger +like this. . . . Please reflect . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Here,” he said, “you’ve missed this.”</p> + +<p>It was a little case in plaited straw, which had also come open; the +beads of a rosary protruded from it.</p> + +<p>They both stood up in silence. Captain Belval examined the rosary.</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>He gave a start, and it was so marked that Coralie asked:</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>He was holding in his fingers a bead larger than most of the others, +forming a link between the string<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a></span> of tens and the shorter prayer-chain. +And this bead was broken half-way across, almost level with the gold +setting which held it.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody gave it to me. I’ve always had it.”</p> + +<p>“But it must have belonged to somebody before?”</p> + +<p>“To my mother, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother?”</p> + +<p>“I expect so, in the same way as the different jewels which she left +me.”</p> + +<p>“Is your mother dead?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“It’s because of this,” he said. “Because of this amethyst bead broken +in two.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Coralie and Belval looked at each other anxiously. She stammered:</p> + +<p>“It’s only an accident, nothing else . . .”</p> + +<p>“I agree,” he said. “But, supposing these two halves fit each other +exactly . . .”</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible,” she said, herself frightened at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a></span> the thought of the +simple little act needed for the indisputable proof.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was a long pause, laden with excitement and mystery. Then, +speaking in a low voice:</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>He had separated the two pieces and, examining them carefully, +concluded:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He went up to her and, in the same low and rather serious voice, said:</p> + +<p>“You protested just now when I declared my faith in destiny and my +certainty that events were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Do you accept?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>After a moment she replied:</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then the proof which destiny has given you of its wishes does not +satisfy you?” he said, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>“We must not see each other again,” she declared.</p> + +<p>“Very well. I will leave it to chance. It will not be for long. +Meanwhile, I promise to make no effort to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Nor to find out my name?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I promise you.”</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” she said, giving him her hand.</p> + +<p>“<i>Au revoir</i>,” he answered.</p> + +<p>She moved away. When she reached the door, she seemed to hesitate. He +was standing motionless by the chimney. Once more she said:</p> + +<p>“Good-by.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a></span>“<i>Au revoir</i>, Little Mother Coralie.”</p> + +<p>Then she went out.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“Shall I? Rather!” he exclaimed. “Why, to-morrow perhaps. Am I not the +favorite of the gods?”</p> + +<p>And, taking his stick, he set off, as he said, with his wooden leg +foremost.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Is Ya-Bon there?” he asked this lady.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he’s playing cards with his sweetheart.”</p> + +<p>“He has the right to love and be loved,” he said. “Any letters for me?”</p> + +<p>“No, only a parcel.”</p> + +<p>“From whom?”</p> + +<p>“A commissionaire brought it and just said that it was ‘for Captain +Belval.’ I put it in your room.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>“Enough riddles for one day,” he thought. “Let’s go to bed.”</p> + +<p>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. +. . .</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +<span class="smalltext">THE RUSTY KEY</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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-Élysées. +About the same period, the lady whom he was to call Little Mother +Coralie also entered the hospital as a nurse.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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 +con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a></span>sider, sir, that it’s a blemish to have your leg amputated, and that +I, a French officer, ought to hide it as a disgrace?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, captain. Still . . .”</p> + +<p>“And what’s the price of that apparatus of yours?”</p> + +<p>“Five hundred francs.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a></span> 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?</p> + +<p>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 Trocadéro on the left and the Gare +de Passy on the right.</p> + +<p>“A mile or two at most, as the crow flies,” he said to himself. “Why not +go there? We’ll soon see.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Angèle, the +kitchen-maid, Ya-Bon’s sweetheart. She snored aloud.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>He touched the Senegalese on the shoulder. Ya-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a></span>Bon woke up and smiled, +or rather, divining the presence of his captain, smiled even before he +woke.</p> + +<p>“I want you, Ya-Bon.”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon uttered a grunt of pleasure and gave a push to Angèle, who fell +over on the table and went on snoring.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of all this, Master Ya-Bon?” asked the captain, +walking arm-in-arm with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a></span> him. “I have an idea that it’s all part of the +same business. Do you think so too?”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon had two grunts, one of which meant yes, the other no. He grunted +out:</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” grunted Ya-Bon, who always approved, on principle.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that it was a treacherous signal with a view to a second +Zeppelin visit . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a></span> did +not know which to take. Moreover, though he was in the middle of Passy, +not a spark shone in the dark sky.</p> + +<p>“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 Angèle’s charms, but, after all . . .”</p> + +<p>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 +Trocadéro, and some one inside shouted through the speaking-tube:</p> + +<p>“Bear to the left . . . and then straight on, till I stop you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Can it be the beggar in the gray hat,” he muttered, “one of those who +tried to carry off Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” grunted Ya-Bon.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Five men alighted. One of them rang. Thirty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was a loud noise as the door slammed to. Captain Belval at once +studied his surroundings.</p> + +<p>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 Arsène Lupin discovered a +farmer-general’s diamonds hidden in a crack of an old sundial.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>The Confessions of Arsène Lupin.</i> By Maurice Leblanc. +Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. III. <i>The Sign of the +Shadow.</i></p></div> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a></span> the +ground-floor and solid shutters on the story above. There was another +building farther down, forming a separate wing.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing to be done on this side,” said the captain. “It’s as +impregnable as a feudal stronghold. Let’s look elsewhere.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Lend me a hand, Ya-Bon. The wall is too high. But perhaps with the aid +of the lamp-post . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What do you want, Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>The hand pushed him against the wall. At this spot there was a door in +an embrasure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon handed him a box of matches. He struck several, one after the +other, and examined the door.</p> + +<p>“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. +. . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Come along in,” he said.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>But Patrice had resolved to act without trying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a></span> to solve the riddle +which a mischievous chance seemed bent upon setting him.</p> + +<p>“Come along in,” he repeated, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, confound it!” he cursed. “I’m all wet. Damn you, Ya-Bon!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Here, I say, Ya-Bon! Why did you get in front of me? It’s all right, my +lad, I’m coming!”</p> + +<p>The two adversaries had rolled over on the grass. Patrice stooped down, +seeking to rescue the negro.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Is it all right, Ya-Bon?” whispered the captain, anxiously.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a></span> But one of them allowed the light which he +had seen from below to filter through.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>It was open.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a></span> to +the ground before he had time to lift a finger in self-defense.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>One of the five drew himself up briskly and, in a tone of command, said:</p> + +<p>“Bind him. . . . Put a gag in his mouth. . . . Or let him call out, if +he wants to: there’s no one to hear him.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>One of the other four growled, spitefully:</p> + +<p>“Yes. And at once, whatever happens!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“All lengths, Bournef, whatever happens, eh?” grinned the leader. “Well, +let’s get on with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a></span> work. So you refuse to give up your secret, +Essarès, old man? We shall have some fun.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Roll him along!” said the leader.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Go on!” shouted the leader, passionately. “Go on! Nearer!”</p> + +<p>Patrice Belval grasped his revolver.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m going on too!” he said to himself. “I won’t let that wretch be +. . .”</p> + +<p>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 cor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></span>responding 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.</p> + +<p>Patrice had recognized Little Mother Coralie.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +<span class="smalltext">BEFORE THE FLAMES</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Easy!” the leader commanded. “Pull him back. I expect he’s had +enough.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a></span>He went up to the victim:</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Essarès,” 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 <i>chauffeurs</i> used to do in the days of the +Revolution. So it’s settled, I presume: you’re going to speak?”</p> + +<p>There was no answer. The leader rapped out an oath and went on:</p> + +<p>“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? Siméon, 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!”</p> + +<p>The man with the big mustache, who was still holding the chair, drew +himself up.</p> + +<p>“Bournef, where did you lock up the secretary?”</p> + +<p>“In the porter’s lodge.”</p> + +<p>“You know where to find Mme. Essarès’ bedroom?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you told me the way.”</p> + +<p>“Go, all four of you, and bring the lady and the secretary here!”</p> + +<p>The four men went out by a door below the spot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a></span> where Coralie was +standing. They were hardly out of sight when the leader stooped eagerly +over his victim and said:</p> + +<p>“We’re alone, Essarès. It’s what I intended. Let’s make the most of it.”</p> + +<p>He bent still lower and whispered so that Patrice found it difficult to +hear what he said:</p> + +<p>“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, Essarès, are +the men to come to terms. That is what you refused to admit; and you see +where it has landed you. Come, Essarès, 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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></span> No, no, my friend, I open my mouth wider! I’ll +consent to go halves, but accept an alms, never!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s an Eastern face,” said Patrice to himself. “I’ve seen heads like +that in Egypt and Turkey.”</p> + +<p>The names of all these men too—Colonel Fakhi, Mustapha, Bournef, +Essarès—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 Ægean Sea. They were Levantine types, but of Levantines who had +taken root in Paris. Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>But a sound of voices came from outside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Here’s old Siméon,” cried the one whom Fakhi had addressed as Bournef.</p> + +<p>“And the wife?” asked the leader. “I hope you’ve got her too!”</p> + +<p>“Well, no.”</p> + +<p>“What is that? Has she escaped?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, through her window.”</p> + +<p>“But you must run after her. She can only be in the garden. Remember, +the watch-dog was barking just now.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose she’s got away?”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“By the door on the lane?”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“The door hasn’t been used for years. There’s not even a key to it.”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but that woman . . .”</p> + +<p>Colonel Fakhi seemed exasperated. He turned to the prisoner:</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>“Her husband!” thought Patrice, with a shudder. “Her husband!”</p> + +<p>And, if he still entertained any doubts on the subject, the hurried +course of events soon removed them, for the leader began to chuckle:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Essarès, 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, Essarès! For you love your Coralie passionately! And quite +right too!”</p> + +<p>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 Essarès’ portrait, but it +was covered over. The leader drew the curtain, and Coralie appeared in +the full light.</p> + +<p>“The monarch of all she surveys! The idol! The witch! The pearl of +pearls! The imperial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a></span> diamond of Essarès 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. +Essarès, 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! . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a></span> Does it burn, Essarès? All the +same, it’s not more than you can stand. Bear up, old fellow.”</p> + +<p>He unfastened the prisoner’s right arm, put a little table by his side, +laid a pencil and paper on it and continued:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“As for you, Siméon,” 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. . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, hang it all!” thought Patrice. “Are we going to let him roast like +this, like a chicken on a spit?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a></span>He looked at Coralie. She did not stir. Her face was distorted beyond +recognition, and her eyes seemed fascinated by the terrifying sight.</p> + +<p>“Couple of inches nearer!” cried the leader, from the other end of the +room, as he unfastened Siméon’s bonds.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Another two inches,” said Colonel Fakhi, as he walked back to the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>He examined the condition of the flesh and said, with a laugh:</p> + +<p>“The skin is blistering in places; the veins are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a></span> ready to burst. +Essarès 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? . . .”</p> + +<p>He was seized with a sudden burst of rage and shouted:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But, swift as his movement was, Essarès 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 +Essarès was taking aim at one of the other confederates.</p> + +<p>He was still breathing:</p> + +<p>“Oh, the brute, the brute!” he panted. “He’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a></span> killed me! . . . But +you’ll lose by it, Essarès. . . . 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, Essarès . . . all your story . . . your +plans. . . . Oh, you devil! . . . And what a fool! . . . We could so +easily have come to terms. . . .”</p> + +<p>He muttered a few inaudible words and rolled down to the floor. It was +all over.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès. The latter, now +that the chair was no longer held in position, had succeeded in bending +his legs. No one moved.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon’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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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 Rovalaïof, the first accomplice captured by Ya-Bon.</p> + +<p>Bournef unrolled the cord, took it by the two buckles, tested its +strength across his knee and then, going back to Essarès, slipped it +over his neck after first removing his gag.</p> + +<p>“Essarès,” he said, with a calmness which was more impressive than the +colonel’s violence and sneers, “Essarès, 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 . . .”</p> + +<p>He stopped for a second or two. Then he declared:</p> + +<p>“Or else your death.”</p> + +<p>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 +Essarès was faced with a catastrophe which he could no longer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a></span> avoid +save by submitting absolutely. In less than a minute, he would have +spoken or he would be dead.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Are we all agreed?” Bournef asked, turning to his accomplices.</p> + +<p>“Quite,” said one of them.</p> + +<p>“Do you take your share of the responsibility?”</p> + +<p>“We do.”</p> + +<p>Bournef brought his hands together and crossed them, which had the +result of knotting the cord round Essarès’ neck. Then he pulled +slightly, so as to make the pressure felt, and asked, unemotionally:</p> + +<p>“Yes or no?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>There was a murmur of satisfaction. The accomplices heaved a breath; and +Bournef nodded his head with an air of approval:</p> + +<p>“Ah, so you accept! It was high time: I doubt if any one was ever nearer +death than you were, Essarès.” 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?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Essarès. “Neither death nor torture.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></span>“Then you have something different to propose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Something worth our while?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why should I accept it?”</p> + +<p>“Because you must take it or leave it and because you will understand +what he did not.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a compromise, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Bournef shrugged his shoulders:</p> + +<p>“A few thousand-franc notes, I expect. And you imagine that Bournef and +his friends will be such fools? . . . Come, Essarès, why do you want us +to compromise? We know your secret almost entirely. . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We shall discover it.”</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, your death will make it easier for us.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And, if we accept,” asked Bournef, to whom the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a></span> argument seemed to +appeal, “when shall we be paid?”</p> + +<p>“At once.”</p> + +<p>“Then the money is here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“A contemptible sum, as I said before?”</p> + +<p>“No, a much larger sum than you hope for; infinitely larger.”</p> + +<p>“How much?”</p> + +<p>“Four millions.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +<span class="smalltext">HUSBAND AND WIFE</span></h2> + +<p>The accomplices started, as though they had received an electric shock. +Bournef darted forward:</p> + +<p>“What did you say?”</p> + +<p>“I said four millions, which means a million for each of you.”</p> + +<p>“Look here! . . . Do you mean it? . . . Four millions? . . .”</p> + +<p>“Four millions is what I said.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“The offer is more than we expected. . . . And I am wondering what +induced you to make it.”</p> + +<p>“Would you have been satisfied with less?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Bournef, candidly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Bournef could not get over his astonishment and became more and more +suspicious.</p> + +<p>“How do you know that, after taking the four millions, we shall not +insist on more?”</p> + +<p>“Insist on what? The secret of the site?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a></span>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The argument was so unanswerable that Bournef ceased discussing and +asked:</p> + +<p>“Is the safe in this room?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, between the first and second windows, behind my portrait.”</p> + +<p>Bournef took down the picture and said:</p> + +<p>“I see nothing.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The first four letters of Coralie?” asked Bournef, following Essarès’ +instructions as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Essarès Bey, “the first four letters of the Coran. Have you +done that?”</p> + +<p>After a moment, Bournef answered:</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ve finished. And the key?”</p> + +<p>“There’s no key. The fifth letter of the word, the letter N, is the +letter of the central rose.”</p> + +<p>Bournef turned this fifth rose; and presently a click was heard.</p> + +<p>“Now pull,” said Essarès. “That’s it. The safe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>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 Essarès’ 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.</p> + +<p>At last he turned round and came and sat beside Essarès. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Thousand-franc notes,” he murmured. “Ten packets of thousand-franc +notes.”</p> + +<p>Brutally, like men prepared to fight one another, each of the other +three laid hold of a pocket-book, felt inside and mumbled:</p> + +<p>“Ten packets . . . they’re all there. . . . Thousand-franc notes . . .”</p> + +<p>And one of them forthwith cried, in a choking voice:</p> + +<p>“Let’s clear out! . . . Let’s go!”</p> + +<p>A sudden fear was sending them off their heads. They could not imagine +that Essarès would hand over such a fortune to them unless he had some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Nor had Patrice Belval any doubt of it. The disaster was preparing. +Essarès’ 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.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Bournef partially recovered his composure and, holding back +his companions, said:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be such fools! He would be capable, with old Siméon, of releasing +himself and running after us.”</p> + +<p>Using only one hand, for the other was clutching a pocket-book, all four +fastened Essarès’ arm to the chair, while he protested angrily:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>They gagged him once more and Bournef gave him a smashing blow with his +fist which laid him unconscious.</p> + +<p>“That makes our retreat safe,” said Bournef.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a></span>“What about the colonel?” asked one of the others. “Are we to leave him +here?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>But apparently he thought this unwise; for he added:</p> + +<p>“On second thoughts, no. It’s not to our interest to compromise Essarès +any further. What we must do, Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>“Then what do you suggest?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll take the colonel with us in the motor and drop him anywhere. The +police must make what they can of it.”</p> + +<p>“And his papers?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll look through his pockets as we go. Lend me a hand.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice Belval heard them pass through another room and then tramp +heavily over the echoing flags of a hall.</p> + +<p>“This is the moment,” he said. “Essarès or Siméon will press a button +and the rogues will be nabbed.”</p> + +<p>Essarès did not budge.</p> + +<p>Siméon did not budge.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a></span> happened. The +confederates were getting off with their four millions.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A fresh incident prevented him. Coralie had risen to her feet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In what way? Was this the end of the tragedy?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” whispered Patrice to himself, quivering all over. “What are you +doing, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>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 re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a></span>solve to him. She had caught sight of the dagger, lying on the +floor where it had slipped from the colonel’s grasp.</p> + +<p>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, Essarès was seized with a fit of terror and strained +every muscle to break the bonds that hampered his movements.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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 curi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a></span>osity 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?</p> + +<p>Patrice Belval remained where he was.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Not far from them, old Siméon, still bound, half-lifted himself on his +elbows and stared at them in dismay.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Little Mother Coralie,” murmured Patrice, “you are yourself again! +You are the woman I know. Whatever right you may think you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a></span> to kill +that man, you will not kill him . . . and I prefer it so.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She did so with visible repugnance, avoiding his touch, as it were, and +shunning his eyes. The cords were severed one by one. Essarès was free.</p> + +<p>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, Essarès took down the receiver and called +out:</p> + +<p>“Central 40.39.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned abruptly to his wife:</p> + +<p>“Go away,” he said.</p> + +<p>She seemed not to hear. She had knelt down beside old Siméon and was +setting him free also.</p> + +<p>Essarès at the telephone began to lose patience:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>And, turning to Coralie, he repeated, in an imperious tone:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a></span>“Go away!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Go away, go away! . . . I won’t have you stay in the room. You go away +too, Siméon.”</p> + +<p>Old Siméon got up and moved towards Essarès. 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.</p> + +<p>“Go away, will you, go away!” Essarès repeated, his whole body +expressing menace.</p> + +<p>But Coralie came nearer to him and crossed her arms obstinately and +defiantly. At that moment, Essarès appeared to get his call, for he +asked:</p> + +<p>“Is that 40.39? Ah, yes . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Grégoire? . . . Essarès speaking. . . . Hullo! . . . Yes, +I’m speaking from the Rue Raynouard. . . . There’s no time to lose. +. . . Listen. . . .”</p> + +<p>He sat down and went on:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a></span> 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. . . .”</p> + +<p>Essarès stopped. He thought for a moment and resumed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was another pause. This time it was Essarès listening. He replied:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a></span>? . . . Very well, I’ll see that everything’s +all right. Good-by for the present.”</p> + +<p>The conversation was finished; and it looked as if Essarès, 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.</p> + +<p>Coralie kept her eyes fixed on his face.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he stayed. He was not comfortable in his mind on Coralie’s +account.</p> + +<p>Essarès fired the first shot:</p> + +<p>“Well,” he asked, “what are you looking at me like that for?”</p> + +<p>“So it’s true?” she murmured, maintaining her attitude of defiance. “You +leave me no possibility of doubt?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I was up there.”</p> + +<p>“Then you heard everything?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And saw everything?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a></span>“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!”</p> + +<p>“No, for I knew the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What truth?”</p> + +<p>“The truth which I suspected without daring to admit it.”</p> + +<p>“What truth?” he repeated, in a louder voice.</p> + +<p>“The truth about your treason.”</p> + +<p>“You’re mad. I’ve committed no treason.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“A man can only commit treason against his country,” he said, shrugging +his shoulders. “I’m not a Frenchman.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense! And for whose benefit?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a></span> hateful even than treachery, something +worthy of a common pickpocket. . . .”</p> + +<p>The man struck the arm of his chair with his fist:</p> + +<p>“Enough!” he cried.</p> + +<p>Coralie seemed in no way alarmed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders a second time:</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid of nobody.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, but you’re going.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then let’s have it out. When are you going?”</p> + +<p>“Presently, at twelve o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“And if you’re arrested?”</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t be arrested.”</p> + +<p>“If you are arrested, however?”</p> + +<p>“I shall be let go.”</p> + +<p>“At least there will be an inquiry, a trial?”</p> + +<p>“No, the matter will be hushed up.”</p> + +<p>“You hope so.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure of it.”</p> + +<p>“God grant it! And you will leave France, of course?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as I can.”</p> + +<p>“When will that be?”</p> + +<p>“In a fortnight or three weeks.”</p> + +<p>“Send me word of the day, so that I may know when I can breathe again.”</p> + +<p>“I shall send you word, Coralie, but for another reason.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></span>“What reason?”</p> + +<p>“So that you may join me.”</p> + +<p>“Join you!”</p> + +<p>He gave a cruel smile:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Coralie shook her head, and, in a tone of indescribable contempt, +answered:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not join you. I swear it before God! I swear it as I hope to be +saved.”</p> + +<p>He stamped his feet with rage. His face underwent a hideous contortion; +and he roared:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mastering himself at last, Essarès said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He answered, in a low voice:</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> capable of hatred. Beware, Coralie. The very moment when you +believe that you have noth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a></span>ing more to fear will perhaps be the moment +when I shall call you to account. Take care.”</p> + +<p>He pushed an electric bell. Old Siméon appeared.</p> + +<p>“So the two men-servants have decamped?” asked Essarès. 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, Siméon: you must keep a watch on +them after I am gone.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his wife, surprised to see her still there, and said to his +secretary:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He went out, supported by Siméon. 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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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.”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +<span class="smalltext">NINETEEN MINUTES PAST SEVEN</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“So you consider that your job is over! While I lie tossing about in the +dark, my lord sleeps and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a></span> all’s well! My dear man, you have a jolly +elastic conscience.”</p> + +<p>The word elastic amused the Senegalese mightily. His mouth opened wider +than ever; and he gave a grunt of enjoyment.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He heaved a sigh, and, snatching the manuscript, said:</p> + +<p>“Listen, reflect, argue, deduct and conclude. This is how the matter +briefly stands. First, we have one Essarès Bey, a banker, rich as +Crœsus, 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice Belval paused to take breath and continued:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a></span> +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That’s enough,” said the captain. “It’s my turn now to argue, deduct +and conclude.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a></span> +whereabouts of that Grégoire, 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.</p> + +<p>He turned suddenly to Ya-Bon, who was standing depressed by his silence:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon was going away discomfited, when some one tapped at the door and +a voice said:</p> + +<p>“Captain Belval, you’re wanted on the telephone.”</p> + +<p>Patrice hurried out. Who on earth could be telephoning to him so early +in the morning?</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” he asked the nurse.</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>Before Patrice’s eyes there rose a vision of the telephone in the Rue +Raynouard, in the big room at the Essarès’ house. He could not help +wondering if there was anything to connect the two incidents.</p> + +<p>He went down one flight of stairs and along a passage. The telephone was +through a small wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></span>ing-room, in a room that had been turned into a +linen-closet. He closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>“Hullo! Captain Belval speaking. What is it?”</p> + +<p>A voice, a man’s voice which he did not know, replied in breathless, +panting tones:</p> + +<p>“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? . . .”</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Did you get the key and the letter?” the voice insisted.</p> + +<p>“The key, yes,” Patrice replied, “but not the letter.”</p> + +<p>“Not the letter? But this is terrible! Then you don’t know . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>Then again a loud cry, a heart-rending cry, and confused sounds growing +more distant, in which he seemed to distinguish:</p> + +<p>“Help! . . . Help! . . .”</p> + +<p>These grew fainter and fainter. Silence followed. And suddenly there was +a little click. The murderer had hung up the receiver.</p> + +<p>All this had not taken twenty seconds. But, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a></span> Patrice wanted to +replace the telephone, his fingers were gripping it so hard that it +needed an effort to relax them.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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? . . .”</p> + +<p>There was no reply. He lost his temper, insulted the exchange, left the +linen-closet, met Ya-Bon and pushed him about:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He held him back:</p> + +<p>“No, don’t stir. Your plan’s ridiculous. Stay here. Oh, not here in my +pocket! You’re too impetuous for me, my lad!”</p> + +<p>He drove him out and returned to the linen-closet, striding up and down +and betraying his excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>And this first thought led to another: why not investigate matters at +once?</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>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 Essarès Bey’s number in the +telephone-directory and resolutely rang up the exchange.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a></span>“Hullo!” said a voice. “Who are you?”</p> + +<p>It was the voice of Essarès Bey.</p> + +<p>Although this was only natural, since at that moment Essarès 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:</p> + +<p>“Is that Essarès Bey?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m one of the wounded at the hospital, now under treatment at the +home. . . .”</p> + +<p>“Captain Belval, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>Patrice was absolutely amazed. So Coralie’s husband knew him by name? He +stammered:</p> + +<p>“Yes . . . Captain Belval.”</p> + +<p>“What a lucky thing!” cried Essarès Bey, in a tone of delight. “I rang +you up a moment ago, at the home, Captain Belval, to ask . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was you!” interrupted Patrice, whose astonishment knew no +bounds.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I wanted to know at what time I could speak to Captain Belval in +order to thank him.”</p> + +<p>“It was <i>you</i>! . . . It was <i>you</i>! . . .” Patrice repeated, more and +more thunderstruck.</p> + +<p>Essarès’ intonation denoted a certain surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes, wasn’t it a curious coincidence?” he said. “Unfortunately, I was +cut off, or rather my call was interrupted by somebody else.”</p> + +<p>“Then you heard?”</p> + +<p>“What, Captain Belval?”</p> + +<p>“Cries.”</p> + +<p>“Cries?”</p> + +<p>“At least, so it seemed to me; but the connection was very indistinct.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Of thanking me?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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 Essarès’ 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a></span> sharp. When we’re ready, we’ll start for the hospital. Little +Mother Coralie can’t forbid me to see her there!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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. +. . .”</p> + +<p>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 +Siméon.</p> + +<p>She had hailed a taxi and stepped inside. Siméon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a></span> sat down by the +driver. They went to the hospital in the Champs-Élysées, with Patrice +following. It was eleven o’clock when they arrived.</p> + +<p>“All’s well,” said Patrice. “While her husband is running away, she +refuses to make any change in her daily life.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice at once saw old Siméon, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Poor child!” he thought. “All those blackguards will be the death of +you.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a></span> determination that Patrice dared not go to her and stood +rooted to the threshold.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He was making up his mind to enter, when a woman who had come up the +stairs, talking loudly as she went, called out:</p> + +<p>“Where is madame? . . . M. Siméon, she must come at once!”</p> + +<p>Old Siméon, 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 +Siméon and the woman.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There’s news, Ya-Bon, there’s news!” said Patrice. “The plot is +thickening. The woman is obviously one of the Essarès’ 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>An idea occurred to him; and he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Heavens! I hope that ruffian of an Essarès 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. . . .”</p> + +<p>All through the drive this fear excited Captain Belval and removed his +last scruples. In the end his certainty was absolute. Nothing short of +Essarès’ 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.</p> + +<p>The two cabs pulled up almost simultaneously outside the Essarès’ house, +where a car was already standing. Coralie alighted and disappeared +through the carriage-gate. The maid and Siméon also crossed the +pavement.</p> + +<p>“Come along,” said Patrice to the Senegalese.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The sound of his footsteps echoing on the flags reminded him of the +flight of Bournef and his ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a></span>complices. 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.</p> + +<p>At that moment he heard Coralie exclaim in accents of terror:</p> + +<p>“Oh, my God, it can’t be! . . .”</p> + +<p>Two other policemen barred the doorway.</p> + +<p>“I am a relation of Mme. Essarès’,” he said, “her only relation. . . .”</p> + +<p>“We have our orders, captain . . .”</p> + +<p>“I know, of course. Be sure and let no one in! Ya-Bon, stay here.”</p> + +<p>And he went in.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Madame is feeling faint,” replied the woman, still quite distraught. +“Oh, I’m nearly off my head!”</p> + +<p>“But why? What’s the reason?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the master . . . just think! . . . Such a sight! . . . It gave me +a turn, too . . .”</p> + +<p>“What sight?”</p> + +<p>One of the gentlemen left the group and approached:</p> + +<p>“Is Mme. Essarès ill?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a></span>“It’s nothing,” said the maid. “A fainting-fit. . . . She is liable to +these attacks.”</p> + +<p>“Take her away as soon as she can walk. We shall not need her any +longer.”</p> + +<p>And, addressing Patrice Belval with a questioning air:</p> + +<p>“Captain? . . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice pretended not to understand:</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said, “we will take Mme. Essarès away. Her presence, as +you say, is unnecessary. Only I must first . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On the floor, near the fireplace, almost at the place where he had +undergone his torture, Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” Patrice blurted out, “how horrible! He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a></span> was killed and fell with +his head right in the fire. That’s how they found him, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>The man who had already spoken to him and who appeared to be the most +important figure present came up to him once more:</p> + +<p>“May I ask who you are?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Captain Belval, sir, a friend of Mme. Essarès, one of the wounded +officers whose lives she has helped to save . . .”</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” Patrice insisted, “I have some very serious information to +communicate.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be pleased to receive it, captain, but later on. You must +excuse me now.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>VII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">TWENTY-THREE MINUTES PAST TWELVE</span></h2> + +<p>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 +Essarès house into two parts communicating only by way of the hall.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès Bey’s bedroom, on the street side, and Coralie’s, +overlooking the garden. Beyond was the servants’ wing, where old Siméon +also used to sleep.</p> + +<p>Patrice was asked to wait in the billiard-room, with the Senegalese. He +had been there about a quarter of an hour when Siméon and the maid were +shown in.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“It’s not over yet . . . There’s something to fear . . . to fear! . . . +To-day . . . presently.”</p> + +<p>“Presently?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Yes . . . yes,” said the old man, trembling.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a></span>He said nothing more. As for the housemaid, she readily told her story +in reply to Patrice’ questions:</p> + +<p>“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. +Siméon 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. Siméon. 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 . . .”</p> + +<p>Old Siméon 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a></span> gave +a little chuckle, came up to Patrice and said in his ear:</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He was a man of about fifty, with a thickset body and a heavy face, slow +of movement, but with bright, intelligent eyes.</p> + +<p>“The examining-magistrate, I presume, sir?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied, “I am M. Masseron, a retired magistrate, specially +appointed to clear up this af<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a></span>fair . . . not to examine it, as you +think, for it does not seem to me that there is anything to examine.”</p> + +<p>“What?” cried Patrice, in great surprise. “Nothing to examine?”</p> + +<p>He looked at Coralie, who kept her eyes fixed upon him attentively. Then +she turned them on M. Masseron, who resumed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t doubt it either,” said Patrice. “All the same, I am afraid that +many of those points remain unexplained.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, but we shall find an explanation, we shall find it together. +Will you please tell me what you know?”</p> + +<p>Patrice waited for a moment and then said:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès has given me, I believe, the +same information that you will be able to give me.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he said, “I daresay madame has told you. So you know of the +conversation which I overheard yesterday at the restaurant?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And the attempt to kidnap Mme. Essarès?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And the murder? . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Mme. Essarès has described to you the blackmailing scene that took +place last night, with M. Essarès 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. Essarès and a +certain Grégoire and, lastly, the threats uttered against madame by her +husband?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès wrote to +his wife at about twelve o’clock this morning and which we found lying +on his desk, unfinished. Mme.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a></span> Essarès asked me to read it and, if +necessary, to communicate the contents to you. Listen.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron proceeded to read the letter aloud:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Coralie</i>,</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p></div> + +<p>“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. Essarès’ 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></span> the fire close at hand +did its work . . . with the effects which you have seen. . . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice had listened in amazement to this unexpected explanation:</p> + +<p>“Then in your opinion,” he asked, “M. Essarès died of an accident? He +was not murdered?”</p> + +<p>“Murdered? Certainly not! We have no clue to support any such theory.”</p> + +<p>“Still . . .”</p> + +<p>“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 Grégoire recovered +those millions from them, they would certainly not have got them back by +killing M. Essarès. Then again, how would they have entered the house? +And how can they have gone out? . . . No, captain, you must excuse me, +but M. Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice turned to Coralie:</p> + +<p>“Is it Mme. Essarès’ opinion also?”</p> + +<p>She reddened slightly and answered:</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And old Siméon’s?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” replied the magistrate, “old Siméon is wandering in his mind! To +listen to him, you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a></span> think that everything was about to happen all +over again, that Mme. Essarès 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?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“So there was no murder?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then there will be no magistrate’s examination?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“And no talk about the matter; it will all be kept quiet, in short, and +forgotten?”</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>Captain Belval began to walk up and down, as was his habit. He now +remembered Essarès’ prophecy:</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t be arrested. . . . If I am, I shall be let go. . . . The +matter will be hushed up. . . .”</p> + +<p>Essarès was right. The hand of justice was arrested; and there was no +way for Coralie to escape silent complicity.</p> + +<p>Patrice was intensely annoyed by the manner in which the case was being +handled. It was certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He restrained himself, however, and, with a pretense of wanting to keep +on good terms with the magistrate, came and sat down beside him:</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès 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. +Essarès told you those details? In my opinion, they are most important; +and I cannot help associating them with the events that interest us.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron glanced at Coralie, who nodded. He answered:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mme. Essarès has informed me and even . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>And he handed Patrice a very slender album, covered in gray canvas and +fastened with an india-rubber band.</p> + +<p>Patrice took it with a certain anxiety. But what he saw on opening it +was so utterly unexpected that he gave an exclamation:</p> + +<p>“It’s incredible!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +photo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a></span>graphs? And who can have collected them together with yours, +madame?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Who can have brought them together?” he repeated. “Do you know? And +where does the album come from?”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron supplied the answer:</p> + +<p>“It was the surgeon who found it. M. Essarès 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. +Essarès’ body.”</p> + +<p>This time, Patrice’s and Coralie’s eyes met. The thought that M. Essarès +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.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure of what you are saying, sir?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” cried Captain Belval. “What’s that? A pendant? An +amethyst pendant?”</p> + +<p>“Look for yourself, sir,” suggested the magis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a></span>trate, after once more +consulting Mme. Essarès with a glance.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The setting served as a clasp.</p> + +<p>“Am I to open it?” he asked.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice reflected, with pale cheeks. Presently he asked:</p> + +<p>“And where does this pendant come from? Did you find it, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Captain Belval.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>The magistrate seemed to hesitate. Coralie’s attitude gave Patrice the +impression that she was unaware of this detail. M. Masseron at last +said:</p> + +<p>“I found it in the dead man’s hand.”</p> + +<p>“In the dead man’s hand? In M. Essarès’ hand?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Yes, in his hand. I had to force back the clasped fingers in order to +release it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a></span>Belval stood up and, striking the table with his fist, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>This revelation, which in reality amounted to a fresh accusation against +Essarès, seemed to affect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>M. Masseron raised an objection:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It will be found in due course.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Second point: as regards the amethyst pendant discovered in +Essarès’ hand, how can we tell that Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>“But I do know.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron thought for a moment and then said:</p> + +<p>“Did he go out this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Ask Mme. Essarès.”</p> + +<p>Without turning round, manifestly wishing to avoid Belval’s eyes, +Coralie answered:</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that he went out. The suit he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a></span> wearing at the time of +his death was an indoor suit.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see him after last night?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon and tell him to go with +me. Siméon caught me up in the street. That is all I know.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I will answer them, sir, as plainly as you put them.”</p> + +<p>He went up to the magistrate and said:</p> + +<p>“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. +Essarès 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 mur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a></span>dered at the moment when he was about to execute +his plan. Now everything tells me that he was murdered by M. Essarès. 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.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron burst out laughing:</p> + +<p>“By Jove, captain, but you’re letting yourself go!”</p> + +<p>“I’m behaving according to my conscience; and Mme. Essarès, 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.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron waited for a second or two and then, laying his hand on +Patrice’s shoulder, said, calmly:</p> + +<p>“And, suppose the authorities knew what the stakes were?”</p> + +<p>Patrice looked at him in surprise:</p> + +<p>“What? Do you mean to say you know?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“And can you tell me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if you force me to!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a></span>“What are they?”</p> + +<p>“Not much! A trifle!”</p> + +<p>“But what sort of trifle?”</p> + +<p>“A thousand million francs.”</p> + +<p>“A thousand millions?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What reason?”</p> + +<p>“They happen to be in gold.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">ESSARÈS BEY’S WORK</span></h2> + +<p>This time Captain Belval seemed to relax to some extent. He vaguely +perceived the consideration that compelled the authorities to wage the +battle prudently.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>“Then Mme. Essarès knew?”</p> + +<p>“No, but she suspected a great deal; and last night, before you arrived, +she overheard some words spoken between Essarès 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. Essarès displayed the same wish—but your impetuosity overcomes my +hesitation; and, since I can’t manage to get rid of you, Captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a></span> +Belval, I will tell you the whole story frankly . . . especially as your +cooperation is not to be despised.”</p> + +<p>“I am all ears,” said Patrice, who was burning to know more.</p> + +<p>“Well, the motive force of the plot was here, in this house. Essarès +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 Essarès 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. . . .”</p> + +<p>“The men I saw last night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, half-a-dozen shady Levantines, sham naturalized French citizens, +more or less well-disguised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a></span> Bulgarians, secret agents of the little +German courts in the Balkans. This gang ran provincial branches of +Essarès’ bank. It had in its pay, on Essarès’ 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 Essarès Bey, who also had closed his offices in the Rue +Lafayette.”</p> + +<p>“What happened then?”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès 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 +Essarès 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. Essarès so that they might have a hostage to use against her +husband. In the evening . . . in the evening you yourself witnessed the +final episode.”</p> + +<p>“But why yesterday evening rather than another?”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès Bey when he made his last remittances, +they believed that each of the re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a></span>mittances, or rather each removal of +the sacks, was preceded by a signal.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a shower of sparks, was it not?”</p> + +<p>“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. +Essarès Bey lit it last night himself. The accomplices at once took +alarm and came prepared to go any lengths.”</p> + +<p>“And Essarès’ plan failed.”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès Bey, who +dreaded his intervention. And, five hours later, at twenty-three past +twelve, Essarès 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?”</p> + +<p>After a moment’s reflection Patrice said:</p> + +<p>“Yes, I agree.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“But is silence possible?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Bless my soul, there are a good few corpses to be explained away! +Colonel Fakhi’s, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“Suicide.”</p> + +<p>“Mustapha’s, which you will discover or which you have already +discovered in the Galliéra garden?”</p> + +<p>“Found dead.”</p> + +<p>“Essarès Bey’s?”</p> + +<p>“An accident.”</p> + +<p>“So that all these manifestations of the same power will remain +separated?”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to show the link that connects them.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the public will think otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“The public will think what we wish it to think. This is war-time.”</p> + +<p>“The press will speak.”</p> + +<p>“The press will do nothing of the kind. We have the censorship.”</p> + +<p>“But, if some fact or, rather, a fresh crime . . . ?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a></span>“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 Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice Belval shook his head:</p> + +<p>“Mme. Essarès remains, sir. We must not forget her husband’s threats.”</p> + +<p>“He is dead.”</p> + +<p>“No matter, the threats are there. Old Siméon tells you so in a striking +fashion.”</p> + +<p>“He’s half mad.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, his brain retains the impression of great and imminent danger. +No, the struggle is not ended. Perhaps indeed it is only beginning.”</p> + +<p>“Well, captain, are we not here? Make it your business to protect and +defend Mme. Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>“What makes you think that?”</p> + +<p>“Some words which Mme. Essarès overheard last night. The colonel +repeated several times, ‘The gold is here, Essarès.’ He added, ‘For +years past, your car brought to this house all that there was at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a></span> your +bank in the Rue Lafayette. Siméon, 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.’”</p> + +<p>“And have you no clue?”</p> + +<p>“Not one. Or this at most; but I attach comparatively little value to +it.”</p> + +<p>He took a crumpled paper from his pocket, unfolded it and continued:</p> + +<p>“Besides the pendant, Essarès 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 +Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès and yourself in the +same album and in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>He shook Patrice by the hand. Patrice held him back:</p> + +<p>“I shall make use of you, sir, as you suggest. But is this not the time +to take the necessary precautions?”</p> + +<p>“They are taken, captain. We are in occupation of the house.”</p> + +<p>“Yes . . . yes . . . I know; but, all the same . . . I have a sort of +presentiment that the day will not end without. . . . Remember old +Siméon’s strange words. . . .”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron began to laugh:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Patrice again, bowed to Mme. Essarès and left the +room.</p> + +<p>Belval had at first made a discreet movement to go out with him. He +stopped at the door and walked back again. Mme. Essarès, who seemed not +to hear him, sat motionless, bent in two, with her head turned away from +him.</p> + +<p>“Coralie,” he said.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He put his hand on the back of the chair in which she was sitting; and +his hand just touched Coralie’s hair.</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>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 <i>tu</i> and <i>toi</i> which, in his mouth, retained a note of +affectionate respect, he cried:</p> + +<p>“Am I to speak, Little Mother Coralie? I needn’t, need I? You have +understood; and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a></span>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?</p> + +<p>The light had begun to fade, without his noticing it. Also unperceived +by Patrice, Mme. Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Coralie is done for,” he thought, “if I allow it to be suspected for an +instant that I am on my guard.”</p> + +<p>She was in fact opposite the window, with no obstacle intervening. He +therefore said aloud, in a careless tone:</p> + +<p>“Coralie, you must be a little tired. We will say good-by.”</p> + +<p>At the same time, he went round her chair to protect her.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Patrice! . . . Patrice! . . .”</p> + +<p>Two shots rang out, followed by a moan.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a></span>“You’re wounded!” cried Patrice, springing to her side.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” she said, “but the fright . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, if he’s touched you, the scoundrel!”</p> + +<p>“No, he hasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Are you quite sure?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“I saw the figure of a man making off that way.”</p> + +<p>“Which way?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Help! . . . Help! . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“The door’s open!” shouted Patrice. “The assassin has escaped! Go after +him!”</p> + +<p>The policeman vanished down the lane; and, Ya-Bon appearing on the +scene, Patrice gave him his orders:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a></span>“Quick as you can, Ya-Bon! . . . If the policeman is going up the lane, +you go down. Run! I’ll look after the victim.”</p> + +<p>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 Siméon, nearly strangled, with a red-silk cord round his +neck.</p> + +<p>“How do you feel?” he asked. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”</p> + +<p>He unfastened the cord and repeated his question. Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>When M. Masseron arrived, Patrice told him what had happened:</p> + +<p>“Do you really believe it’s all over?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No. You were right and I was wrong,” said M. Masseron. “We must take +every precaution to ensure Mme. Essarès’ safety. The house shall be +guarded all night.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>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-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a></span>Bon’s arm and, leaning upon him for support as he walked, he said:</p> + +<p>“I can guess what you’re thinking, Ya-Bon.”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon grunted.</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès. 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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a></span>Patrice leant more heavily on his companion’s arm:</p> + +<p>“You, who know so many good people, haven’t you the fellow I want +concealed about your person? A genius of sorts? A demigod?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Arsène Lupin.</i></p> + +<p>“Arsène Lupin,” said Patrice, under his breath. And, looking at Ya-Bon +in amazement, “Are you in your right mind? What do you mean by Arsène +Lupin? Are you suggesting Arsène Lupin to me?”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“Arsène Lupin? Do you know him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Ya-Bon signified.</p> + +<p>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 Arsène Lupin aloud to him; and he grinned:</p> + +<p>“Yes, you know him as one knows somebody whose history one has read.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a></span>“No,” protested Ya-Bon.</p> + +<p>“Do you know him personally?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Get out, you silly fool! Arsène Lupin is dead. He threw himself into +the sea from a rock;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and you pretend that you know him?”</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>813</i>. By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by Alexander Teixeira +de Mattos.</p></div> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that you have met him since he died?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“By Jove! And Master Ya-Bon’s influence with Arsène Lupin is enough to +make him come to life again and put himself out at a sign from Master +Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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 Arsène 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?”</p> + +<p>Ya-Bon made a gesture.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +<span class="smalltext">PATRICE AND CORALIE</span></h2> + +<p>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 Essarès Bey, the wealthy banker, +passed unnoticed.</p> + +<p>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-Élysées; Mme. Essarès was appointed matron; and it became +the residence of Captain Belval and his seven wounded men exclusively.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a></span>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 Essarès Bey was +dead, who was continuing his work? Who had inherited the task of revenge +upon Coralie announced in his last letter?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>In two days he had assured himself that the treasure was hidden neither +in the house nor under the house. On the evenings when Essarès Bey’s car +brought the gold out of the coffers of the Franco-Oriental Bank to the +Rue Raynouard, Essarès, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a></span> chauffeur and the man known as Grégoire +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ten acres to explore before we’ve done,” said M. Masseron to himself.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès, his secretary and factotum.</p> + +<p>Coralie here spent three years of her childhood. Then she suddenly lost +her mother and was left alone in the world. Essarès 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 Essarès’ influence, signed papers and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a></span> +made her little grand-niece sign papers, until the child’s whole +fortune, administered by the Egyptian, gradually disappeared.</p> + +<p>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. Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès, 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.</p> + +<p>Before the end of the year they came and took up their residence at the +house in the Rue Raynouard. Essarès, 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>“Failing everything else,” said Patrice, “we can explain that the +pendant found in the hand of Essarès 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?”</p> + +<p>Neither attempted to answer the question. Then Patrice asked:</p> + +<p>“Tell me about Siméon.”</p> + +<p>“Siméon has always lived here.”</p> + +<p>“Even in your mother’s time?”</p> + +<p>“No, it was one or two years after my mother’s death and after I went to +Salonica that Essarès put him to look after this property and keep it in +good condition.”</p> + +<p>“Was he Essarès’ secretary?”</p> + +<p>“I never knew what his exact functions were. But he was not Essarès’ +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a></span> I heard him speaking to +Essarès in a very angry tone, apparently threatening him.”</p> + +<p>“With what?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I know nothing at all about Siméon. 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.”</p> + +<p>“How did he behave to you?”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to speak, and then +continued:</p> + +<p>“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-Élysées, the hospital where you were lying +wounded and ill? It was because Siméon 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a></span> Siméon +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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Was old Siméon?” Patrice interrupted. “The theory won’t hold water.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You can never be sure.”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon is alive. Besides,” continued Patrice, “this +man had a different voice from Siméon, a voice which I had never heard +before and which I shall never hear again.”</p> + +<p>Coralie was convinced and did not insist.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What is it, dear?” he repeated. “What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is so strange!” she murmured. “Look, Patrice, look at those +flowers.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Look over there,” she said, pointing to this plot with her outstretched +arm. “Do you see? . . . Letters. . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a></span><i>Patrice and Coralie</i></p> + +<p>“Ah,” he said, in a low voice, “I understand what you mean!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Coralie, sitting up, said:</p> + +<p>“It’s Siméon who attends to the garden.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, wavering slightly. “But surely that does not affect my +opinion. Our unknown friend is dead, but Siméon may have known him. +Siméon 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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I have something curious to show you,” he said, “something I have found +which will interest both you, madame, and you, captain, particularly.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Patrice and Coralie</i></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon and such people as he chose to admit. And among +these,” he concluded, “was our unknown friend who is now dead. And +Siméon knows the truth, Coralie.”</p> + +<p>They saw old Siméon, late that afternoon, as they had seen him +constantly since the tragedy, wandering in the garden or along the +passages of the house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>Patrice twice tried to make him speak. He shook his head and did not +answer, or else laughed like an idiot.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On these two occasions their names were accompanied by two separate +dates:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a></span><i>Patrice and Coralie, 1904</i><br /> +<i>Patrice and Coralie, 1907</i></p> + +<p>“Eleven years ago and eight years ago,” said the officer. “And always +our two names: Patrice and Coralie.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In spite of themselves, however, they sought out solitude; and it was in +this way that, a fortnight after the murder of Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But who lives there?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody. The little house which overlooks it and which comes before +mine, in the Rue Raynouard, is always shut up.”</p> + +<p>“Same door, same key, perhaps,” Patrice murmured, half to himself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a></span>He inserted in the lock the rusty key, which had reached him by +messenger. The lock responded.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “the series of miracles is continuing. Will this one be +in our favor?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Coralie, Coralie,” whispered Patrice, in a voice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a></span> trembling with +emotion, “who can be buried here?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center">HERE LIE<br /> +PATRICE AND CORALIE,<br /> +BOTH OF WHOM WERE MURDERED<br /> +ON THE 14th OF APRIL, 1895.<br /> +REVENGE TO ME: I WILL REPAY.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +<span class="smalltext">THE RED CORD</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What was your mother’s name, Coralie?” Patrice whispered.</p> + +<p>“Louise,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“And my father’s name was Armand. It cannot be either of them, +therefore; and yet . . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice also was displaying the greatest agitation. Stooping down, he +examined the nineteen wreaths, renewed his inspection of the tombstone +and said:</p> + +<p>“All the same, Coralie, the coincidence is really too extraordinary. My +father died in 1895.”</p> + +<p>“And my mother died in that year too,” she said, “though I do not know +the exact date.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Have you found out?” she asked him at once.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do they explain what we saw two days ago?” she asked, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me, Coralie.”</p> + +<p>He sat down opposite her and said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then you persist in assuming that it was my mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I took a copy of her death-certificate, Coralie. Your mother died +on the fourteenth of April, 1895.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she said. “That is the date on the tomb!”</p> + +<p>“The very date.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a></span>“But the name? Coralie? My father used to call her Louise.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother’s name was Louise Coralie Countess Odolavitch.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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’Opéra. I called on this notary, who +told me . . .”</p> + +<p>He stopped for a moment and then said:</p> + +<p>“The lodge was bought twenty-one years ago by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a></span> 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 Siméon Diodokis, a Greek subject.”</p> + +<p>“It’s he!” cried Coralie. “Siméon’s name is Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Siméon 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 Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Your mother and my father loved each other, Coralie.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a></span> 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 Siméon Diodokis +discovered, since he was not afraid to say so in the inscription on the +tombstone.”</p> + +<p>“And who was the murderer?” Coralie asked, under her breath.</p> + +<p>“You suspect it, Coralie, as I do. The hated name comes to your mind, +even though we have no grounds for speaking with certainty.”</p> + +<p>“Essarès!” she cried, in anguish.</p> + +<p>“Most probably.”</p> + +<p>She hid her face in her hands:</p> + +<p>“No, no, it is impossible. It is impossible that I should have been the +wife of the man who killed my mother.”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon, my father’s friend and +executor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a></span> the man who bought the lovers’ lodge, the man who swore upon +their tomb to avenge them: remember that Siméon, a few months after your +mother’s death, persuaded Essarès to engage him as caretaker of the +estate, became his secretary and gradually made his way into Essarès’ +life. His only object must have been to carry out a plan of revenge.”</p> + +<p>“There has been no revenge.”</p> + +<p>“What do we know about it? Do we know how Essarès met his death? +Certainly it was not Siméon who killed him, as Siméon was at the +hospital. But he may have caused him to be killed. And revenge has a +thousand ways of manifesting itself. Lastly, Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Patrice, you no longer believe that he is dead, this unknown +friend, or that you heard his dying cries?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot say. Siméon 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a></span> 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 Siméon Diodokis has worked unobtrusively and +patiently on our behalf, doing his utmost to defeat the murderer, and +that Siméon 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.”</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>Patrice resolved once more to make the attempt, though he felt sure of a +fresh disappointment. Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon’s absence, and so had Patrice, each from his own point +of view.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>The Golden Triangle</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a></span>There was nothing more, not another clue of any kind, to further M. +Masseron’s search.</p> + +<p>Patrice walked straight up to the old man and tapped him on the +shoulder:</p> + +<p>“Siméon!” he said.</p> + +<p>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. Siméon began to laugh foolishly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 Siméon had gazed upon so often:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Patrice and Coralie</i><br /> +<i>14 April, 1895</i></p> + +<p>The old man looked, shook his head and repeated his melancholy, foolish +chuckle.</p> + +<p>The officer added a new line:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Armand Belval</i></p> + +<p>The old man displayed the same torpor. Patrice continued the test. He +wrote down the names of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a></span> Essarès Bey and Colonel Fakhi. He drew a +triangle. The old man failed to understand and went on chuckling.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Opposite, at the corner of the boulevard and a side-street, was a café, +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.</p> + +<p>By this time Siméon 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 +Bour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a></span>nef was. M. Masseron replied that he would come at once.</p> + +<p>Since the murder of Essarès 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 Grégoire’s sanctuary and the bedrooms with +the wall-cupboards; but the whole place was empty. The accomplices had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon,” said Patrice to himself, “was acquainted with their +habits. He must have known that they were accustomed to meet at this +café on a certain day of the week, at a fixed hour, and he suddenly +remembered it all at the sight of Bournef’s name.”</p> + +<p>A few minutes later M. Masseron alighted from his car with his men. The +business did not take long. The open front of the café was surrounded. +The accomplices offered no resistance. M. Masseron sent three of them +under a strong guard to the Dépôt and hustled Bournef into a private +room.</p> + +<p>“Come along,” he said to Patrice. “We’ll question him.”</p> + +<p>“Mme. Essarès is alone at the house,” Patrice objected.</p> + +<p>“Alone? No. There are all your soldier-men.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It’s only a matter of a few minutes,” M. Masseron insisted. “One should +always take advantage of the fluster caused by the arrest.”</p> + +<p>Patrice followed him, but they soon saw that Bournef was not one of +those men who are easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a></span> put out. He simply shrugged his shoulders at +their threats:</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès, 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.”</p> + +<p>“Then you refuse to answer?” said M. Masseron.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty well everything.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a pity: it decreases my value. Do you know about Essarès’ last +night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, with the bargain of the four millions. What’s become of the +money?”</p> + +<p>Bournef made a furious gesture:</p> + +<p>“Taken from us! Stolen! It was a trap!”</p> + +<p>“Who took it?”</p> + +<p>“One Grégoire.”</p> + +<p>“Who was he?”</p> + +<p>“His familiar, as we have since learnt. We discovered that this Grégoire +was no other than a fellow who used to serve as his chauffeur on +occasion.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a></span>“And who therefore helped him to convey the bags of gold from the bank +to his house.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And we also think, we know . . . Look here, you may as well call +it a certainty. Grégoire . . . is a woman.”</p> + +<p>“A woman!”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. His mistress. We have several proofs of it. But she’s a +trustworthy, capable woman, strong as a man and afraid of nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know her address?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“As to the gold: have you no clue to its whereabouts, no suspicion?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No clue either to Essarès’ murderer?”</p> + +<p>“No, none.”</p> + +<p>“Are you quite sure?”</p> + +<p>“Why should I tell a lie?”</p> + +<p>“Suppose it was yourself? Or one of your friends?”</p> + +<p>“We thought that you would suspect us. Fortunately, we happen to have an +alibi.”</p> + +<p>“Easy to prove?”</p> + +<p>“Impossible to upset.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll look into it. So you have nothing more to reveal?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a></span> meetings here from four +to five o’clock, one person only, Essarès Bey; and he himself often came +here to confer with us. Essarès is dead. Then who gave us away?”</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon.”</p> + +<p>Bournef started with astonishment:</p> + +<p>“What! Siméon? Siméon Diodokis?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Siméon Diodokis, Essarès Bey’s secretary.”</p> + +<p>“He? Oh, I’ll make him pay for this, the blackguard! But no, it’s +impossible.”</p> + +<p>“What makes you say that it’s impossible?’”</p> + +<p>“Why, because . . .”</p> + +<p>He stopped and thought for some time, no doubt to convince himself that +there was no harm in speaking. Then he finished his sentence:</p> + +<p>“Because old Siméon was on our side.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you say?” exclaimed Patrice, whose turn it was to be +surprised.</p> + +<p>“I say and I swear that Siméon Diodokis was on our side. He was our man. +It was he who kept us informed of Essarès Bey’s shady tricks. It was he +who rang us up at nine o’clock in the evening to tell us that Essarès +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.”</p> + +<p>“But why? Why this treachery? For the sake of money?”</p> + +<p>“No, from hatred. He bore Essarès Bey a hatred that often gave us the +shudders.”</p> + +<p>“What prompted it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a></span>“I don’t know. Siméon keeps his own counsel. But it dated a long way +back.”</p> + +<p>“Did he know where the gold was hidden?” asked M. Masseron.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And yet they used to leave the grounds. If so, how are we to know that +the same thing didn’t happen this time?”</p> + +<p>“This time we were keeping watch the whole way round outside, a thing +which Siméon could not do by himself.”</p> + +<p>Patrice now put the question:</p> + +<p>“Can you tell us nothing more about him?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“What did it say?” asked Patrice, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“It was all about a key.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you remember the details?”</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Patrice</i>,</p> + +<p>“You will this evening receive a key. The key opens +two doors midway down a lane leading to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“My best love to you.”</p></div> + +<p>“It’s not signed,” said Bournef, “but, I repeat, it’s in Siméon’s +handwriting. As for the lady, she is obviously Mme. Essarès.”</p> + +<p>“But what danger can she be running?” exclaimed Patrice, uneasily. +“Essarès is dead, so there is nothing to fear.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t say that. He would take some killing.”</p> + +<p>“Whom can he have instructed to avenge him? Who would continue his +work?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say, but I should take no risks.”</p> + +<p>Patrice waited to hear no more. He thrust the letter into M. Masseron’s +hand and made his escape.</p> + +<p>“Rue Raynouard, fast as you can,” he said, springing into a taxi.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a></span>He was eager to reach his destination. The dangers of which old Siméon +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?</p> + +<p>“If anything happens to me,” Siméon had said.</p> + +<p>And the supposition was partly realized, since he had lost his wits.</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” muttered Patrice, “this is sheer idiocy. . . . I am +fancying things. . . . There is no reason . . .”</p> + +<p>But his mental anguish increased every minute. He reminded himself that +old Siméon 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 Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>He saw Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>“Any news?” Patrice asked the soldier on duty.</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s Little Mother Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“She had a walk in the garden and went upstairs half an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>“Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>“Ya-Bon went up with Little Mother Coralie. He should be at her door.”</p> + +<p>Patrice climbed the stairs, feeling a good deal calmer. But, when he +came to the first floor, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing there?” he shouted, running up.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Damn it! He’s wounded! Dead perhaps.”</p> + +<p>He leapt over the body and rushed into the room, switching on the light +at once.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He found that she was in fact breathing:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Patrice,” she said, in a trembling voice, “I’m frightened . . . +frightened for you!”</p> + +<p>“What are you frightened of, Coralie? Who is the scoundrel?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a></span>“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! . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +<span class="smalltext">ON THE BRINK</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The men came hurrying up.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They began to protest loudly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But whom are we to speak to, sir?” one of them objected. “There’s +nobody here.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“And old Siméon, sir?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès Bey’s lifetime, as +a smoking-room.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“At last,” he said to himself, “I shall know the truth. I shall know who +this man is. Some friend of Essarès’, 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. . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was in fact no alarm.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon’s room.</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t stirred out, I suppose?” he asked the two soldiers posted on +guard.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think so, sir. In any case, we haven’t unlocked the door.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>“This all seems devilish odd,” he said to himself. “How did the things +get in here? Did Siméon collect them without any definite object, +mechanically? Or am I to assume that Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>Siméon 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 Siméon was preparing to lay +on the grave of his dead friends.</p> + +<p>“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, Siméon, +isn’t it: you will take it there to-morrow? For to-morrow is the +fourteenth of April, the sacred anniversary. . . .”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a></span> inextricable drama. Siméon thought that Patrice wanted +to take the wreath from him and pressed it to his chest with a startled +gesture.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be afraid,” said Patrice. “You can keep it. To-morrow, Siméon, +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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At a late hour in the afternoon M. Masseron called at the Rue Raynouard.</p> + +<p>“Look what I’ve just received,” he said to Patrice. “It’s rather +curious: an anonymous letter in a disguised hand. Listen:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“‘<i>Sir</i>, be warned. They’re going away. Take care. +To-morrow evening the 1800 bags will be on their way +out of the country.</p> + +<p class="signature">A Friend of France.’”</p></div> + +<p>“And to-morrow is the fourteenth of April,” said Patrice, at once +connecting the two trains of thought in his mind.</p> + +<p>“Yes. What makes you say that?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. . . . Something that just occurred to me. . . .”</p> + +<p>He was nearly telling M. Masseron all the facts associated with the +fourteenth of April and all those concerning the strange personality of +old Siméon. If he did not speak, it was for obscure reasons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a></span> 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:</p> + +<p>“What do you think of the letter?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing fresh on his side?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And the next day was the fourteenth of April.</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>At nine o’clock in the morning Patrice asked after old Siméon.</p> + +<p>“Gone out, sir. You had countermanded your orders.”</p> + +<p>Patrice entered the room and looked for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Did Siméon take anything with him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, a wreath.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing else?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Shortly before ten o’clock Coralie joined him in the garden. Patrice had +told her the latest events. She looked pale and anxious.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“You’re coming in, aren’t you, Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I somehow thought you seemed undecided, anxious . . .”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite true,” said Coralie. “I feel a sort of hollowness.”</p> + +<p>“Why? Are you afraid?”</p> + +<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s go back, Coralie.”</p> + +<p>She only took his arm:</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, in a firm voice. “We’ll walk on. I want to pray. It will +do me good.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Siméon has come,” said Patrice. “An all-powerful instinct obliged him +to come. He must be somewhere near.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was Coralie once again who gave the signal for action:</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said.</p> + +<p>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 +ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a></span>proached, they saw that the back-door opening on the yard was wide +open, and they at once thought that Siméon was waiting for them inside.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That’s where it must have happened . . . long ago,” said Coralie, in a +frightened whisper.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Patrice, “we shall find Siméon there. But, if your courage +fails you, Coralie, we had better give it up.”</p> + +<p>An unquestioning force of will supported her. Nothing now would have +induced her to stop. She walked on.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Siméon is not here,” said Patrice.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my darling, darling mother!” Coralie whispered.</p> + +<p>Her emotion increased with each new memory. She leant trembling on +Patrice’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go,” he said.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>But they had taken only a few steps when they stopped dismayed.</p> + +<p>The door was closed.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met, filled with uneasiness.</p> + +<p>“We didn’t close it, did we?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, “we didn’t close it.”</p> + +<p>He went to open it and perceived that it had neither handle nor lock.</p> + +<p>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 rap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a></span>ping at it with a tool. And then +. . . and then, on the right, were these few words in pencil:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Patrice and Coralie, 14 April, 1895</i><br /> +<i>God will avenge us</i></p> + +<p>Below this was a cross and, below the cross, another date, but in a +different and more recent handwriting:</p> + +<p class="center"><i>14 April, 1915</i></p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He ran to the other window and found the same obstacle.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a></span>fore 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. . . .</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">IN THE ABYSS</span></h2> + +<p>“No, no, no!” cried Patrice. “I won’t stand this!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She had sunk into a chair. He, almost on his knees beside her, threw his +arms around her, imploring her pardon.</p> + +<p>She smiled, to calm him:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a></span> this one, Coralie, this one proves premeditation, and an implacable +determination to do away with us.”</p> + +<p>She shuddered. Still she persisted in trying to comfort him:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon does.”</p> + +<p>“Siméon 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 Siméon has played his part.”</p> + +<p>“And what then, Patrice?”</p> + +<p>He felt that she was overcome and began to be ashamed of his own +weakness:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a></span> heaped +up most of the furniture in front of it, thus forming a barricade which +would protect them against a surprise.</p> + +<p>Then Patrice cocked his two revolvers and placed them beside him, in +full sight.</p> + +<p>“This will make us easy in our minds,” he said. “Any enemy who appears +is a dead man.”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Darling Patrice</i>,</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p></div> + +<p>And, in another book:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>My own Coralie</i>,</p> + +<p>“You have this minute gone; I shall not see you until +to-morrow and I do not want to leave this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a></span> haven where +our love has tasted such delights without once more +telling you . . .”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How?” asked Coralie.</p> + +<p>“How? Why, by our soldiers, by Ya-Bon, by M. Masseron! They will be +uneasy if we do not come home to-night.”</p> + +<p>“You yourself said, Patrice, that they cannot know where we are.”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon. +What will have become of him? Surely they will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a></span> notice his movements? +And won’t he give a warning of some kind?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Patrice, my dear Son</i>,</p> + +<p>“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.”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“It’s the same method,” he said, “as that which old Siméon has since +employed. First write on the walls, then cover it up with wood or +plaster.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice read, in an undertone:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.’</p> + +<p>“Everything was, in fact, ready. He did not know me, +but he must have known that Coralie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a></span> used to meet +somebody here daily; and it was in this lodge that he +prepared our tomb.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p></div> + +<p>The uncovered portion stopped here. Patrice said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He went on, after examining the spot:</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice set to work again. A few more lines made their appearance:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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!”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +. . . !”</p> + +<p>He began to walk up and down, once more yielding to his anger:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Coralie, he shall be punished, if not by us, then by +the hand of God. No, his infernal scheme will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a></span> 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. . . .”</p></div> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>But the father answered the son with nothing but more words of challenge +and despair:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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?”</p></div> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a></span> that they seemed to be suffering two deaths, and +the second agony was now commencing.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>At last he read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p></div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a></span> way as before, +with a pick-ax, but on the stones this time. We also +heard the noise of a pane of glass breaking.</p> + +<p>“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. +. . .”</p></div> + +<p>Patrice stopped reading and looked at Coralie. Both of them were +listening.</p> + +<p>“Hark!” he said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” she answered, “I hear. . . . Steps outside the house . . . +in the garden. . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“It’s the sound which you make when you dig the ground with a pick-ax.”</p> + +<p>Yes, It must be that. Some one was digging the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a></span> ground, not in front of +the house, but on the right, near the kitchen.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice and Coralie stood listening side by side, their eyes in each +other’s eyes, their hands in each other’s hands.</p> + +<p>“He’s stopping,” whispered Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Coralie; “only I think . . .”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>And then . . . and then what would happen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a></span> 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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And the enemy again walked across the roof and went down the side of the +house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>And the writing went on:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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? . . .”</p></div> + +<p>“He is going up again, he is going up again,” gasped Coralie, nestling +against Patrice.</p> + +<p>The enemy’s footsteps were pounding over the zinc.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She shuddered at her image of the man who had killed her mother; and she +asked:</p> + +<p>“It was he, was it not?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a></span>“Yes, it was he. There is his name, written by my father.”</p> + +<p>Patrice had almost entirely uncovered the inscription. Bending low, he +pointed with his finger:</p> + +<p>“Look. Read the name: Essarès. You can see it down there: it was one of +the last words my father wrote.”</p> + +<p>And Coralie read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The skylight rose higher, a hand lifted it and we saw +. . . we saw, laughing as he looked down on us—oh, +the scoundrel—Essarès! . . . Essarès! . . . 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.</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès’ handwriting, are the words, ‘Send +Coralie up by herself. Her life shall be saved. I give +her ten minutes to accept. If not . . .’”</p></div> + +<p>“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 +Siméon’s cupboard?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a></span>“Who will it be? There are three men who could have played this sinister +part as it was played before. Two are dead, Essarès and my father. And +Siméon, 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.”</p> + +<p>He felt Coralie’s fingers clutching his arm.</p> + +<p>“Hush,” she said, “here he is!”</p> + +<p>“No, no.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m sure of it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was the head of old Siméon.</p> + +<p>“The madman!” Patrice whispered, in dismay. “The madman!”</p> + +<p>“But perhaps he isn’t mad,” she said. “He can’t be mad.”</p> + +<p>She could not check the trembling that shook her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Coralie,” said Patrice, in a low voice, “do what I say. . . . Come. +. . .”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a></span> which he had placed his revolvers, take one of them and fire.</p> + +<p>Siméon remained motionless, like some evil genius come to unloose the +tempest. . . . Coralie could not rid herself of that glance which +weighted upon her.</p> + +<p>“No,” she murmured, resisting Patrice, as though she feared that his +intention would precipitate the dreaded catastrophe, “no, you mustn’t. +. . .”</p> + +<p>But Patrice, displaying greater determination, was near his object. One +more effort and his hand would hold the revolver.</p> + +<p>He quickly made up his mind, took rapid aim and fired a shot.</p> + +<p>The head disappeared from sight.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Coralie, “you were wrong, Patrice! He will take his revenge +on us. . . .”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>They waited hand in hand, with a gleam of hope, which did not last long, +however.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon’s cupboard.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a></span> sought the +sheet of paper which must inevitably be pinned to the bottom rung.</p> + +<p><a name="scroll" id="scroll"></a>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 Essarès and +now serving, as before, to convey the same temptation and the same +threat:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Send Coralie up by herself. Her life shall be saved. +I give her ten minutes to accept. If not . . .”</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">THE NAILS IN THE COFFIN</span></h2> + +<p>“If not . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a></span> would, for she was dead. And now it was +being set again.</p> + +<p>Patrice read the inscription; and the rapidly scrawled words became less +distinct:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have begged and entreated Coralie. . . . She flung +herself on her knees before me. She wants to die with +me. . . .”</p></div> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I shall stay,” she replied, simply.</p> + +<p>He gave a start:</p> + +<p>“But this is madness! Why make a useless sacrifice? Are you afraid of +what might happen if you obeyed him?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then go.”</p> + +<p>“I shall stay.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a></span>“But why? Why this obstinacy? It can do no good. Then why stay?”</p> + +<p>“Because I love you, Patrice.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” he said, “you love me, Coralie! You love me!”</p> + +<p>“I love you, my own Patrice.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She did not listen and continued her confession, happy in making it, +happy in uttering words which she had kept to herself so long:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” he said, striving to release himself, “it is your duty to +go.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a></span>He made another effort and caught hold of her hands:</p> + +<p>“It is your duty to go,” he whispered, “and, when you are free, to do +all that you can to save me.”</p> + +<p>“What are you saying, Patrice?”</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>She looked at him with so sad a smile and such a doubting expression +that he stopped speaking.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You really think that?”</p> + +<p>“Just as you do, Patrice. Just as you are sure of what will happen +afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what will happen?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He resisted her embrace. He knew that the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a></span> kiss of her proffered +lips would deprive him of all his power of will.</p> + +<p>“This is terrible,” he muttered. “How can you expect me to accept your +sacrifice, you, so young, with years of happiness before you?”</p> + +<p>“Years of mourning and despair, if you are gone.”</p> + +<p>“You must live, Coralie. I entreat you to, with all my soul.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“And if I ordered you to go, Coralie?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>The thought was too much for him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the horror of it! That man . . . that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a></span> man . . . you, my Coralie, +so stainless and undefiled! . . .”</p> + +<p>Neither he nor she pictured the man in the exact image of Siméon. To +both of them, notwithstanding the hideous vision perceived above, the +enemy retained a mysterious character. It was perhaps Siméon. It was +perhaps another, of whom Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>Patrice asked one more question:</p> + +<p>“Did you ever notice that Siméon sought your company?”</p> + +<p>“No, never. If anything, he rather avoided me.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s because he’s mad. . . .”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he is mad: he is revenging himself.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible. He was my father’s friend. All his life long he worked to +bring us together: surely he would not kill us deliberately?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Patrice, I don’t understand. . . .”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“You agree, do you not?” asked Coralie, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>He made no answer.</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a></span> I do. You must let me bear my share. Tell me that you agree.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I agree.”</p> + +<p>“My own Patrice! Now give me your two hands, look right into my eyes and +smile.”</p> + +<p>Mad with love and longing they plunged themselves for an instant into a +sort of ecstasy. Then she asked:</p> + +<p>“What is it, Patrice? You seem distraught again.”</p> + +<p>He gave a hoarse cry:</p> + +<p>“Look! . . . Look . . .”</p> + +<p>This time he was certain of what he had seen. The ladder was going up. +The ten minutes were over.</p> + +<p>He rushed forward and caught hold of one of the rungs. The ladder no +longer moved.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>One or two minutes passed. The ladder must have been hooked fast again, +for Patrice felt a firm resistance up above.</p> + +<p>Coralie was entreating him:</p> + +<p>“Patrice,” she asked, “Patrice, what are you hoping for?”</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a></span> he placed his left foot on the fifth rung of the ladder and +began to raise himself by the uprights.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He understood what had happened. The enemy had lowered a shutter upon +the skylight, covering it entirely.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a></span>“Patrice! Oh, Patrice! Where are you?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t leave me, Patrice!” Coralie implored.</p> + +<p>“I am here,” he replied. “Have no fear: they can’t separate us.”</p> + +<p>“You are right,” she panted, “they can’t separate us. We are in our +grave.”</p> + +<p>The word was so terrible and Coralie uttered it so mournfully that a +reaction overtook Patrice.</p> + +<p>“No! What are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “We must not despair. +There is hope of safety until the last moment.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a></span> 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:</p> + +<p>“Patrice,” stammered Coralie, “I’m frightened . . . That tapping hurts +me so!” . . .</p> + +<p>She sank back in his arms. Patrice felt tears coursing down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Don’t leave me,” sobbed Coralie, “don’t leave me! . . .”</p> + +<p>“Only for a second or two,” he said. “We must be avenged later.”</p> + +<p>“What is the use, Patrice? What can it matter to us?”</p> + +<p>He had a box containing a few matches. Lighting them one after the +other, he led Coralie to the panel with the inscription.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I will not have our death put down to suicide.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>He took a pencil from his pocket and bent down. There was a free space, +right at the bottom of the panel. He wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Patrice Belval and Coralie, his betrothed, die the +same death, murdered by Siméon Diodokis, 14 April, +1915.”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“One more match,” he said. “Did you see? There are some words there, the +last, no doubt, that my father wrote.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Asphyxiated. . . . Oxide. . . .</i>”</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Unless,” muttered Patrice, “unless the quality of the air can be +impaired and therefore . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a></span>He stopped. Then he went on:</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s it. I remember.”</p> + +<p>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 Siméon’s +cupboard not only the rope-ladder which the madman had brought with him, +but also a coil of lead pipes. And now Siméon’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 Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +per<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a></span>ceived that it came from above. The torture was beginning.</p> + +<p>“It will last half an hour, or an hour at most,” Patrice whispered.</p> + +<p>Coralie had recovered her self-consciousness:</p> + +<p>“We shall be brave,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if I were alone! But you, you, my poor Coralie!”</p> + +<p>“It is painless,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“You are bound to suffer, you, so weak!”</p> + +<p>“One suffers less, the weaker one is. Besides, I know that we sha’n’t +suffer, Patrice.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She put her arm round Patrice’s neck:</p> + +<p>“I am your bride in the eyes of God,” she said. “May He receive us as He +would receive a husband and wife.”</p> + +<p>Her gentle resignation brought tears to his eyes. She dried them with +her kisses, and, of her own seeking, offered him her lips.</p> + +<p>They sat wrapped in an infinite silence. They perceived the first smell +of gas descending around them, but they felt no fear.</p> + +<p>“Everything will happen as it did before, Coralie,” whispered Patrice, +“down to the very last second. Your mother and my father, who loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a></span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“Our grave will be near theirs,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Coralie, the first to be affected, began to utter delirious words which +astonished Patrice at first:</p> + +<p>“Dearest, there are flowers falling, roses all around us. How +delightful!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But, as he approached it, he felt himself grow weary. Coralie weighed +heavily on his bent arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>And suddenly, worn out, his forehead bathed in sweat and his body +shaking with fever, he pitched forward into a great black pit. . . .</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +<span class="smalltext">A STRANGE CHARACTER</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon, +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.</p> + +<p>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, grip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a></span>ping with his hands and feet to things that slipped, to +rope-ladders which, possessing no points of support, gave way beneath +him.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“She is climbing out of the black pit,” he thought to himself. “Like me, +she is struggling. My poor Coralie!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon, as he had thought, but a stranger whom he had never seen +before.</p> + +<p>“I am not asleep,” he said to himself. “I am sure that I am not asleep +and that this stranger is a friend.”</p> + +<p>And he tried to say it aloud, to make certainty doubly sure. But he had +not the strength.</p> + +<p>The stranger, however, came up to him and, in a gentle voice, said:</p> + +<p>“Don’t tire yourself, captain. You’re all right now. Allow me. Have some +water.”</p> + +<p>The stranger handed him one of the two glasses; Patrice emptied it at a +draught, without any feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a></span> of distrust, and was glad to see Coralie +also drinking.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m all right now,” he said. “Heavens, how good it is to be alive! +Coralie is really alive, isn’t she?”</p> + +<p>He did not hear the answer and dropped into a welcome sleep.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How good it is to be alive!” he repeated.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a></span>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: <i>The Memoirs of +Benjamin Franklin</i>. He also read the initials inside a hat lying on the +grass: “L. P.”</p> + +<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?”</p> + +<p>He tapped him on the shoulder. The man was on his feet at once, his face +lit up with a smile:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He broke off, at the sight of Patrice’s disconcerted attitude; and his +smile made way for a merry laugh:</p> + +<p>“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,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a></span> 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! . . . Arsène Lupin, at your service.”</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>The Teeth of the Tiger.</i> By Maurice Leblanc. Translated by +Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. “Luis Perenna” is one of several anagrams +of “Arsène Lupin.”</p></div> + +<p>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 Arsène Lupin standing in front of him, Arsène +Lupin, who, by a sheer effort of will that resembled an incredible +miracle, had dragged him and Coralie out of their hermetically-sealed +coffin.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand and said:</p> + +<p>“Thank you!”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>He interrupted himself again, seemed to reflect and, taking Patrice by a +button of his jacket, said:</p> + +<p>“Don’t move. We are being watched.”</p> + +<p>“By whom?”</p> + +<p>“Some one on the quay, right at the end of the garden. The wall is not +high. There’s a grating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a></span> on the top of it. They’re looking through the +bars and trying to see us.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know? You have your back turned to the quay; and then there +are the trees.”</p> + +<p>“Listen.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t hear anything out of the way.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Then who do you think it is?”</p> + +<p>“Why, old Siméon, of course!”</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. He’s looking to see whether I’ve really saved the two of +you.”</p> + +<p>“Then he’s not mad?”</p> + +<p>“Mad? No more mad than you or I!”</p> + +<p>“And yet . . .”</p> + +<p>“What you mean is that Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know all that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course! If not, how could I have rescued you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no danger.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because I’m here.”</p> + +<p>Patrice was more astounded than ever:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a></span>“Then Siméon knows you?” he asked. “He knows that you are here?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“At that moment you did not know he was the enemy; you knew nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all.”</p> + +<p>“Was it this morning?”</p> + +<p>“No, this afternoon, at a quarter to two.”</p> + +<p>Patrice took out his watch:</p> + +<p>“And it’s now four. So in two hours . . .”</p> + +<p>“Not that. I’ve been here an hour.”</p> + +<p>“Did you find out from Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“After that?”</p> + +<p>“I looked to see where you were.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon +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 pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a></span>ferred, 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.”</p> + +<p>“That is to say, too late.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Was the door open?”</p> + +<p>“No, but Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“But you didn’t know at that time that he was the enemy?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know? And what about your diary?”</p> + +<p>“I had no notion . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“In that case you should have collared him.”</p> + +<p>“And if I had? What good would it have done me? Should I have compelled +him to speak? No,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a></span> 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, Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he removed all his murderous appliances?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then you know? . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“More?”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course! Habit, you know, experience! Plenty of problems, +unintelligible to others, seem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a></span> to me the simplest and clearest that can +be. Therefore . . .”</p> + +<p>Don Luis hesitated whether to go on:</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “it’s better that I shouldn’t speak. The mystery will be +dispelled gradually. Let us wait. For the moment . . .”</p> + +<p>He again stopped, this time to listen:</p> + +<p>“There, he must have seen you. And now that he knows what he wants to, +he’s going away.”</p> + +<p>Patrice grew excited:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Don Luis smiled:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>He yielded to a feeling of despair and took his head between his two +hands. Don Luis comforted him:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But how?”</p> + +<p>“The man who’s driving him belongs to me.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that I put one of my men on the driver’s seat of a taxi, with +instructions to hang about at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a></span> bottom of the lane, and that Siméon +did not fail to take the taxi in question.”</p> + +<p>“That is to say, you suppose so,” Patrice corrected him, feeling more +and more astounded.</p> + +<p>“I recognized the sound of the engine at the bottom of the garden when I +told you.”</p> + +<p>“And are you sure of your man?”</p> + +<p>“Certain.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the use? Siméon can drive far out of Paris, stab the man in the +back . . . and then when shall we get to know?”</p> + +<p>“Do you imagine that people can get out of Paris and go running about +the high-roads without a special permit? No, if Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“By motor.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have a pass?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, valid for the whole of France.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean it!”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“By whom?”</p> + +<p>“By the President of the Republic.”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a></span> +altered. Fate seemed to be changing its course, like a ship which an +unexpected fair wind brings back into harbor.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He led him slowly towards the lodge and, speaking in a rather serious +voice:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They came to the settee on which Coralie lay sleeping. Don Luis laid his +hand on Patrice’s arm:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a></span> 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: Arsène Lupin has every woman on +his side.”</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Finished, captain? Then we’ll make a start.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch:</p> + +<p>“Half-past five. We have more than an hour of daylight left. That’ll be +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Enough? You surely don’t pretend that you will achieve your aim in an +hour?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Don Luis asked to be taken to the cellar under the library; where +Essarès Bey used to keep the bags of gold until the time had come to +send them off.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a></span>“Was it through this ventilator that the bags were let down?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Is there no other outlet?”</p> + +<p>“None except the staircase leading to the library and the other +ventilator.”</p> + +<p>“Opening on the terrace?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then that’s clear. The bags used to come in by the first and go out by +the second.”</p> + +<p>“But . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” he said, drawing himself up again.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“The basin will empty itself.”</p> + +<p>He was right. The water sank very quickly and the bottom of the fountain +appeared.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” cried Captain Belval. “But you’ve unraveled this in a +masterly fashion! What about the wire? Can’t we follow it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice handed him the key and then went down to the wall beside the +quay.</p> + +<p>“A little farther to the right,” Don Luis instructed him. “A little more +still. That’s better. Now wait.”</p> + +<p>He left the garden by the lane, reached the quay and called out from the +other side of the wall:</p> + +<p>“Are you there, captain?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Fix your branch so that I can see it from here. Capital.”</p> + +<p>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, dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a></span>charge 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:</p> + +<p class="center">BERTHOU<br /> +WHARFINGER & BUILDER.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Don Luis cleared the grating and said, jestingly:</p> + +<p>“Have you noticed that the doors are never locked in this adventure? +Let’s hope that it’s the same with this one.”</p> + +<p>His theory was confirmed, somewhat to his own surprise, and they entered +one of those recesses where workmen put away their tools.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Level with the ground and opposite the grating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So that . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“So that the French gold went this way . . . anywhere you like . . . +somewhere abroad.”</p> + +<p>“And you think that the last eighteen hundred bags have also been +despatched?”</p> + +<p>“I fear so.”</p> + +<p>“Then we are too late?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s an absolute miracle,” he said, at last. “How on earth did you do +it?”</p> + +<p>Without a word, Don Luis took from his pocket the book which Patrice had +seen lying on his knees, <i>The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin</i>, 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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a></span> 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.”</p></div> + +<p>Patrice closed the book; and Don Luis went on to explain:</p> + +<p>“Things have changed since, no doubt, thanks to the energies of Essarès +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. <i>Doctus cum libro.</i>”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but, even so, you had to read the book.”</p> + +<p>“A pure accident. I unearthed it in Siméon’s room and put it in my +pocket, because I was curious to know why he was reading it.”</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s just how he must have discovered Essarès 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?”</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a></span> began to +rise from a pipe that stood out above the deck.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go and have a look at her,” he said.</p> + +<p>The barge was lettered:</p> + +<p class="center">LA NONCHALANTE. BEAUNE</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Don Luis offered him a twenty-franc note. The man took it eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Just tell me something, mate. Have you seen a barge lately, lying at +Berthou’s Wharf?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a motor-barge. She left two days ago.”</p> + +<p>“What was her name?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>Belle Hélène</i>. 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.”</p> + +<p>“But Berthou’s Wharf has stopped work, hasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But, if the yard’s stopped work, what was the boat doing here?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Where did they go?”</p> + +<p>“Down stream, Mantes way.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, mate. That’s what I wanted to know.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, when they reached the house, Patrice and Don Luis +found the driver of the cab which Siméon Diodokis had taken after +meeting Don Luis. As Don Luis expected, Siméon had told the man to go to +a railway-station, the Gare Saint-Lazare, and there bought his ticket.</p> + +<p>“Where to?”</p> + +<p>“To Mantes!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /> +<span class="smalltext">THE BELLE HÉLÈNE</span></h2> + +<p>“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 <i>Belle Hélène</i>, hiding somewhere in the outskirts, +lay waiting for the favorable opportunity. In the old days Essarès 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 Siméon, who is continuing +Essarès’ work, no doubt on his own account, gave the crew notice; and +the bags of gold are on their way to Rouen and Le Hâvre, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a></span> and for which +the <i>Belle Hélène</i> 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?”</p> + +<p>Once again Don Luis did not answer. However, he must have acquiesced in +Patrice’s theories, for, after a minute, he declared:</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“I shall come with you.”</p> + +<p>“And who will look after . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Coralie? She’s in no danger! Who can attack her now? Siméon has failed +in his attempt and is thinking only of saving his own skin . . . and his +bags of gold.”</p> + +<p>“You insist, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ya-Bon, are you all right now? Is your wound healed? You don’t feel +tired? Good. In that case, come with me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a></span>He led him to the quay, a short distance away from Berthou’s Wharf:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He paused and then continued:</p> + +<p>“Above all, Ya-Bon, beware of Siméon. It was he who gave you that wound. +If you catch sight of him, leap at his throat and bring him here. But +mind you don’t kill him! No nonsense now. I don’t want you to hand me +over a corpse, but a live man. Do you understand, Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>Patrice began to feel uneasy:</p> + +<p>“Do you fear anything from that side?” he asked. “Look here, it’s out of +the question, as Siméon has gone . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 ma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a></span>tron 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There are two things,” he said, “which I simply cannot understand. In +the first place, who was the man murdered by Essarès, at nineteen +minutes past seven in the morning, on the fourth of April? I heard his +dying cries. Who was killed? And what became of the body?”</p> + +<p>Don Luis was silent; and Patrice went on:</p> + +<p>“The second point is stranger still. I mean Siméon’s behavior. Here’s a +man who devotes his whole life to a single object, that of revenging his +friend Belval’s murder and at the same time ensuring my happiness and +Coralie’s. This is his one aim in life; and nothing can make him swerve +from his obsession. And then, on the day when his enemy, Essarès Bey, is +put out of the way, suddenly he turns round completely and persecutes +Coralie and me, going to the length of using against us the horrible +contrivance which Essarès Bey had employed so successfully against our +parents! You really must admit that it’s an amazing change! Can it be +the thought of the gold that has hypnotized him? Are his crimes to be +explained by the huge treasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Don Luis allowed a moment to pass and then said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have them, since we know where they are.”</p> + +<p>“I shall have them,” said Don Luis, “when they lie spread before my +eyes. Until then, I can tell you nothing.”</p> + +<p>At Mantes the enquiries did not take long. They almost immediately had +the satisfaction of learning that a traveler, whose description +corresponded with old Siméon’s, had gone to the Hôtel des +Trois-Em<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a></span>pereurs and was now asleep in a room on the third floor.</p> + +<p>Don Luis took a ground-floor room, while Patrice, who would have +attracted the enemy’s attention more easily, because of his lame leg, +went to the Grand Hôtel.</p> + +<p>He woke late the next morning. Don Luis rang him up and told him that +Siméon, after calling at the post-office, had gone down to the river and +then to the station, where he met a fashionably-dressed woman, with her +face hidden by a thick veil, and brought her back to the hotel. The two +were lunching together in the room on the third floor.</p> + +<p>At four o’clock Don Luis rang up again, to ask Patrice to join him at +once in a little café at the end of the town, facing the Seine. Here +Patrice saw Siméon on the quay. He was walking with his hands behind his +back, like a man strolling without any definite object.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Belle Hélène</i> is coming.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said Don Luis. “Here’s the lady.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s the one, is it?” said Patrice. “I’ve met her two or three +times already in the street.”</p> + +<p>A dust-cloak outlined her figure and shoulders, which were wide and +rather well-developed. A veil fell around the brim of her felt hat. She +gave Siméon a telegram to read. Then they talked for a moment, seemed to +be taking their bearings, passed by the café and stopped a little lower +down. Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a></span> Siméon wrote a few words on a sheet of note-paper and handed +it to his companion. She left him and went back into the town. Siméon +resumed his walk by the riverside.</p> + +<p>“You must stay here, captain,” said Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“But the enemy doesn’t seem to be on his guard,” protested Patrice. +“He’s not turning round.”</p> + +<p>“It’s better to be prudent, captain. What a pity that we can’t have a +look at what Siméon wrote down!”</p> + +<p>“I might . . .”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>And he walked away.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Belle Hélène</i>!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The barge went on and passed out of sight at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a></span> the turn. Patrice waited +another hour before Don Luis came back.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he asked. “Have you seen her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they let go the dinghy, a mile and a half from here, and put in +for Siméon.”</p> + +<p>“Then he’s gone with them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Without suspecting anything?”</p> + +<p>“You’re asking me too much, captain!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We shall inform nobody, captain. We shall proceed to carry out these +little operations ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? Surely . . .”</p> + +<p>The two looked at each other. Patrice had been unable to dissemble the +thought that occurred to his mind. Don Luis showed no resentment:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Still,” said Patrice, “may I ask what you intend to do?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They went to the Hôtel des Trois-Empereurs and drove off in the car +towards Vernon. This time they were both silent.</p> + +<p>The road joined the river a few miles lower down, at the bottom of the +steep hill which begins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a></span> at Rosny. Just as they reached Rosny the <i>Belle +Hélène</i> was entering the long loop which curves out to La Roche-Guyon, +turns back and joins the high-road again at Bonnières. She would need at +least three hours to cover the distance, whereas the car, climbing the +hill and keeping straight ahead, arrived at Bonnières in fifteen +minutes.</p> + +<p>They drove through the village. There was an inn a little way beyond it, +on the right. Don Luis made his chauffeur stop here:</p> + +<p>“If we are not back by twelve to-night,” he said, “go home to Paris. +Will you come with me, captain?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was about seven o’clock in the evening. Night was falling fast, but a +brilliant moonlight lit the landscape.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose they refuse?”</p> + +<p>“If they refuse, we shall board her by force. There are three of them +and two of us. So . . .”</p> + +<p>“And then?”</p> + +<p>“And then? Well, there’s every reason to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a></span>lieve that the two men +forming the crew are only extra hands, employed by Siméon, but ignorant +of his actions and knowing nothing of the nature of the cargo. Once we +have reduced Siméon to helplessness and paid them handsomely, they’ll +take the barge wherever I tell them. But, mind you—and this is what I +was coming to—I mean to do with the barge exactly as I please. I shall +hand over the cargo as and when I think fit. It’s my booty, my prize. No +one is entitled to it but myself.”</p> + +<p>The officer drew himself up:</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t agree to that, you know!”</p> + +<p>“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. <i>Carpe somnum</i>, as +the poet says. Good-night, captain.”</p> + +<p>And, without another word, Don Luis wrapped himself in his great-coat, +sprang into the boat and lay down.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a></span> not forget that Don Luis had saved his life and +Coralie’s.</p> + +<p>The hours slipped by. The adventurer slumbered peacefully in the cool +night air. Patrice hesitated what to do, seeking for some plan of +conduct which would enable him to get at Siméon and rid himself of that +implacable adversary and at the same time to prevent Don Luis from +laying hands on the enormous treasure. He was dismayed at the thought of +being his accomplice. And yet, when the first throbs of the motor were +heard in the distance and when Don Luis awoke, Patrice was by his side, +ready for action.</p> + +<p>They did not exchange a word. A village-clock struck ten. The <i>Belle +Hélène</i> was coming towards them.</p> + +<p>Patrice felt his excitement increase. The <i>Belle Hélène</i> meant Siméon’s +capture, the recovery of the millions, Coralie out of danger, the end of +that most hideous nightmare and the total extinction of Essarès’ +handiwork. The engine was throbbing nearer and nearer. Its loud and +regular beat sounded wide over the motionless Seine. Don Luis had taken +the sculls and was pulling hard for the middle of the river. And +suddenly they saw in the distance a black mass looming up in the white +moonlight. Twelve or fifteen more minutes passed and the <i>Belle Hélène</i> +was before them.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Not the least difficulty,” said Don Luis; and he began to hum a tune.</p> + +<p>“But . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a></span>Patrice was stupefied. The boat had turned in its own length and was +making for the bank.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Don Luis leapt on shore at a bound and stretched out his hand to him. +Patrice pushed it aside, growling:</p> + +<p>“Will you explain what it all means?”</p> + +<p>“Take too long,” replied Don Luis. “Just one question, though. You know +that book I found in old Siméon’s room, <i>The Memoirs of Benjamin +Franklin</i>: did you see it when you were making your search?”</p> + +<p>“Look here, it seems to me we have other things to . . .”</p> + +<p>“It’s an urgent question, captain.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no, it wasn’t there.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice was still in the boat. He pushed off abruptly and caught up the +scull, muttering:</p> + +<p>“As I live, I believe the beggar’s getting at me!”</p> + +<p>He was ten yards from shore when he cried:</p> + +<p>“If you’re afraid, I’ll go alone. Don’t want any help.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are, captain!” replied Don Luis. “I’ll expect you presently +at the inn.”</p> + +<hr class="thin" /> + +<p>Patrice encountered no difficulties in his undertaking. At the first +order, which he shouted in a tone of command, the <i>Belle Hélène</i> +stopped; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a></span> he was able to board her peacefully. The two bargees were +men of a certain age, natives of the Basque coast. He introduced himself +as a representative of the military authorities; and they showed him +over their craft. He found neither old Siméon nor the very smallest bag +of gold. The hold was almost empty.</p> + +<p>The questions and answers did not take long:</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?”</p> + +<p>“To Rouen. We’ve been requisitioned by the government for transport of +supplies.”</p> + +<p>“But you picked up somebody on the way.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, at Mantes.”</p> + +<p>“His name, please?”</p> + +<p>“Siméon Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s he got to?”</p> + +<p>“He made us put him down a little after, to take the train.”</p> + +<p>“What did he want?”</p> + +<p>“To pay us.”</p> + +<p>“For what?”</p> + +<p>“For a shipload we took at Paris two days ago.”</p> + +<p>“Bags?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What of?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know. We were well paid and asked no questions.”</p> + +<p>“And what’s become of the load?”</p> + +<p>“We transhipped it last night to a small steamer that came alongside of +us below Passy.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the steamer’s name?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>Chamois</i>. Crew of six.”</p> + +<p>“Where is she now?”</p> + +<p>“Ahead of us. She was going fast. She must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a></span> be at Rouen by this time. +Siméon Diodokis is on his way to join her.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you known Siméon Diodokis?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the first time we saw him. But we knew that he was in M. Essarès’ +service.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, so you’ve worked for M. Essarès?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, often. . . . Same job and same trip.”</p> + +<p>“He called you by means of a signal, didn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he used to light an old factory-chimney.”</p> + +<p>“Was it always bags?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. We didn’t know what was inside. He was a good payer.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Quick!” he said. “The cargo is on board a steamer, the <i>Chamois</i>. We +can catch her up between Rouen and Le Hâvre.”</p> + +<p>Don Luis rose and handed the officer a white-paper packet:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They both stepped into the car; the chauffeur took his seat behind them. +But they had hardly started when Patrice exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Hi! What are you up to? Not this way! We’re going back to Mantes or +Paris!”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I mean to do,” said Luis, with a chuckle.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a></span>“Eh, what? Paris?”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, look here, this is a bit too thick! Didn’t I tell you that the two +bargees . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Those bargees of yours are humbugs.”</p> + +<p>“They declared that the cargo . . .”</p> + +<p>“Cargo? No go!”</p> + +<p>“But the <i>Chamois</i> . . .”</p> + +<p>“<i>Chamois</i>? Sham was! I tell you once more, we’re done, captain, done +brown! Old Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“But . . .”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you satisfied yet, captain? After the <i>Belle Hélène</i> do you want +to attack the <i>Chamois</i>? As you please. You can get out at Mantes: Only, +I warn you, Siméon is in Paris, with three or four hours’ start of us.”</p> + +<p>Patrice gave a shudder. Siméon in Paris! In Paris, where Coralie was +alone and unprotected! He made no further protest; and Don Luis ran on:</p> + +<p>“Oh, the rascal! How well he played his hand! <i>The Memoirs of Benjamin +Franklin</i> were a master stroke. Knowing of my arrival, he said to +himself, ‘Arsène 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a></span> 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 Siméon’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.”</p> + +<p>“But then that man . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, yes, an accomplice of Siméon’s, whom Siméon, 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 <i>Belle Hélène</i> passes, with her double freight, Siméon and the bags +of gold. We go running after the <i>Belle Hélène</i>. Of course, on the +<i>Belle Hélène</i> there’s nothing: no Siméon, no bags of gold. ‘Run after +the <i>Chamois</i>. We’ve transhipped it all on the <i>Chamois</i>.’ We run after +the <i>Chamois</i>, to Rouen, to Le Hâvre, to the end of the world; and of +course our pursuit is fruitless, for the <i>Chamois</i> 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, +Siméon has disappeared and there is only one thing left for us to do,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a></span> +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 . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“If what?” asked Patrice, half-convinced. “Which was the clue that put +you on the track?”</p> + +<p>“The presence of that woman at Mantes. It was a vague clue at first. But +suddenly I remembered that, in the first barge, the <i>Nonchalante</i>, 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. . . .”</p> + +<p>Don Luis paused to think and, in a lower voice, continued:</p> + +<p>“But who the devil can this woman be?”</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence, after which Patrice said, from instinct +rather than reason:</p> + +<p>“Grégoire, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What’s that? Grégoire?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Yes, Grégoire is a woman.”</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about?”</p> + +<p>“Well, obviously. Don’t you remember? The accomplice told me so, on the +day when I had them arrested outside the café.”</p> + +<p>“Why, your diary doesn’t say a word about it!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a></span>“Oh, that’s true! . . . I forgot to put down that detail.”</p> + +<p>“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 Grégoire and we should not have wasted a whole night. Hang it +all, captain, you really are the limit!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Belle Hélène</i>: 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 Siméon 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>They reached the gates of Paris. Patrice was becoming more and more +anxious:</p> + +<p>“Then you think the danger’s over?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They were skirting the quays.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get down,” said Don Luis.</p> + +<p>He gave a faint whistle and repeated it three times.</p> + +<p>“No answer,” he said. “Ya-Bon’s not there. The battle has begun.”</p> + +<p>“But Coralie . . .”</p> + +<p>“What are you afraid of for her? Siméon doesn’t know her address.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>Nonchalante</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a></span>“Let’s go on board,” said Don Luis. “I wonder if the lady known as +Grégoire makes a practise of living here? Has she come back, believing +us on our way to Le Hâvre? 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?”</p> + +<p>“Right you are. It’s a queer thing, though: I feel frightened!”</p> + +<p>“What of?” asked Don Luis, who was plucky enough himself to understand +this presentiment.</p> + +<p>“Of what we shall see.”</p> + +<p>“My dear sir, there may be nothing there!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hi, mate! Open this, will you?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At last it gave way.</p> + +<p>“By Jingo!” said Don Luis, who was the first to go in. “I didn’t expect +this!”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Look. The woman whom they called Grégoire. She seems to be dead.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a></span>“I was right. Here, by her side, are the clothes she wore at Mantes. But +what’s the matter, captain?”</p> + +<p>Patrice had stifled a cry:</p> + +<p>“There . . . opposite . . . under the window . . .”</p> + +<p>It was a little window overlooking the river. The panes were broken.</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Don Luis. “What? Yes, I believe some one’s been thrown out +that way.”</p> + +<p>“The veil . . . that blue veil,” stammered Patrice, “is her nurse’s veil +. . . Coralie’s. . . .”</p> + +<p>Don Luis grew vexed:</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! Impossible! Nobody knew her address.”</p> + +<p>“Still . . .”</p> + +<p>“Still what? You haven’t written to her? You haven’t telegraphed to +her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes . . . I telegraphed to her . . . from Mantes.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that? Oh, but look here. This is madness! You don’t mean that +you really telegraphed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> + +<p>“You telegraphed from the post-office at Mantes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And was there any one in the post-office?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a woman.”</p> + +<p>“What woman? The one who lies here, murdered?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But she didn’t read what you wrote?”</p> + +<p>“No, but I wrote the telegram twice over.”</p> + +<p>“And you threw the first draft anywhere, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a></span> floor, so that any one +who came along. . . . Oh, really, captain, you must confess . . . !”</p> + +<p>But Patrice was running towards the car and was already out of ear-shot.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“All well. Be easy and stay indoors. Fondest love.</p> + +<p class="signature">“Captain Patrice.”</p></div> + +<p>The second, which had evidently been despatched by Siméon, ran as +follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Events taking serious turn. Plans changed. Coming +back. Expect you nine o’clock this evening at the +small door of your garden.</p> + +<p class="signature">“Captain Patrice.”</p></div> + +<p>This second telegram was delivered to Coralie at eight o’clock; and she +had left the home immediately afterwards.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +<span class="smalltext">THE FOURTH ACT</span></h2> + +<p>“Captain,” said Don Luis, “you’ve scored two fine blunders. The first +was your not telling me that Grégoire was a woman. The second . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said, “don’t upset yourself. The position’s not as bad as you +think.”</p> + +<p>“Coralie jumped out of the window to escape that man,” Patrice muttered.</p> + +<p>“Your Coralie is alive,” said Don Luis, shrugging his shoulders. “In +Siméon’s hands, but alive.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“It means a danger of death, but it means life if we come in time; and +we shall.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a clue?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Then let’s go,” cried Patrice, already eager for the fray. “Let’s have +at the enemy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a></span>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Little Mother Coralie kept the appointment at nine o’clock. Siméon 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 Siméon 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 Siméon’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 Siméon whom he caught by the neck with that +merciless hand of his, but . . . the woman. Siméon took advantage of +this. He had not let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think so? Do you think it was Ya-Bon and not Siméon who killed +the woman?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon. 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 Siméon, who had abandoned her +instead of defending her. This much is certain, that Ya-Bon broke the +window-panes . . .”</p> + +<p>“To jump into the Seine, wounded as he was, with his one arm?” said +Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Not at all. There’s a ledge running along the window. He could set his +feet on it and get off that way.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. But he was quite ten or twenty minutes behind Siméon?”</p> + +<p>“That didn’t matter, if the woman had time, before dying, to tell him +where Siméon was taking refuge.”</p> + +<p>“How can we get to know?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been trying to find out all the time that we’ve been chatting +. . . and I’ve just discovered the way.”</p> + +<p>“Here?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What is the address?”</p> + +<p>“Amédée Vacherot, 18, Rue Guimard. The Rue Guimard is close to this, +which makes me quite sure of the road they took.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As they crossed Berthou’s Wharf they glanced at the recess and Don Luis +remarked:</p> + +<p>“There’s a ladder missing. We must remember that detail. Siméon has been +in there. He’s beginning to make blunders too.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“We want to see M. Amédée Vacherot on urgent business.”</p> + +<p>“That’s myself.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a></span>“Yes, I, the porter. But by what right . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Orders of the prefect of police,” said Don Luis, displaying a badge.</p> + +<p>They entered the lodge. Amédée Vacherot was a little, +respectable-looking old man, with white whiskers. He might have been a +beadle.</p> + +<p>“Answer my questions plainly,” Don Luis ordered, in a rough voice, “and +don’t try to prevaricate. We are looking for a man called Siméon +Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>The porter took fright at once:</p> + +<p>“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. Siméon.”</p> + +<p>Don Luis assumed a gentler tone:</p> + +<p>“Do him harm? On the contrary, we are looking for him to do him a +service, to save him from a great danger.”</p> + +<p>“A great danger?” cried M. Vacherot. “Oh, I’m not at all surprised! I +never saw him in such a state of excitement.”</p> + +<p>“Then he’s been here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, since midnight.”</p> + +<p>“Is he here now?”</p> + +<p>“No, he went away again.”</p> + +<p>Patrice made a despairing gesture and asked:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he left some one behind?”</p> + +<p>“No, but he intended to bring some one.”</p> + +<p>“A lady?”</p> + +<p>M. Vacherot hesitated.</p> + +<p>“We know,” Don Luis resumed, “that Siméon Diodokis was trying to find a +place of safety in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a></span> which to shelter a lady for whom he entertained the +deepest respect.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me the lady’s name?” asked the porter, still on his guard.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Mme. Essarès, the widow of the banker to whom Siméon used to +act as secretary. Mme. Essarès 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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well!” said M. Vacherot, now fully reassured. “I have known Siméon +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. . . .”</p> + +<p>“Such as relations with Essarès Bey?” asked Don Luis, carelessly. “Or +his plans concerning Patrice Belval?”</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès.”</p> + +<p>“One more word. Had you seen him since Essarès Bey’s death?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a></span> 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. Essarès. 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.”</p> + +<p>“What did he do after that?” asked Patrice, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“After that, he went away.”</p> + +<p>“But why isn’t he back yet?”</p> + +<p>“I admit that it’s alarming. Perhaps the man who was following him has +attacked him. Or perhaps something has happened to the lady.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, something happened to the lady?”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a></span>“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!”</p> + +<p>He was shaking M. Vacherot by the shoulders and hurling his rage into +the old man’s face with unspeakable violence.</p> + +<p>Don Luis, on the other hand, stood chuckling.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see if I don’t make the fellow speak,” shouted Patrice.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use, sir,” declared the porter, very firmly and calmly. “You +have deceived me. You are enemies of M. Siméon’s. I shall not say +another word that can give you any information.”</p> + +<p>“You refuse to speak, do you? You refuse to speak?”</p> + +<p>In his exasperation Patrice drew his revolver and aimed it at the man:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>The porter gave a start:</p> + +<p>“Captain Belval, did you say? Are you Captain Belval?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, old fellow, that seems to give you food for thought!”</p> + +<p>“Are you Captain Belval? Patrice Belval?”</p> + +<p>“At your service; and, if in two seconds from this you haven’t told me +. . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a></span>“Patrice Belval! And you are M. Siméon’s enemy? And you want to . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“I want to do him up like the cur he is, your blackguard of a Siméon +. . . and you, his accomplice, with him. A nice pair of rascals! . . . +Well, have you made up your mind?”</p> + +<p>“Unhappy man!” gasped the porter. “Unhappy man! You don’t know what +you’re doing. Kill M. Siméon! You? You? Why, you’re the last man who +could commit a crime like that!”</p> + +<p>“What about it? Speak, will you, you old numskull!”</p> + +<p>“You, kill M. Siméon? You, Patrice? You, Captain Belval? You?”</p> + +<p>“And why not? Speak, damn it! Why not?”</p> + +<p>“You are his son.”</p> + +<p>All Patrice’s fury, all his anguish at the thought that Coralie was in +Siméon’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.</p> + +<p>“Siméon’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 Siméon! Siméon +Diodokis, Patrice Belval’s father! Oh, it’s enough to make a chap split +his sides!”</p> + +<p>Don Luis had listened in silence. He made a sign to Patrice:</p> + +<p>“Will you allow me to clear up this business, captain? It won’t take me +more than a few min<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a></span>utes; 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. Siméon Diodokis is not your benefactor’s real name, is it?”</p> + +<p>“No, that’s so.”</p> + +<p>“He is Armand Belval; and the woman who loved him used to call him +Patrice?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, his son’s name.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless, this Armand Belval was a victim of the same murderous +attempt as the woman he loved, who was Coralie Essarès’ mother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but Coralie Essarès’ mother died; and he did not.”</p> + +<p>“That was on the fourteenth of April, 1895.”</p> + +<p>“The fourteenth of April, 1895.”</p> + +<p>Patrice caught hold of Don Luis’ arm:</p> + +<p>“Come,” he spluttered, “Coralie’s at death’s door. The monster has +buried her. That’s the only thing that matters.”</p> + +<p>“Then you don’t believe that monster to be your father?” asked Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“You’re mad!”</p> + +<p>“For all that, captain, you’re trembling! . . .”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He sank into a chair, with his elbows on the table and his head in his +hands. It was really a horrible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a></span> moment; and no catastrophe would have +overwhelmed a man more utterly.</p> + +<p>Don Luis looked at him with feeling and then turned to the porter:</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I know. Go on.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Then you didn’t know of the murder at that time?” asked Don Luis. “You +hadn’t heard of the attempt?”</p> + +<p>“No, we were told that they had both suffocated themselves with gas. +. . . It was many hours be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a></span>fore the man recovered consciousness +entirely. He was in some way poisoned.”</p> + +<p>“But why didn’t you inform the nun?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“But the graves? The inscription saying that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a></span> the remains of both lie +there, near the lodge where the murder was committed? The cemetery?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon 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 Essarès’ 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!”</p> + +<p>Patrice stretched his clutching hands and his distraught face towards +the porter:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“You need have no fear,” said M. Vacherot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a></span> “My friend has only one +thought, that of saving the woman, not killing her. . . .”</p> + +<p>“He lured her and me into the lodge to kill us, as our parents were +killed before us.”</p> + +<p>“He is trying only to unite you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, in death.”</p> + +<p>“No, in life. You are his dearly-loved son. He always spoke of you with +pride.”</p> + +<p>“He is a ruffian, a monster!” shouted the officer.</p> + +<p>“He is the very best man living, sir, and he is your father.”</p> + +<p>Patrice started, stung by the insult:</p> + +<p>“Proofs,” he roared, “proofs! I forbid you to speak another word until +you have proved the truth in a manner admitting of no doubt.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès Bey,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a></span> +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 Essarès 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 Essarès’ wife.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Have you any more doubts, captain?” he asked, at last.</p> + +<p>The officer again pressed his clenched fists to his temples:</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès did. . . .”</p> + +<p>“A mistake! Pure imagination!” the old man protested.</p> + +<p>“Or madness,” muttered Patrice.</p> + +<p>Then he struck the table violently, in a fit of revulsion:</p> + +<p>“It’s not true, it’s not true!” he exclaimed. “That man is not my +father. What, a scoundrel like that! . . .”</p> + +<p>He took a few steps round the little room and, stopping in front of Don +Luis, jerked out:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a></span> itself capsizes. Let’s go. Coralie is in danger. That’s the only +thing that matters.”</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head:</p> + +<p>“I’m very much afraid . . .”</p> + +<p>“What are <i>you</i> afraid of?” bellowed the officer.</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès? The +poor thing was hardly able to breathe, he told me.”</p> + +<p>Hanging on to Don Luis’ arm, Patrice staggered out of the porter’s lodge +like a drunken man:</p> + +<p>“She’s done for, she must be!” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” said Don Luis. “Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“But Ya-Bon? Suppose Ya-Bon has laid hands upon him?”</p> + +<p>“I gave Ya-Bon orders not to kill him. Therefore, whatever happens, +Siméon is alive. That’s the great thing. So long as Siméon is alive, +there is nothing to fear. He won’t let your Coralie die.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He pressed Don Luis’ arm and, in a hollow voice, asked:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a></span>“Do you believe that he is my father?”</p> + +<p>“Siméon Diodokis is your father, captain,” replied Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“Ah, don’t, don’t! It’s too horrible! God, but we are in the valley of +the shadow!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean it?”</p> + +<p>But, in Patrice Belval’s fevered brain, one idea jostled another. He +suddenly stopped:</p> + +<p>“Siméon may have gone back to the porter’s lodge! . . . And we sha’n’t +be there! . . . Perhaps he will bring Coralie back!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But where?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice allowed himself to be led along without a word. But suddenly Don +Luis cried:</p> + +<p>“Did you hear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a shot.”</p> + +<p>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 +Essarès house or the immediate precincts. Patrice was filled with +alarm:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a></span>“Can it be Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>“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 . . . !”</p> + +<p>“And suppose it was at her, at Coralie?” whispered Patrice.</p> + +<p>Don Luis began to laugh:</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon attack your Coralie, +considering that she’s already in his power?”</p> + +<p>They hurried their steps. As they passed the Essarès house they saw that +everything was quiet and they went on until they came to the lane, down +which they turned.</p> + +<p>Patrice had the key, but the little door which opened on to the garden +of the lodge was bolted inside.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>During the past few minutes a pale dawn had begun to mingle with the +shades of night. The embankment was still deserted, however.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a></span> was one of his +greatest assets, he at once furnished the explanation:</p> + +<p>“As Siméon had the key of the garden, it was obviously Ya-Bon who used +the ladder to make his way in. Therefore he saw Siméon take refuge there +on returning from his visit to old Vacherot and after coming to fetch +Coralie. Now the question is, did Siméon succeed in fetching Little +Mother Coralie, or did he run away before fetching her? That I can’t +say. But, in any case . . .”</p> + +<p>Bending low down, he examined the pavement and continued:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Don Luis drew himself up:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“But,” objected Patrice, “all this, according to you, took place before +our return to Paris, between twelve and one o’clock, therefore.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a></span>“Then what about the shot which we have just heard, four or five hours +later?”</p> + +<p>“As to that I’m not so positive. We may assume that Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“So you think . . .”</p> + +<p>“I think that there was a struggle, that Ya-Bon was wounded and that +Siméon . . .”</p> + +<p>“That Siméon escaped?”</p> + +<p>“Or else was killed. However, we shall know all about it in a few +minutes.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>And he ran forward.</p> + +<p>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 Siméon by the throat.</p> + +<p>Don Luis at once perceived that Ya-Bon was dead and Siméon Diodokis +alive.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">SIMÉON GIVES BATTLE</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Don Luis caught sight of Siméon’s revolver on the cobbles of the yard:</p> + +<p>“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. <i>De profundis</i>, +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!”</p> + +<p>Assisted by Patrice, he carried the negro’s corpse into the little +bedroom next to the studio.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a></span>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 Siméon, +whose clothes and shoes he examined closely.</p> + +<p>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. Siméon! Siméon 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! Siméon Diodokis, +who, like a wild beast, had hidden Coralie in some hole, so that he +might go back and torture her at his ease!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Search him, captain,” said Don Luis.</p> + +<p>But, as Patrice seemed to shrink from the task, he himself felt in +Siméon’s jacket and produced a pocket-book, which he handed to the +officer.</p> + +<p>It contained first of all a registration-card, in the name of Siméon +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 Siméon as Essarès Bey’s secretary, and, among these papers, +a letter from Amédée Vacherot, running as follows:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Dear M. Siméon</i>,</p> + +<p>“I have succeeded. A young friend of mine has taken a +snapshot of Mme. Essarès 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!”</p></div> + +<p>At the foot of the letter were a few words in Siméon’s hand, a sort of +personal note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“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 +Essarès are free to love each other and to marry.”</p></div> + +<p>“That’s your father’s writing, is it not?” asked Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Siméon moved. His eyes opened and closed repeatedly. Then, coming to +himself entirely, he looked at Patrice, who at once, in a stifled voice, +asked:</p> + +<p>“Where’s Coralie?”</p> + +<p>And, as Siméon, still dazed, seemed not to understand and sat gazing at +him stupidly, he repeated, in a harsher tone:</p> + +<p>“Where’s Coralie? What have you done with her? Where have you put her? +She must be dying!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a></span>Siméon was gradually recovering life and consciousness. He mumbled:</p> + +<p>“Patrice. . . . Patrice. . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Will you attend?” he shouted. “I won’t wait any longer! It’ll cost you +your life if you don’t answer!”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Patrice! Is it you? . . . I have been waiting for this moment so long! +. . . And now we are meeting as enemies! . . .”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Patrice, is it really you?” the man repeated, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>The familiarity exasperated the officer. He caught his adversary by the +lapel of his jacket and shook him. But Siméon had seen the pocket-book +which he held in his other hand and, without resisting Patrice’s +roughness, whined:</p> + +<p>“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 . . . !”</p> + +<p>Patrice had released his hold and stood staring at him in horror. +Sinking his voice in his turn, he said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a></span>“Don’t dare to speak of that: I won’t, I won’t believe it!”</p> + +<p>“It’s the truth, Patrice.”</p> + +<p>“You lie! You lie!” cried the officer, unable to restrain himself any +longer, while his grief distorted his face out of all recognition.</p> + +<p>“Ah, I see you have guessed it! Then I need not explain . . .”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +Essarès’ 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!”</p> + +<p>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 Siméon continued:</p> + +<p>“My poor Patrice! . . . I was so fond of you! . . . And now you are my +worst enemy! . . . How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a></span> indeed could it be otherwise? . . . How could +you forget? . . . Oh, why didn’t they lock me up after Essarès’ death? +It was then that I felt my brain going. . . .”</p> + +<p>“So it was you who killed him?” asked Patrice.</p> + +<p>“No, no, that’s just it: somebody else robbed me of my revenge.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Coralie!” exclaimed Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, the woman I loved. . . . As for little Coralie, I’ve suffered also +on her account. . . . She ought not to have married Essarès.”</p> + +<p>“Where is she?” asked Patrice, in agony.</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” cried Patrice, shaking with rage, “you mean she’s dead!”</p> + +<p>“No, she’s alive, I swear it.”</p> + +<p>“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 +. . .”</p> + +<p>“Listen.”</p> + +<p>Siméon stopped and gave a glance at Don Luis;</p> + +<p>“Tell him to go away,” he said.</p> + +<p>Don Luis laughed:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Patrice, in an almost aggressive tone.</p> + +<p>“Well, captain,” replied Don Luis, not without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“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.’”</p> + +<p>“And then?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Patrice had drawn himself up. He stepped towards Don Luis and said, in a +voice which became openly hostile:</p> + +<p>“I presume that you won’t raise any opposition. It’s a matter of a +woman’s life.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt. But, on the other hand, it’s a matter of three hundred +million francs.”</p> + +<p>“Then you refuse?”</p> + +<p>“Refuse? I should think so!”</p> + +<p>“You refuse when that woman is at her last gasp? You would rather she +died? . . . Look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a></span> here, you seem to forget that this is my affair, that +. . . that . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Then you actually refuse?” he rapped out, clenching his fists.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And you? What about you?” snarled Patrice, angrily.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a></span>tween the walled-up windows. He went back to where Siméon sat:</p> + +<p>“Now then,” he said, in a voice of authority. “Be quick about it.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure he’s not listening?”</p> + +<p>“Quite sure.”</p> + +<p>“Be careful with him, Patrice. He means to take the gold and keep it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t waste time,” said Patrice, impatiently. “Get to Coralie.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve told you Coralie was alive.”</p> + +<p>“She was alive when you left her; but since then . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes, since then . . .”</p> + +<p>“Since then, what? You seem to have your doubts.”</p> + +<p>“It was last night, five or six hours ago, and I am afraid . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Don’t let’s waste time,” he repeated. “Tell me where to go.”</p> + +<p>“No, we’ll go together.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t the strength.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I can manage . . . it’s not far. Only, only, listen to me. +. . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice stooped over him:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a></span>“I’m listening,” he said. “But, for God’s sake, hurry!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Siméon. “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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“I swear it on her head.”</p> + +<p>“You swear it, yes; but the other one, your damned companion, he’ll +follow us, he’ll see.”</p> + +<p>“No, he won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he will, unless you consent . . .”</p> + +<p>“To what? Oh, in Heaven’s name, speak!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you. Listen. But remember, we must go to Coralie’s assistance +. . . and that quickly . . . otherwise . . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice hesitated, bending one leg, almost on his knees:</p> + +<p>“Then come, do!” he said, modifying his tone. “Please come, because +Coralie . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but that man . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Coralie first!”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? Suppose he sees us? Suppose he takes the gold from +us?”</p> + +<p>“What does that matter!”</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“But, look here, what is it you want? What is it you demand?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a></span>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.</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you. Listen. He’s there, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“In the studio?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“In that case . . . he mustn’t come out. . . .”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“No, he must stay there until we’ve done.”</p> + +<p>“But . . .”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Patrice rebelled:</p> + +<p>“But you’re mad! <i>I</i> consent, <i>I</i>? . . . Why, the man saved my life! +. . . He saved Coralie!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No and again no!”</p> + +<p>“Then so much the worse for Coralie. . . . Oh, yes, I see you don’t +realize the position exactly!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a></span> It’s time you did, Patrice. Perhaps it’s +even too late.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t say that!”</p> + +<p>“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 +. . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice wrung his hands. Never had he imagined that a man could be +tortured to such a degree. And Siméon continued, unrelentingly.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Patrice drew himself up. His resolve was taken. At that moment he would +have shrunk from no act, however painful. And what Siméon asked was so +little.</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Give your orders.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I want,” said the other. “It’s quite simple. Go to the +door, bolt it and come back again.”</p> + +<p>The officer entered the lodge with a firm step<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a></span> and walked through the +hall. The light was dancing up and down at the far end of the studio.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” he said, “Let’s hurry.”</p> + +<p>“Help me up,” said the old man. “I can’t manage by myself.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, curse it!” blurted Siméon. “That blasted nigger has done for me. +I’m suffocating too, I can’t walk.”</p> + +<p>Patrice almost carried him, while Siméon, in the last stage of weakness, +stammered:</p> + +<p>“This way. . . . Now straight ahead. . . .”</p> + +<p>They passed the corner of the lodge and turned their steps towards the +graves.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>He stopped. A spasm prevented his going any further until he had drawn a +little air into his lungs. Nevertheless he went on talking:</p> + +<p>“I needn’t worry, need I? Besides, you don’t care about gold. That being +so, why should you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a></span> speak? Never mind, swear that you will be silent. +Or, look here, give me your word of honor. That’s best. Your word, eh?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“I am his son, I am his son. . . .”</p> + +<p>“It’s here,” said the old man.</p> + +<p>“Here? But these are the graves.”</p> + +<p>“Coralie’s grave and mine. It’s what we were making for.”</p> + +<p>He turned round in alarm:</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hurry. . . . So Coralie is here? Down there? Buried? Oh, how +horrible!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Siméon knelt down on the grass, under the little temple, pointing with +his finger:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a></span>“It’s there,” he repeated. “Underneath that.”</p> + +<p>“Under the tombstone?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice came and caught hold of the great stone slab, with its +inscription, “Here lie Patrice and Coralie,” and pulled.</p> + +<p>The stone rose at the first endeavor, as if a counterweight had forced +the other end down.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Good,” said Siméon. “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! +. . .”</p> + +<p>Patrice had bent his tall figure in the narrow space where he was hardly +able to move.</p> + +<p>“What am I to do?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you hear your Coralie? There’s only a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>The old man was bending over and directing the search as he knelt on the +grass:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence. Then he began again:</p> + +<p>“Stretch a bit farther. Good. Can you move?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Patrice.</p> + +<p>“Then go on moving, my lad!” cried the old man, with a yell of laughter.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Though floundering in the newly-turned earth, Patrice tried to rise, at +the sight of his danger. Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>He went back to the lodge and, though he walked with some difficulty, he +had no doubt exaggerated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a></span> his injuries, for he did not stop until he +reached the door. He even scorned to obliterate his footprints and went +straight ahead.</p> + +<p>On entering the hall he listened. Don Luis was tapping against the walls +and the partition inside the studio and the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“Capital!” said Siméon, with a grin. “His turn now.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>His friend Vacherot was standing at the door of his lodge.</p> + +<p>“Oh, is that you, M. Siméon?” cried the porter. “But what a state you’re +in!”</p> + +<p>“Hush, no names!” he whispered, entering the lodge. “Has any one seen +me?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a></span>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that nigger who came after me . . .”</p> + +<p>“But the others?”</p> + +<p>“What others?”</p> + +<p>“The two who were here? Patrice?”</p> + +<p>“Eh? Has Patrice been?” asked Siméon, still speaking in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Yes, last night, after you left.”</p> + +<p>“And you told him?”</p> + +<p>“That he was your son.”</p> + +<p>“Then that,” mumbled the old man, “is why he did not seem surprised at +what I said.”</p> + +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We have one in the house.”</p> + +<p>“No, that’s no use. Have you a telephone-directory?”</p> + +<p>“Here you are.”</p> + +<p>“Turn up Dr. Géradec.”</p> + +<p>“What? You can’t mean that?”</p> + +<p>“Why not? He has a private hospital quite close, on the Boulevard de +Montmorency, with no other house near it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that.”</p> + +<p>M. Vacherot hunted out the number in the direc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a></span>tory 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.</p> + +<p>“It’s just as well,” said Siméon. “I’m not feeling strong enough yet. +Say that I’ll call at ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I give your name as Siméon?”</p> + +<p>“No, my real name, Armand Belval. Say it’s urgent, say it’s a surgical +case.”</p> + +<p>The porter did so and hung up the instrument, with a moan:</p> + +<p>“Oh, my poor M. Siméon! A man like you, so good and kind to everybody! +Tell me what happened?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry about that. Is my place ready?”</p> + +<p>“To be sure it is.”</p> + +<p>“Take me there without any one seeing us.”</p> + +<p>“As usual.”</p> + +<p>“Be quick. Put your revolver in your pocket. What about your lodge? Can +you leave it?”</p> + +<p>“Five minutes won’t hurt.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>They stopped in the second room.</p> + +<p>“Did you shut the hall-door after you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a></span>“Yes, M. Siméon.”</p> + +<p>“No one saw us come in, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Not a soul.”</p> + +<p>“No one suspects that you’re here?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Give me your revolver.”</p> + +<p>“Here it is.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think, if I fired it off, any one would hear?”</p> + +<p>“No, certainly not. Who is there to hear? But . . .”</p> + +<p>“But what?”</p> + +<p>“You’re surely not going to fire?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am.”</p> + +<p>“At yourself, M. Siméon, at yourself? Are you going to kill yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be an ass.”</p> + +<p>“Well, who then?”</p> + +<p>“You, of course!” chuckled Siméon.</p> + +<p>Pressing the trigger, he blew out the luckless man’s brains. His victim +fell in a heap, stone dead. Siméon 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: Grégoire, Coralie, Ya-Bon, Patrice, +Don Luis, old Vacherot!</p> + +<p>His mouth gave a grin of satisfaction. One more endeavor; and his flight +and safety were assured.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But, at a quarter to ten, with an effort of will, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a></span> picked himself up +and, mastering himself and disregarding the pain, he went out by the +other door of the house.</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock, after twice changing his taxi, he arrived at the +Boulevard Montmorency, just at the moment when Dr. Géradec 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +<span class="smalltext">SIMÉON’S LAST VICTIM</span></h2> + +<p>Dr. Géradec’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 Siméon Diodokis was first shown. But, +after answering a few questions put to him by a male nurse, Siméon was +taken to another room in a separate wing.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>“You have had time to send for a doctor since,” said Dr. Géradec, fixing +him with a glance.</p> + +<p>Siméon did not reply; and the doctor added:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He gave his assistant some instructions. A long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“That’s over,” said Dr. Géradec, “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.”</p> + +<p>Siméon 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:</p> + +<p>“I am a friend of Mme. Albonin’s.”</p> + +<p>The doctor did not seem to understand what he meant.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you don’t recognize the name,” Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>“What about?” asked the doctor, while his face displayed still greater +astonishment.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He took a chair. The doctor sat down opposite him, looking more and more +surprised. And Siméon proceeded with his statement:</p> + +<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a></span> with your assistance, to go away without any +danger.”</p> + +<p>The doctor rose to his feet indignantly.</p> + +<p>Siméon persisted:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>The doctor pointed to the door.</p> + +<p>Siméon raised no protest. He put on his hat. But, on reaching the door, +he said:</p> + +<p>“Twenty thousand francs? Is that enough?”</p> + +<p>“Do you want me to ring?” asked the doctor, “and have you turned out?”</p> + +<p>Siméon laughed and quietly, with a pause after each figure:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Géradec bolted the door, came back, sat down at his desk and said, +simply:</p> + +<p>“We’ll talk about it.”</p> + +<p>“I repeat the question,” said Siméon, coming closer. “Are we agreed at a +hundred thousand?”</p> + +<p>“We are agreed,” said the doctor, “unless any complications appear +later.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a></span>“I mean that the figure of a hundred thousand francs forms a suitable +basis for discussion, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Siméon hesitated a second. The man struck him as rather greedy. However, +he sat down once more; and the doctor at once resumed the conversation:</p> + +<p>“Your real name, please.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t ask me that. I tell you, there are reasons . . .”</p> + +<p>“Then it will be two hundred thousand francs.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” said Siméon, with a start. “I say, that’s a bit steep! I never +heard of such a price.”</p> + +<p>“You’re not obliged to accept,” replied Géradec, calmly. “We are +discussing a bargain. You are free to do as you please.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not a spy.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Old Siméon did not wince. He slowly wiped his forehead with his +handkerchief. He was evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a></span> thinking that Géradec 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.</p> + +<p>“I say, I say!” he said, with an attempt at a laugh. “You are using big +words!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’re quite right.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’re agreed?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What do you suggest by that?” asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Mme. Mosgranem herself told me that you charged her nothing.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Old Siméon seemed to feel more and more +uncomfortable in his interlocutor’s presence. At last the doctor sighed:</p> + +<p>“Poor Mme. Mosgranem!”</p> + +<p>“What makes you speak like that?” asked Siméon.</p> + +<p>“What! Haven’t you heard?”</p> + +<p>“I have had no letters from her since she left.”</p> + +<p>“I see. I had one last night; and I was greatly surprised to learn that +she was back in France.”</p> + +<p>“In France! Mme. Mosgranem!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a></span>“Yes. And she even gave me an appointment for this morning, a very +strange appointment.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” asked Siméon, with visible concern.</p> + +<p>“You’ll never guess. On a barge, yes, called the <i>Nonchalante</i>, moored +at the Quai de Passy, alongside Berthou’s Wharf.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible?” said Siméon.</p> + +<p>“It’s as I tell you. And do you know how the letter was signed? It was +signed Grégoire.”</p> + +<p>“Grégoire? A man’s name?” muttered the old man, almost with a groan.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then . . . then you went?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was there this morning, while you were ringing up here. +Unfortunately . . .”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I arrived too late. Grégoire, or rather Mme. Mosgranem, was dead. She +had been strangled.”</p> + +<p>“So you know nothing more than that?” asked Siméon, who seemed unable to +get his words out.</p> + +<p>“Nothing more about what?”</p> + +<p>“About the man whom she mentioned.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do, for she told me his name in the letter. He’s a Greek, who +calls himself Siméon Diodokis. She even gave me a description of him. I +haven’t read it very carefully.”</p> + +<p>He unfolded the letter and ran his eyes down the second page, mumbling:</p> + +<p>“A broken-down old man. . . . Passes himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a></span> off as mad. . . . Always +goes about in a comforter and a pair of large yellow spectacles. . . .”</p> + +<p>Dr. Géradec ceased reading and looked at Siméon with an air of +amazement. Both of them sat for a moment without speaking. Then the +doctor said:</p> + +<p>“You are Siméon Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” cried Siméon, 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.”</p> + +<p>“Ya-Bon? Did you say Ya-Bon?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a one-armed Senegalese.”</p> + +<p>“And did you two fight?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And did you kill him?”</p> + +<p>“Well . . .”</p> + +<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders with a smile:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a></span> man’s name was Siméon 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 . . .”</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then the doctor formulated his demand in plain tones:</p> + +<p>“I shall want two millions.”</p> + +<p>This time Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>“This is blackmail,” he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose I refuse to submit?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he declared. “After all, it’s better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a></span> so. You know me; and +I know you. We can come to terms.”</p> + +<p>“On the basis suggested?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Tell me your plan.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What guarantee have I. . . ?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Any name you like.”</p> + +<p>The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, looking +at Siméon between the phrases and muttering:</p> + +<p>“Gray hair. . . . Clean-shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . .”</p> + +<p>Then he stopped and asked:</p> + +<p>“But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That’s essential, you +know. I want bank-notes, real ones.”</p> + +<p>“You shall have them.”</p> + +<p>“Where are they?”</p> + +<p>“In a hiding-place that can’t be got at.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me where.”</p> + +<p>“I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position, +you’ll never find it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, go on.”</p> + +<p>“Grégoire had the money in her keeping, four million francs. It’s on +board the barge. We’ll go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a></span> there together and I’ll count you out the +first million.”</p> + +<p>“You say those millions are on board the barge?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And there are four of those millions?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t accept any of them in payment.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? You must be mad!”</p> + +<p>“Why not? Because you can’t pay a man with what already belongs to him.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you’re saying?” cried Siméon, in dismay.</p> + +<p>“Those four millions belong to me, so you can’t offer them to me.”</p> + +<p>Siméon shrugged his shoulders:</p> + +<p>“You’re talking nonsense. For the money to belong to you, it must first +be in your possession.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And is it?”</p> + +<p>“It is.”</p> + +<p>“Explain yourself, explain yourself at once!” snarled Siméon, beside +himself with anger and alarm.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You lie! You lie!”</p> + +<p>“They were on a shelf, in a little lumber-room next the cabin.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what then?”</p> + +<p>“What then? They’re here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></span>“Here?”</p> + +<p>“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 +. . .”</p> + +<p>“You thief! You thief!” shouted Siméon, shaking with rage and clenching +his fist. “You’re nothing but a thief; and I’ll make you disgorge. Oh, +you dirty thief!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Géradec smiled very calmly and raised his hand in protest:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Old Siméon was not listening. An infernal thought was awakening in him; +and he turned to the doctor with a movement of affrighted attention.</p> + +<p>“We are wasting precious time, my dear sir,” said the doctor. “What have +you decided to do?”</p> + +<p>He was playing with the sheet of paper on which he had written the +particulars required for the passport. Siméon came up to him without a +word. At last the old man whispered:</p> + +<p>“Give me that sheet of paper. . . . I want to see . . .”</p> + +<p>He took the paper out of the doctor’s hand, ran his eyes down it and +suddenly leapt backwards:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a></span>“What name have you put? What name have you put? What right have you to +give me that name? Why did you do it?”</p> + +<p>“You told me to put any name I pleased, you know.”</p> + +<p>“But why this one? Why this one?”</p> + +<p>“Can it be your own?”</p> + +<p>The old man started with terror and, bending lower and lower over the +doctor, said, in a trembling voice:</p> + +<p>“One man alone, one man alone was capable of guessing . . .”</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. Then the doctor gave a little chuckle:</p> + +<p>“I know that only one man was capable of it. So let’s take it that I’m +the man.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The doctor did not answer. He smiled; and his features gradually +relaxed.</p> + +<p>In a sort of terror-stricken tone Siméon hissed out:</p> + +<p>“Arsène Lupin! . . . Arsène Lupin! . . .”</p> + +<p>“You’ve hit it in one,” exclaimed the doctor, rising.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Arsène Lupin!” repeated Siméon, petrified. “Arsène Lupin! I’m in for +it!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a></span>“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 Siméon, 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. Amédée +Vacherot, the porter. And here, I may say, old Siméon, you committed a +nice piece of imprudence, which got me out of my difficulty. No one in +the porter’s lodge: that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a></span> 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. Géradec, Boulevard de Montmorency.’ Then I +understood. Dr. Géradec? 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. Géradec, +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!”</p> + +<p>He came and stood in front of the old man:</p> + +<p>“Well, are you ready?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Siméon, who seemed absorbed in thought, gave a start.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>The old man, tottering on his legs, made an effort and stammered:</p> + +<p>“And Patrice?”</p> + +<p>“What about him?”</p> + +<p>“I offer you his life in exchange for my own.”</p> + +<p>Don Luis folded his arms across his chest:</p> + +<p>“Well, of all the cheek! Patrice is a friend; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a></span> 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 Siméon, you’re getting played out. It’s time you went and +rested in a better world.”</p> + +<p>He lifted a hanging, opened a door and called out:</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon’s asking for you.”</p> + +<p>Then, turning to the old man, he said:</p> + +<p>“Here’s your son, you unnatural father!”</p> + +<p>Patrice entered the room with his head bandaged, for the blow which +Siméon 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.</p> + +<p>At the sight of Siméon 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:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a></span>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 Siméon, weakened by pain and dominated +by a stronger will than his own, let himself go and implored his +adversary:</p> + +<p>“Patrice!” he entreated. “Patrice! What are you thinking of doing?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Coralie,” he said, without lowering his hands, “Coralie . . . tell me +where she is and I’ll spare your life.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Kill him then, captain,” said Don Luis, intervening. “Kill him, since +he prefers it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” he said, in a low voice, “I can’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” Don Luis insisted. “It’s so easy. Come along! Wring his neck, +like a chicken’s, and have done with it!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“But why? Do you dislike the thought of stran<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a></span>gling him? Does it repel +you? And yet, if it were a Boche, on the battlefield . . .”</p> + +<p>“Yes . . . but this man . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice accepted the weapon eagerly and aimed it at old Siméon. The +silence was appalling. Old Siméon’s eyes had closed and drops of sweat +were streaming down his livid cheeks.</p> + +<p>At last the officer lowered his arm:</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said Don Luis. “Get on with the work.”</p> + +<p>“No. . . . No. . . .”</p> + +<p>“But, in Heaven’s name, why not?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t? Shall I tell you the reason? You are thinking of that man as +if he were your father.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it’s that,” said the officer, speaking very low. “There’s a +chance of it, you know.”</p> + +<p>“What does it matter, if he’s a beast and a blackguard?”</p> + +<p>“No, no, I haven’t the right. Let him die by all means, but not by my +hand. I haven’t the right.”</p> + +<p>“You have the right.”</p> + +<p>“No, it would be abominable! It would be monstrous!”</p> + +<p>Don Luis went up to him and, tapping him on the shoulder, said, gravely:</p> + +<p>“You surely don’t believe that I should stand here, urging you to kill +that man, if he were your father?”</p> + +<p>Patrice looked at him wildly:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a></span>“Do you know something? Do you know something for certain? Oh, for +Heaven’s sake . . . !”</p> + +<p>Don Luis continued:</p> + +<p>“Do you believe that I would even encourage you to hate him, if he were +your father?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Patrice. “Do you mean that he’s not my father?”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès, to +begin the hellish business, and old Siméon, 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?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“<i>That</i> was my father? I heard his voice, you say? Then it was <i>he</i> who +called to me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Patrice, your father.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a></span>“And the man who killed him . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Was this one,” said Don Luis, pointing to Siméon.</p> + +<p>The old man remained motionless, wild-eyed, like a felon awaiting +sentence of death. Patrice, quivering with rage, stared at him fixedly:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But what theory? What was it you took for granted?” cried Patrice, +impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Do you really want to know?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please! I’m longing to kill him, but I must first know his name.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then . . .”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Essarès Bey.”</p> + +<p>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 Essarès 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a></span> the +other day, in the library, when Armand Belval had telephoned to his son.</p> + +<p>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 Essarès +was doomed to die by the hand of the son and the bridegroom.</p> + +<p>“Say your prayers,” said Patrice, coldly. “In ten seconds you will be a +dead man.”</p> + +<p>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 Siméon, there was hidden a man still young and +vigorous, shouted with a violence so extraordinary that it made Patrice +hesitate:</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“She is lost, Patrice!” Siméon continued, raising his voice still +louder. “Lost! There’s nothing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t shout so, you’ll wake her,” said Don Luis, calmly.</p> + +<p>The brief sentence was followed by a sort of stupor which paralyzed the +two adversaries. Patrice’s arms dropped to his sides. Siméon turned +giddy and sank into a chair. Both of them, knowing the things of which +Don Luis was capable, knew what he meant.</p> + +<p>But Patrice wanted something more than a vague sentence that might just +as easily be taken as a jest. He wanted a certainty.</p> + +<p>“Wake her?” he asked, in a broken voice.</p> + +<p>“Well, of course!” said Don Luis. “When you shout too loud, you wake +people up.”</p> + +<p>“Then she’s alive?”</p> + +<p>“You can’t wake the dead, whatever people may say. You can only wake the +living.”</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice had stepped forward, brimming over with joy. Don Luis stopped +him:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” said Patrice. “But are you quite sure . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a></span> 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!”</p> + +<p>He closed the door and led Patrice back to Essarès Bey:</p> + +<p>“There’s the obstacle, captain. Is your mind made up now? This wretch +still stands between you and your Coralie.”</p> + +<p>Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>“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, Arsène Lupin and old Siméon +will form the court. Let the trial begin. Does any one wish to speak in +defense of the prisoner at the bar, Essarès 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice did not move. He stood gazing at the foul brute who had done him +so many injuries. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a></span> whole being seethed with hatred. Nevertheless, he +replied:</p> + +<p>“I will not kill that man.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Don Luis ceased speaking for a moment and leant over Essarès. Had the +wretched man heard? Was he even alive? He looked as if he were in a +faint, deprived of consciousness.</p> + +<p>Don Luis shook him by the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“The gold,” moaned Essarès, “the bags of gold . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The hiding-place?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He handed him the revolver. Essarès took it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a></span> mechanically and pointed it +at Don Luis; but his arm lacked the strength to take aim and fell by his +side.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He took hold of the other’s hand and, bending Essarès’ nerveless fingers +round the revolver, forced him to point it towards his own face.</p> + +<p>“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, Siméon! 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?”</p> + +<p>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, Siméon offered hardly any resistance. The revolver rose to his +forehead. The barrel touched his temple.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a></span>At the touch of the cold steel he gave a moan:</p> + +<p>“Mercy!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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. +Essarès was letting himself go. He was little more than a limp rag. +Death had already cast its shadow upon him.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He had in fact let go the fore-finger and was holding only the arm. But +he was bearing upon Essarès with all his extraordinary power of will, +the will to seek destruction, the will to seek annihilation, an +indomitable will which Essarès was unable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a></span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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! . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>It was over. Essarès was sinking into the depths of darkness. Everything +whirled around him. Don Luis’ will penetrated him and annihilated his +own.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a></span> Fate must be allowed to take its +course. Patrice did not interfere.</p> + +<p>And Don Luis continued, unrelentingly and without intermission:</p> + +<p>“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. . . .”</p> + +<p>That little movement the miscreant made. Hardly knowing what he did, he +pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the room; and Essarès 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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="newchapter"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +<span class="smalltext">FIAT LUX!</span></h2> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +Essarès’ 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.</p> + +<p>“A few words,” he said to himself, “a few words from that incredible +person known as Arsène Lupin, will clear up the mystery. It will not +take him long.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>A motor-car arrived from the direction of the Trocadéro. 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:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, an accident of no importance,” replied Patrice. “But what +appointment are you speaking of?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the one you gave me, of course!”</p> + +<p>“I gave you no appointment.”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès’ property and the other half on the other.’ +There you are. Is it clear?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly clear,” said Patrice, “but I never sent you that note.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a></span>“Who sent it then?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s his name?”</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t say.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know about that! Secrets are hard to keep in war-time.”</p> + +<p>“Very easy, on the contrary, sir,” said a voice behind M. Masseron. “All +you need do is to make up your mind to it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron bowed; and Don Luis at once began, speaking with a slight +accent:</p> + +<p>“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 Grégoire, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a></span> Guimard; +and lastly the body of Siméon Diodokis, in Dr. Géradec’s private +hospital on the Boulevard de Montmorency.”</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon?” asked M. Masseron in great surprise.</p> + +<p>“Old Siméon 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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“As you see, it is accepted. What is the other?”</p> + +<p>“A more serious condition, sir, so serious indeed that, whatever powers +may have been conferred upon you, I doubt whether they will be +sufficient.”</p> + +<p>“Let me hear; then we shall see.”</p> + +<p>“Very well.”</p> + +<p>And Don Luis, speaking in a phlegmatic tone, as though he were telling +the most unimportant story, calmly set forth his incredible proposal:</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>He paused and then resumed, while his voice took on a rather more +serious tone:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron seemed utterly taken aback:</p> + +<p>“But, my dear sir,” he said, “these are matters quite outside our +province; they must be examined and decided by others, not by us.”</p> + +<p>“Every one has the right to dispose of his money as he pleases.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron made a gesture of distress:</p> + +<p>“Come, sir, think a moment. You yourself said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a></span> that this power was only +putting forward the question as a secondary one.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but the mere fact that it is being discussed will delay the +conclusion of the agreement for a few days.”</p> + +<p>“Well, a few days will make no difference, surely?”</p> + +<p>“Sir, a few hours <i>will</i> make a difference.”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“For a reason which you do not know and which nobody knows . . . except +myself and a few people some fifteen hundred miles away.”</p> + +<p>“What reason?”</p> + +<p>“The Russians have no munitions left.”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What had all this to do +with the matter?</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a></span>M. Masseron seemed quite discomforted. Waving his hands and shaking his +head, he mumbled:</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible. Such a condition as that will never be accepted. It +will take time, it will need discussion. . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“My dear Masseron,” he said, “it seems to me that you are not looking at +the question from the right point of view.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I think, monsieur le président,” said Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“Ah, do you know me, sir?”</p> + +<p>“M. Valenglay, I believe? I had the honor of calling on you some years +ago, sir, when you were president of the council.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I thought I remembered . . . though I can’t say exactly . . .”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t tax your memory, sir. The past does not concern us. What +matters is that you should be of my opinion.”</p> + +<p>“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 +cir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a></span>cumstances. 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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, monsieur le président.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>M. Masseron was very frank in his reply:</p> + +<p>“No, monsieur le président,” he said, plainly and without hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Well, then. . . .”</p> + +<p>And, turning to Don Luis:</p> + +<p>“And you, sir,” Valenglay asked, “is it your last word?”</p> + +<p>“My last word.”</p> + +<p>“If we refuse . . . good-evening?”</p> + +<p>“You have stated the case precisely, monsieur le président.”</p> + +<p>“And, if we accept, will the gold be handed over at once?”</p> + +<p>“At once.”</p> + +<p>“We accept.”</p> + +<p>And, after a slight pause, he repeated:</p> + +<p>“We accept. The ambassador shall receive his instructions this +evening.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a></span>“Do you give me your word, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I give you my word.”</p> + +<p>“In that case, we are agreed.”</p> + +<p>“We are agreed. Now then! . . .”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Don Luis gave a laugh:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be too sure, monsieur le président,” 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.”</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t be,” said Valenglay, “if you put me with my face towards the +eighteen hundred bags of gold.”</p> + +<p>“You’re that now, sir.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"></a></span>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly what I say. Short of touching the bags of gold, it would be +difficult to be nearer to them than you are.”</p> + +<p>For all his self-control, Valenglay could not conceal his surprise:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“That would be removing obstacles, sir, whereas there is no obstacle +between you and what you are seeking.”</p> + +<p>“No obstacle!”</p> + +<p>“None, monsieur le président, for you have only to make the least little +movement in order to touch the bags.”</p> + +<p>“The least little movement!” said Valenglay, mechanically repeating Don +Luis’ words.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“Or what?”</p> + +<p>“Well, or a heap of sand.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"></a></span>“If you had the least doubt, monsieur le président—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 . . .”</p> + +<p>Don Luis paused once more before continuing:</p> + +<p>“And which has been there for months, monsieur le président, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"></a></span> 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 président, knew what he was about.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“He did indeed. But there is one man who is cleverer still.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Flattered by the compliment, Don Luis raised his hat. Valenglay gave him +his hand:</p> + +<p>“I can think of no reward worthy of the service which you have done the +country.”</p> + +<p>“I ask for no reward,” said Don Luis.</p> + +<p>“I daresay, sir, but I should wish you at least to be thanked by voices +that carry more weight than mine.”</p> + +<p>“Is it really necessary, monsieur le président?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, sir, but I shall be gone in fifteen minutes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></a></span>“No, no, you can’t go like this,” said Valenglay, with authority.</p> + +<p>“Why not, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Well, because we don’t know your name or anything about you.”</p> + +<p>“That makes so little difference!”</p> + +<p>“In peace-time, perhaps. But, in war-time, it won’t do at all.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, monsieur le président, you will make an exception in my case?”</p> + +<p>“An exception, indeed? What next?”</p> + +<p>“Suppose it’s the reward which I ask, will you refuse me then?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>And, after a very civil bow, he walked away to his car, twirling his +stick gaily and escorted by M. Masseron.</p> + +<p>“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 Arsène Lupin!”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” cried Patrice, startled out of his life. “Your +arrest?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he orders me to appear before him, to produce my papers and the +devil knows what.”</p> + +<p>“But that’s monstrous!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></a></span>“It’s the law of the land, my dear captain. We must bow to it.”</p> + +<p>“But . . .”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go bail for her over that.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I accept your few minutes,” said Patrice, as they went down the steps. +“But first of all I want to apologize . . .”</p> + +<p>“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 Arsène Lupin would despise three hundred million +francs?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></a></span>“Very well, no apologies,” said Patrice, laughing. “But all my thanks.”</p> + +<p>“For what? For saving your life and saving Coralie’s? Don’t thank me. +It’s a hobby of mine, saving people.”</p> + +<p>Patrice took Don Luis’ hand and pressed it firmly. Then, in a chaffing +tone which hid his emotion, he said:</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p>“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, Siméon 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></a></span> +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 Essarès’ house. Until +that date, you were Siméon Diodokis’ son. After that date, you were +Siméon 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice shook his head without replying. He did not understand. The +riddle retained a part of its unfathomable secret.</p> + +<p>“Sit down there,” said Don Luis, “on our famous sand-heap, and listen to +me. It won’t take me ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Don Luis expressed himself in the following terms:</p> + +<p>“On the evening when, from the inner gallery of the library, you +witnessed the tragedy at Essarès’ house, you saw before your eyes two +men bound by their accomplices: Essarès Bey and Siméon Diodokis. They +are both dead. One of them was your father. Let us speak first of the +other. Essarès 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></a></span> of the millions of francs collected. The <i>Belle +Hélène</i>, 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 +Siméon, broke in. Thereupon we have the blackmailing-scene, Colonel +Fakhi’s death and so on, with Essarès 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 +Essarès. We now come to Siméon Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“The man who was known as old Siméon,” continued Don Luis, “that is to +say, your father, Armand Belval, a former victim, together with +Coralie’s mother, of Essarès Bey, had also reached a turning-point of +his career. He was nearly achieving his object. He had betrayed and +delivered his enemy, Essarès, into the hands of Colonel Fakhi and the +accomplices. He had succeeded in bringing you and Coralie together. He +had sent you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"></a></span> 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 Essarès 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. Essarès was watching and hunting down the +man whom he had chosen as his victim for the second time. You can +picture Siméon 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. Essarès 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, Essarès Bey, who had failed before, in the +lodge, took his revenge on his old rival.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"></a></span>“Oh, my unhappy father!” murmured Patrice, in great distress.</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès who replied, with your father’s +dead body at his feet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the scoundrel! So that this body, which we did not find and were +not able to find . . .”</p> + +<p>“Was simply made up by Essarès, made up, disfigured, transformed into +his own likeness. That, captain, is how—and the whole mystery lies in +this—Siméon Diodokis, dead, became Essarès Bey, while Essarès Bey, +transformed into Siméon Diodokis, played the part of Siméon Diodokis.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Patrice, “I see, I understand.”</p> + +<p>“As to the relations existing between the two men,” continued Don Luis, +“I am not certain. Essarès may or may not have known before that old +Siméon 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 Siméon 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 Essarès, having noticed certain similarities in height and figure, +had made every preparation to take Siméon’s place if circumstances +obliged him to disappear. And it was easily done. Siméon Diodokis wore a +wig and no beard. Essarès, on the contrary, was bald-headed and had a +beard. He shaved himself, smashed Siméon’s face against the grate, +mingled the hairs of his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>Patrice thought for a moment. Then he raised an objection:</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s what happened at nineteen minutes past seven. But something +else happened at twenty-three minutes past twelve.”</p> + +<p>“No, nothing at all.”</p> + +<p>“But that clock, which stopped at twenty-three minutes past twelve?”</p> + +<p>“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 Siméon.”</p> + +<p>“What accusation?”</p> + +<p>“What accusation? Why, that he had killed Essarès Bey, of course! A dead +body is discovered in the morning. Who has committed the murder? +Suspicion would at once have fallen on Siméon. He would have been +questioned and arrested. And Essarès would have been found under +Siméon’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 Essarès Bey +was still alive during the morning. Then, when she went out, he raised +his voice and ordered Siméon, in other words himself, to see her to the +hospital in the Champs-Élysées. And in this way Mme. Essarès thought +that she was leaving her husband behind her alive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"></a></span> and that she was +escorted by old Siméon, whereas actually she was leaving old Siméon’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. Essarès returned, it was her husband whom she saw +lying in front of the fireplace at which he had been tortured the night +before. Old Siméon, that is to say, Essarès himself, helped to establish +the identification. You yourself were taken in. The trick was played.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Patrice, nodding his head, “that is how things must have +gone. They all fit in.”</p> + +<p>“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 +Essarès’ 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. Essarès 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: +Essarès Bey carrying on his person an album filled with photographs of +his wife and Captain Belval! In the same way, when they found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"></a></span> 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 Essarès 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 Essarès +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 Siméon was master of the situation. Essarès Bey is dead, +long live Siméon!”</p> + +<p>Don Luis indulged in a hearty laugh. The adventure struck him as really +amusing.</p> + +<p>“Then and there,” he went on, “Essarès, 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.”</p> + +<p>“But what was the object of this madness?”</p> + +<p>“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. Essarès would +have recognized his voice at the first words he spoke, however cleverly +he might have altered his tone. From this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"></a></span> 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 Grégoire 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"></a></span> 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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get on the barge,” said Don Luis. “I’ve left some important +papers there.”</p> + +<p>Patrice followed him. Opposite the cabin containing Grégoire’s body was +another cabin, reached by the same companion-way. It was furnished with +a table and a chair.</p> + +<p>“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 . . .”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"></a></span>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:</p> + +<p>“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, Essarès 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 Essarès’ 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 <i>Belle Hélène</i> 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 Grégoire’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, <i>The Pur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"></a></span>loined Letter</i>. 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.”</p> + +<p>“About what?”</p> + +<p>“About Essarès’ 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“You had found out?”</p> + +<p>“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 Essarès, to Vacherot the porter; +and, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"></a></span> I had discovered our enemy’s plans, I went and made my +arrangements with Dr. Géradec. 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, Essarès arrived +at the same time, to have his injuries seen to. I had him safe.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice once again pressed his hand warmly, without a word. Don Luis +accepted the homage of this silent emotion and said:</p> + +<p>“If ever people talk of Arsène 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!”</p> + +<p>He pricked up his ears and, after a moment, said:</p> + +<p>“Captain, it is time for us to part. Present my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"></a></span> 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.”</p> + +<p>“Then we are taking leave of each other?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I hear M. Masseron. Go to him, will you, and have the kindness to +bring him here?”</p> + +<p>Patrice hesitated. Why was Don Luis sending him to meet M. Masseron? Was +it so that he, Patrice, might intervene in his favor?</p> + +<p>The idea appealed to him; and he ran up the companion-way.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Patrice met M. Masseron on the deck of the barge.</p> + +<p>“Is your friend here?” asked the magistrate.</p> + +<p>“Yes. But one word first: you don’t mean to . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“Have no fear. We shall do him no harm, on the contrary.”</p> + +<p>The answer was so definite that the officer could find nothing more to +say. M. Masseron went down first, with Patrice following him.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” said Patrice. “I left the cabin-door open!”</p> + +<p>He pushed the door. It opened. But Don Luis was no longer in the cabin.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“When you have time to examine this barge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361"></a></span> thoroughly,” said Patrice, +“I’ve no doubt you will find it pretty nicely faked.”</p> + +<p>“So your friend has probably escaped through some trap-door and swum +away?” asked M. Masseron, who seemed greatly annoyed.</p> + +<p>“I expect so,” said Patrice, laughing. “Unless he’s gone off on a +submarine!”</p> + +<p>“A submarine in the Seine?”</p> + +<p>“Why not? I don’t believe that there’s any limit to my friend’s +resourcefulness and determination.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Then he knew that I should come here? He foresaw, even before we met, +that I should ask him to fulfil certain formalities?”</p> + +<p>The letter ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Sir</i>,</p> + +<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362"></a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>“I have the honor to be, etc.”</p></div> + +<p>M. Masseron remained silent for a time.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who was that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you know the fellow’s name as well as I do! . . . Lupin, that’s it: +Arsène Lupin.”</p> + +<p class="center newchapter">THE END</p> + +<hr class="wide" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Transcriber’s Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected.</p> + +<p>In Chapter II, a missing quotation mark was added before “Why, what’s +the matter?”</p> + +<p>In Chapter III, “never uttered a compaint” was changed to “never uttered +a complaint”.</p> + +<p>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”.</p> + +<p>In Chapter VI, “Is Mmme. Essarès ill” was changed to “Is Mme. Essarès +ill”.</p> + +<p>In Chapter VIII, missing quotation marks were added after “Oh, Patrice! +. . . Patrice! . . .” and “Help! . . . Help! . . .”.</p> + +<p>In Chapter X, “They do, howover, throw” was changed to “They do, +however, throw”, “Siméon keeps his own council” was changed to “Siméon +keeps his own counsel”, and a quotation mark was removed after “And who +could defend her?”.</p> + +<p>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”.</p> + +<p>In Chapter XV, a quotation mark was removed before “There was a brief +silence”.</p> + +<p>In Chapter XVI, “your’re trembling” was changed to “you’re trembling”.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>In Chapter XVIII, “Gray hair . . .” was changed to “Gray hair. . . .”, +“Grégoire had the money in his keeping” was changed to “Grégoire had the +money in her keeping”, and “suddenly leapt backwords” was changed to +“suddenly leapt backwards”.</p> + +<p>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”.</p> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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