She spoke in a very low voice, an absent-minded voice. The parted curls showed her forehead furrowed by anxiety. Maître Delarue and the four strangers were exchanging futile phrases; not one of them seemed worth her consideration. Then they were silent. The silence lengthened. The lamps were switched off. The light from the little window was concentrated on Dorothy. She was very pale, so pale that she was aware of it and hid her face in her hands in order to prevent them from perceiving the effects of the emotions which were racking her.
Violent emotions, which proceeded from that truth that she had had such difficulty in attaining and which was disengaging itself from the shadows. It was not by scraps that she was gathering up the revealing clues but in a mass so to speak. The clouds had been swept away. In front of her, before her closed eyes, she saw ... she saw.... Ah! What a terrifying fact!
However she stubbornly kept herself silent and motionless, while to her mind there presented themselves in quick succession during the course of a few seconds all the questions and all the answers, all the arguments and all the proofs.
She recalled the fact that the night before at the village of Périac the caravan had nearly been destroyed by fire. Who had started that fire? And with what motive? Might she not suppose that one of those unhoped-for helpers, who had appeared so suddenly in the very nick of time, had taken advantage of the confusion to slip into the caravan, ransack her sleeping birth, and open the little leather purse hanging from a nail.
Possessor of the medal, the chief of the gang returned in haste to the ruins of Roche-Périac and disposed his men in that peninsula, the innermost recesses of which must be known to him, and in which he had everything arranged in view of the fateful day, the 12th of July, 1921. Doubtless he had had a dress rehearsal with his confederate cast for the part of the sleeping Marquis. Final instructions. Promises of reward in the event of success. Menaces in the event of failure. And at noon he arrived quietly in front of the clock, like the other strangers, presented the medal, the only certificate of identity required, and was present at the reading of the will. Then came the ascent of the tower and the resurrection of the Marquis. In another instant she would have handed over the codicil to him; and he reached his goal. The great plot which d'Estreicher had been so long weaving attained its end. And how could she fail to observe that up to the very last minute, there had been in the working out of that plan, in the performance of unforeseen actions, necessitated by the chances, the same boldness, the same vigor, the same methodical decision? There are battles which are only won when the chief is on the battle-field.
He is here, she thought, distracted. He has escaped from prison andhe is here. His confederate was going to betray him and join us; he killed him.He is here.Rid of his beard and spectacles, his skull shaved, his arm in a sling, disguised as a Russian soldier, not speaking a word, changing his bearing, he was unrecognizable. But it is certainly d'Estreicher. Now he has his eyes fixed on me. He is hesitating. He is asking himself have I penetrated his disguise.... Whether he can go on with the comedy ... or whether he should unmask and compel us, revolver in hand, to hand over the codicil, that is to say the diamonds.
Dorothy did not know what to do. In her place a man of her character and temper would have settled the question by throwing himself on the enemy. But a woman?... Already her legs were failing her; she was in the grip of terror—of terror also for the three young men whom d'Estreicher could lay low with three shots.
She withdrew her hands from her face. Without turning she was aware that they were waiting,all four of them. D'Estreicher was one of the group, his eyes fixed on her ... yes, fixed on her.... She felt the savage glare which followed her slightest movement and sought to discover her intentions.
She slid a step towards the door. Her plan was to gain that door, bar the enemy's way, face him, and throw herself between him and the three young men. Blockaded against the walls of the room, with escape impossible, there were plenty of chances that he would be forced to yield to the will of three strong and resolute men.
She moved yet another step, imperceptibly ... then another. Ten feet separated her from the door. She saw on her right its heavy mass, studded with nails.
She said, as if the disappearance of the medal still filled her mind:
"I must have lost it ... a day or two ago.... I had it on my knee.... I must have forgotten to put it back——"
Suddenly she made her spring.
Too late. At the very moment that she drew herself together, d'Estreicher, foreseeing it, leapt in front of the door, a revolver in either outstretched hand.
This sudden act was masked by no single word. There was no need of words indeed for the three young men to grasp the fact that the murderer of the false Marquis stood before them. Instinctively they recoiled from the menace; then on the instant pulled themselves together, and ready for the counterstroke, they advanced.
Dorothy stopped them at the moment that d'Estreicher was on the point of shooting. Drawn to her full height in front of them, she protected them, certain that the scoundrel would not pull the trigger. But he was aiming straight at her bosom; and the young men could not stir, while, his right arm outstretched, with his left hand still holding the other revolver, he felt for the lock.
"Leave it to us, mademoiselle!" cried Webster, beside himself.
"A single movement and he kills me," she said.
The scoundrel did not utter a word, he opened the door behind him, flattened himself against the wall, then slipped quickly out.
The three young men sprang forward like unleashed hounds—only to dash themselves against the obstacle of the heavy door.
For a minute or two extreme confusion reigned in the room. Errington and Webster struggled furiously with the old lock. Almost past use, it worked badly from the inside. Exasperated and maddened at having let the enemy escape, they got in one another's way and their efforts only ended in their jamming it.
Marco Dario raged at them.
"Get on! Get on! What are you messing about like that for?... It's d'Estreicher, isn't it, mademoiselle? The man you spoke of? He murdered his confederate?... He stole the medal from you? Holy Virgin, hurry up, you two!"
Dorothy tried to reason with them:
"Wait, I implore you. Think. We must work together.... It's madness to act at random!"
But they did not listen to her; and, when the door did open, they rushed down the staircase, while she called out to them:
"I implore you.... They're below.... They're watching you."
Then a whistle, strident and prolonged, rent the air. It came from without.
She ran to the window. Nothing was to be seen from it, and in despair she asked herself:
"What does that mean? He isn't calling his confederates. They're with him now. Then, why that signal?"
She was about to go down in her turn when she found herself caught by her petticoat. From the beginning of the scene, in front of d'Estreicher and his leveled revolvers, Maître Delarue had sunk down in the darkest corner, and now he was imploring her, almost on his knees:
"You aren't going to abandon me—with the corpse?... And then that scoundrel might come back!... His confederates!"
She pulled him to his feet.
"No time to lose.... We must go to the help of our friends...."
"Go to their help? Stout young fellows like them?" he cried indignantly.
Dorothy drew him along by the hand as one leads a child. They went, anyhow, half-way down the staircase. Maître Delarue was sniveling, Dorothy muttering:
"Why that signal? To whom was it given? And what are they to do?"
An idea little by little took hold of her. She thought of the four children who had remained at the inn, of Saint-Quentin, of Montfaucon. And this idea so tormented her that three parts of the way down the staircase she stopped at the hole which pierced the wall, which she had noticed as they came up. After all what could an old man and a young girl do to help three young men?
"What is it?" stammered the notary. "Can one hear the f-f-f-fight?"
"One can't hear anything," she said bending down.
She squeezed herself into the narrow passage and crawled to the opening. Then, having looked more carefully than she had done in the afternoon, she perceived on her right, on the cornice, a good-sized bundle, thrust down into a crack, screened in front by wild plants. It was a rope-ladder. One of its ends was fastened to a hook driven into the wall.
"Excellent," she said. "It's evident that on occasions d'Estreicher uses this exit. In the event of danger it's an easy way to safety, since this side of the tower is opposite the entrance in the interior."
The way to safety was less easy for Maître Delarue, who began by groaning.
"Never in my life! Get down that way?"
"Nonsense!" she said. "It isn't thirty-five feet—only two stories."
"As well commit suicide."
"Do you prefer a knife stuck in you? Remember that d'Estreicher has only one aim—the codicil. And you have it."
Terrified, Maître Delarue made up his mind to it, on condition that Dorothy descended first to make sure that the ladder was in a good state and that no rungs were missing.
Dorothy did not bother about rungs. She gripped the ladder between her legs and slid from the top to bottom. Then catching hold of the two ropes she kept them as stiff as she could. The operation was nevertheless painful and lengthy; and Maître Delarue expended so much courage on it that he nearly fainted at the lower rungs. The sweat trickled down his face and over his hands in great drops.
With a few words Dorothy restored his courage.
"You can hear them.... Don't you hear them?"
Maître Delarue could hear nothing. But he set out at a run, breathless from the start, mumbling:
"They're after us!... In a minute they'll attack us!"
A side-path led them through thick brushwood to the main path, which connected the keep with the clearing in which the solitary oak stood. No one behind them.
More confident, Maître Delarue threatened:
"The blackguards! At the first house I send a messenger to the nearest police station.... Then I mobilize the peasants—with guns, forks and anything handy. And you, what's your plan?"
"I haven't one."
"What? No plan? You?"
"No," she said. "I've acted rather at random, I'm afraid."
"Ah, you see clearly——"
"I'm not afraid for myself."
"For whom?"
"For my children."
Maître Delarue exclaimed:
"Gracious! You've got children?"
"I left them at the inn."
"But how many have you?"
"Four."
The notary was flabbergasted.
"Four children! Then you're married?"
"No," admitted Dorothy, not perceiving the good man's mistake. "But I wish to secure their safety. Fortunately Saint-Quentin is not an idiot."
"Saint-Quentin?"
"Yes, the eldest of the urchins ... an artful lad, cunning as a monkey."
Maître Delarue gave up trying to understand. Besides, nothing was of any importance to him but the prospect of being overtaken before he had passed that narrow, devilish causeway.
"Let's run! Let's run!" he said, for all that his shortness of breath compelled him to go slower every minute. "And then catch hold, mademoiselle! Here's the second envelope! There's no reason why I should carry such a dangerous paper on me; and after all it's no business of mine."
She took the envelope and put it in her purse just as they came into the court of the clock. Maître Delarue who could move only with great difficulty, uttered a cry of joy on perceiving his donkey in the act of browsing in the most peaceful fashion in the world, at some distance from the motor-cycle and the two horses.
"You'll excuse me, mademoiselle."
He scrambled on to his mount. The donkey began by backing; and it threw the good man into such a state of exasperation that he belabored its head and belly with thumps and kicks. The donkey suddenly gave in and went off like an arrow.
Dorothy called out to him:
"Look out, Maître Delarue! The confederates have been warned!"
The notary heard the words, on the instant leaned back in the saddle, and tugged desperately at the reins. But nothing could stop the brute. When Dorothy got clear of the ruins of the outer wall, she saw him a long way off, still going hard.
Then she began to run again, in a growing disquiet: d'Estreicher's whistle had been meant for confederates posted on the mainland at the entrance to the peninsula the access to which they were guarding. She said to herself:
"In any case if I don't get through, Maître Delarue will; and it is clear that Saint-Quentin will be warned and be on his guard."
The sea, very blue and very calm, had ebbed to right and left, forming two bays on the other side of which rose the cliff of the coast. The path down the gorge was distinguishable by the dark cutting she saw in the mass of trees which covered the plateau. Here and there it rose to some height. Twice she caught sight of the flying notary.
But as in her turn she reached the line of the trees, a report rang out ahead, and a little smoke rose in the air above what must have been the steepest point in the path.
There came cries and shouts for help; then silence. Dorothy doubled her speed in order to help Maître Delarue; undoubtedly he had been attacked. But after running for some minutes at such a pace that no sound could have reached her ears, she had barely time to spring out of the path to get out of the way of the furiously galloping donkey whose rider was crouching forward on its back with his arms knotted round its neck. Maître Delarue, since his head was glued to the further side of its neck, did not even see her.
More anxious than ever, since it was clear that Saint-Quentin and his comrades would not be warned if she did not succeed in getting through the path down the gorge and over the causeway, she started to run again. Then she caught sight of the figures of two men on one of the high points of the path in front, coming towards her. They were the confederates. They had barred the road to Maître Delarue and were now acting after the manner of beaters.
She flung herself into the bushes, dropped into a hollow full of dead leaves, and covered herself with them.
The confederates passed her in silence. She heard the dull noise of their hobnailed boots, which went further and further off in the direction of the ruins; and when she raised herself, they had disappeared.
Forthwith, having no further obstacle before her, Dorothy made her way down the path, so correctly described by the board as bad going, and came to the causeway which joined the peninsula to the mainland, observed that the Baron Davernoie and his old flame were no longer on the edge of the water, mounted the slope, and hurried towards the inn. A little way from it she called out:
"Saint-Quentin!... Saint-Quentin."
Getting no answer, her forebodings re-doubled. She passed in front of the house and saw no one. She crossed the orchard, went to the barn, and jerked open the caravan door. There once more—no one. Nothing but the children's bags and the usual things.
"Saint-Quentin!... Saint-Quentin!" she cried again.
She returned to the house and this time she entered.
The little room which formed the café and in which stood the zinc counter, was empty. Over-turned benches and chairs lay about the floor. On a table stood three glasses, half full, and a bottle.
Dorothy called out:
"Madame Amoureux!"
She thought she heard a groan and went to the counter. Behind it, doubled up, her legs and arms bound, the landlady was lying with a handkerchief covering her mouth.
"Hurt?" asked Dorothy when she had freed her from the gag.
"No ... no ..."
"And the children?" said the young girl in a shaky voice.
"They're all right."
"Where are they?"
"Down on the beach, I think."
"All of them?"
"All but one, the smallest."
"Montfaucon."
"Yes."
"Good heavens! What has become of him?"
"They've carried him off."
"Who?"
"Two men—two men who came in and asked for a drink. The little boy was playing near us. The others must have been amusing themselves at the bottom of the orchards behind the barns. We couldn't hear them. And then of a sudden one of the men, with whom I was drinking a glass of wine, seized me by the throat while the second caught hold of the little boy.
"'Not a word,' said they. 'If you speak, we'll squeeze your throttle. Where are the other nippers?'
"It occurred to me to say that they were down on the beach fishing among the rocks.
"'It's true, that, is it, old 'un?' said they. 'If you're lying, you're taking a great risk. Swear it.'
"'I swear it.'
"'And you too, nipper, answer. Where are your brothers and sisters?'
"I was terribly afraid, madam. The little boy was crying. But all the same he said, and well he knew it wasn't true:
"'They're playing down below—among the rocks.'
"Then they tied me up and said:
"'You stay there. We're coming back. And if we don't find you here, look out, mother.'
"And off they went, taking the little boy with them. One of them had rolled him up in his jacket."
Dorothy, very pale, was considering. She asked:
"And Saint-Quentin?"
"He came in about half an hour afterwards to look for Montfaucon. He ended by finding me. I told him the story: 'Ah,' said he, the tears in his eyes. 'Whatever will mummy say?' He wanted to cut my ropes. I refused. I was afraid the men would come back. Then he took down an old broken gun from above the chimney-piece, a chassepot which dates from the time of my dead father, without any cartridges, and went off with the two others."
"But where was he going?" said Dorothy.
"Goodness, I don't know. I gathered they were going along the seashore."
"And how long ago is that?"
"A good hour at least."
"A good hour," murmured Dorothy.
This time the landlady did not refuse to have her bonds untied. As soon as she was free she said to Dorothy who wished to dispatch her to Périac in search of help:
"To Périac? Six miles! But, my poor lady, I haven't the strength. The best thing you can do is to get there yourself as fast as your legs will carry you."
Dorothy did not even consider this counsel. She was in a hurry to return to the ruins and there join battle with the enemy. She set off again at a run.
So the attack she had foreseen had indeed developed; but an hour earlier—that is to say before the signal was given—and the two men were forthwith posted on the path to the causeway with the mission to establish a barrage, then at the whistle to fall back on the scene of operations.
Only too well did Dorothy understand the motive of this kidnaping. In the battle they were fighting it was not only a matter of stealing the diamonds; there was another victory for which d'Estreicher was striving with quite as much intensity and ruthlessness. Now Montfaucon, in his hands, was the pledge of victory. Cost what it might, whatever happened, admitting even that the luck turned against him, Dorothy must surrender at discretion and bend the knee. To save Montfaucon from certain death it was beyond doubt that she would not recoil from any act, from any trial.
"Oh, the monster!" she murmured. "He is not mistaken. He holds me by what I hold dearest!"
Several times she noticed, across the path, groups of small pebbles arranged in circles, or cut-off twigs, which were to her so much information furnished by Saint-Quentin. From them she learnt that the children instead of keeping straight along the path to the gorge, had turned off to the left and gone round the marsh to the seashore so betaking themselves to the shelter of the rocks. But she paid no attention to this maneuver, for she could only think of the danger which threatened Montfaucon and had no other aim than to get to his kidnapers.
She took her way to the peninsula, mounted the gorge, where she met no one, and reached the plateau. As she did so she heard the sound of a second report. Some one had fired in the ruins. At whom? At Maître Delarue? At one of the three young men?
"Ah," she said to herself anxiously. "Perhaps I ought never to have left them, those three friends of mine. All four of us together, we could have defended ourselves. Instead of that, we are far from one another, helpless."
What astonished her when she had crossed the outer wall, was the infinite silence into which she seemed to herself to enter. The field of battle was not large—a couple of miles long, at the most, and a few hundred yards across; and yet in this restricted space, in which perhaps nine or ten men were pitted against her, not a sound. Not a mutter of human speech. Nothing but the twittering of birds or the rustling of leaves, which fell gently, cautiously, as if things themselves were conspiring not to break the silence.
"It's terrible," murmured Dorothy. "What is the meaning of it? Am I to believe that all is over? Or rather that nothing has begun, that the adversaries are watching one another before coming to blows—on the one side Errington, Webster, and Dario, on the other d'Estreicher and his confederates?"
She advanced quickly into the court of the clock. There she saw still, near the two tied-up horses, the donkey, eating the leaves of a shrub, his bridle dragging on the ground, his saddle quite straight on his back, his coat shining with sweat.
What has become of Maître Delarue? Had he been able to rejoin the group of the foreigners? Had his mount thrown him and delivered him into the power of the enemy?
Thus at every moment questions presented themselves which it was impossible to answer. The shadow was thickening.
Dorothy was not timid. During the war, in the ambulances in the first line, she had grown used more quickly than many men to the bursting of shells; and the hour of bombardment did not shake her nerves. But mistress of her nerves as she was, on the other hand, she was more susceptible than a man of less courage to the influence of everything unknown, of everything that is unseen and unheard. Her extreme sensitiveness gave her a keen sense of danger; and at that moment she had the deepest impression of danger.
She went on however. An invincible force drove her on till she should find her friends and Montfaucon should be freed. She hurried to the avenue of great trees, crossed the clearing of the old solitary oak, and mounted the rising ground on which rose Cocquesin tower.
More and more the solitude and the silence troubled her. The profound silence. A solitude so abnormal that Dorothy reached the point of believing herself to be no longer alone. Some one was watching. Men were following her as she went. It seemed to her that she was exposed to all menaces, that the barrels of guns were leveled at her, that she was about to fall into the trap which her enemy had laid.
The impression was so strong that Dorothy, who knew her nature and the correctness of her presentiments, reckoned it a certainty resting on irrefutable proofs. She even knew where the ambush was awaiting her. They had guessed that her instinct, her calculations, that all the circumstances of the drama, would bring her back to the tower; and there they were awaiting her.
She stopped at the entrance of the vault. On the opposite side, above the steps which descended into the immense nave of the donjon, her enemies must be posted. Let her make a few more steps and they would capture her.
She stood quite still. She no longer doubted that Maître Delarue had been taken, and that, yielding to threats, he had disclosed the fact that the second envelope was in her hands, that second envelope without which the diamonds of the Marquis de Beaugreval would never be discovered.
A minute or two passed. No single indication allowed her to believe in the actual presence of the enemies she imagined. But the mere logic of the events demanded that they should be there. She must then act as if they were there.
By one of those imperceptible movements which seemed to have no object, without letting anything in her attitude awake the suspicion in her invisible enemies that she was accomplishing a definite action, she managed to open her purse and extract the envelope. She crumpled it up and reduced it to a tiny ball.
Then, letting her arm hang down, she went some steps into the vault.
Behind her, violently, with a loud crash, something fell down. It was the old feudal portcullis, which fell from above, came grating down its grooves, and blocked the entrance with its heavy trellis-work of massive wood.
Dorothy did not turn round. She was a prisoner.
"I made no mistake," she thought. "They are the masters of the field of battle. But what has become of the others?"
On her right opened the entrance to the staircase which ascended the tower. Perhaps she might have fled up it and availed herself once more of the rope-ladder? But what use would it be? Did not the kidnaping of Montfaucon oblige her to fight to the end, in spite of the hopelessness of the conflict? She must throw herself into the arena, among the ferocious beasts.
She went on. Though alone and without friends, she found herself quite cool. As she went, she let the little ball of paper roll down her skirt. It rolled along the floor and was lost among the pebbles and dust which covered it.
As she came to the end of the vault, two arms shot out and two men covered her with their revolvers.
"Don't move!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
One of them repeated harshly:
"Don't move, or I shoot."
She looked at them. They were two subordinates, poisonous-looking rogues, dressed as sailors. She thought she recognized in them the two individuals who had accompanied d'Estreicher to the Manor. She said to them:
"The child? What have you done with the child? It was you who carried him off, wasn't it?"
With a sudden movement they seized her arms; and while one kept her covered with his revolver, the other set about the task of searching her. But an imperious voice checked them:
"Stop that. I'll do it myself."
A third personage whom Dorothy had not perceived, stepped out from the wall where enormous roots of ivy had concealed him.... D'Estreicher!
For all that he was still rigged out in his disguise of a Russian soldier, he was no longer the same man. Again she found him the d'Estreicher of Roborey and Hillocks Manor. He had resumed his arrogant air and his wicked expression, and did not try to conceal his slight limp. Now that his hair and beard were shaved off, she observed the flatness of the back of his head and the apelike development of his jaw.
He stood a long while without speaking. Was he tasting the joy of triumph? One would have said rather that he felt a certain discomfort in the presence of his victim, or at least that he was hesitating in his attack. He walked up and down, his hands behind his back, stopped, then walked up and down again.
He asked her:
"Have you any weapon?"
"None," she declared.
He told his two henchmen to go back to their comrades; then once more he began to walk up and down.
Dorothy studied him carefully, searching his face for something human of which she might take hold. But there was nothing but vulgarity, baseness, and cunning in it. She had only herself to rely on. In the lists formed by the ruins of the great tower, surrounded by a band of scoundrels, commanded by the most implacable of chiefs, watched, coveted, helpless, she had as her unique resource, her subtle intelligence. It was infinitely little, and it was much, since already once before, within the walls of Hillocks Manor, placed in the same situation, and facing the same enemy, she had conquered. It was much because this enemy distrusted himself and so lost some of his advantages.
For the moment he believed himself sure of success; and his attitude displayed all the insolence of one who believes he has nothing to fear.
Their eyes met. He began:
"How pretty she is, the little devil! A morsel fit for a king. It's a pity she detests me." And, drawing nearer, he added: "It really is detestation, Dorothy?"
She recoiled a step. He frowned.
"Yes: I know ... your father.... Bah! Your father was very ill.... He would have died in any case. So it wasn't really I who killed him."
She said:
"And your confederate ... a little while ago?... The false Marquis."
He sneered:
"Don't let's talk about that, I beg you. A measly fellow not worth a single regret ... so cowardly and so ungrateful that, finding himself unmasked, he was ready to betray me—as you guessed. For nothing escapes you, Dorothy, and on my word it has been child's play to you to solve every problem. I who have been working with the narrative of the servant Geoffrey, whose descendant I believe myself to be, have spent years making out what you have unraveled in a few minutes. Not a moment's hesitation. Not a mistake. You have spotted my game just as if you held my cards in your hand. And what astonishes me most, Dorothy, is your coolness at this moment. For at last, my dear, you know where we stand."
"I know."
"And you're not on your knees!" he exclaimed. "Truly I was looking to hear your supplications.... I saw you at my feet, dragging yourself along the ground. Instead of that, eyes which meet mine squarely, an attitude of provocation."
"I am not provoking you. I am listening."
"Then let us regulate our accounts. There are two. The account Dorothy." He smiled. "We won't talk about that yet. That comes last. And the account diamonds. At the present moment I should have been the possessor of them if you had not intercepted the indispensable document. Enough of obstacles! Maître Delarue has confessed, with a revolver at his temple, that he gave you back the second envelope. Give it to me."
"If I don't?"
"All the worse for Montfaucon."
Dorothy did not even tremble. Assuredly she saw clearly the situation in which she found herself and understood that the duel she was fighting was much more serious than the first, at the Manor. There she expected help. Here nothing. No matter! With such a personage, there must be no weakening. The victor would be the one who should preserve an unshakable coolness, and should end, at some moment or other, by dominating the adversary.
"To hold out to the end!" she thought stubbornly. "... To the end.... And not till the last quarter of an hour ... but till the last quarter of the last minute."
She stared at her enemy and said in a tone of command:
"There's a child here who is suffering. First of all I order you to hand him over to me."
"Oh, indeed," he said ironically. "Mademoiselle orders. And by what right?"
"By the right given me by the certainty that before long you will be forced to obey me."
"By whom, my liege lady?"
"By my three friends, Errington, Webster, and Dario."
"Of course ... of course ..." he said. "Those gentlemen are stout young fellows accustomed to field sports, and you have every right to count on those intrepid champions."
He beckoned to Dorothy to follow him and crossed the arena, covered with stones, which formed the interior of the donjon. To the right of a breach, which formed the opposite entrance, and behind a curtain of ivy stretched over the bushes, were small vaulted chambers, which must have been ancient prisons. One still saw rings affixed to the stones at their base.
In three of these cells, Errington, Webster, and Dario were stretched out, firmly gagged, bound with ropes, which reduced them to the condition of mummies and fastened them to the rings. Three men, armed with rifles, guarded them. In a fourth cell was the corpse of the false Marquis. The fifth contained Maître Delarue and Montfaucon. The child was rolled up in a rug. Above a strip of stuff, which hid the lower part of his face, his poor eyes, full of tears, smiled at Dorothy.
She crushed down the sob which rose to her throat. She uttered no word of protest or reproach. One would have said, indeed, that all these were secondary incidents which could not affect the issue of the conflict.
"Well?" chuckled d'Estreicher. "What do you think of your defenders? And what do you think of the forces at my disposal? Three comrades to guard the prisoners, two others posted as sentinels to watch the approaches. I can be easy in mind, what? But why, my beauty, did you leave them? You were the bond of union. Left to themselves, they let themselves be gathered in stupidly, one by one, at the exit from the donjon. It was no use any one of them struggling ... it didn't work. Not one of my men got a shadow of a scratch. I had more trouble with M. Delarue. I had to oblige him with a bullet through his hat before he'd come down from a tree in which he had perched himself. As for Montfaucon, an angel of sweetness! Consequently, you see, your champions being out of it, you can only count on yourself; and that isn't much."
"It's enough," she said. "The secret of the diamonds depends on me and on me only. So you're going to untie the bonds of my friends and set the child free."
"In return for what?"
"In return for that I will give you the envelope of the Marquis de Beaugreval."
He looked at her.
"Hang it, it's an attractive offer. Then you'd give up the diamonds?"
"Yes."
"Yourself and in the name of your friends?"
"Yes."
"Give me the envelope."
"Cut the ropes."
An access of rage seized him:
"Give me the envelope. After all I'm master. Give it me!"
"No," she said.
"I will have it.... I will have that envelope!"
"No," she said, yet more forcibly.
He snatched the purse pinned to her bodice, for the top of it showed above its edge.
"Ah!" he said in a tone of victory. "The notary told me that you had put it in this ... as you did the gold medal. At last I am going to learn!"
But there was nothing in the purse. Disappointed, mad with rage, he shook his fist in Dorothy's face, shouting:
"That was the game, was it? Your friends set free, I was done. The envelope, at once!"
"I have torn it up," she declared.
"You lie! One doesn't tear up a thing like that! One doesn't destroy a secret like that!"
She repeated:
"I tore it up; but I read it first. Cut the bonds of my friends; and I reveal the secret to you."
He howled:
"You lie! You lie! The envelope at once.... Ah, if you think that you can go on laughing at me for very long! I've had enough of it! For the last time, the envelope!"
"No," she said.
He rushed towards the cell in which the child was lying, tore the cloak off him, seized his hair with one hand and began to swing him like a bundle he was going to throw to a distance.
"The envelope! Or I smash his head against the wall!" he shouted at Dorothy.
He was a loathsome sight. His features were distorted by a horrible ferocity. His confederates gazed at him, laughing.
Dorothy raised her hand in token of acceptance.
He set the child on the ground and came back to her. He was covered with sweat.
"The envelope," he said once more.
She explained:
"In the entrance vault ... in this end of it, opening into this place ... a little ball on the ground, among the pebbles."
He called one of his confederates and repeated the information to him. The man went off, running.
"It was time!" muttered the ruffian, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Look you, you shouldn't provoke me. And then why that air of defiance?" he added, as if Dorothy's coolness shamed him. "Damn it all! Lower your eyes! Am I not master here? Master of your friends ... master of you ... yes, of you."
He repeated this word two or three times, almost to himself and with a look which made Dorothy uneasy. But, hearing his confederate, he turned and called to him sharply.
"Well?"
"Here it is."
"You're sure? You're sure? Ah, here we are. This is the real victory."
He unfolded the crumpled envelope and held it in his hands, turning it slowly over and over as if it were the most precious of possessions. It had not been opened; the seals were intact; no one then knew the great secret which he was going to learn.
He could not prevent himself from saying aloud:
"No one ... no one but me...."
He unsealed the envelope. It contained a sheet of paper folded in two, on which only three or four lines were written.
He read those lines and seemed greatly astonished.
"Oh, it's devilish clever! And I understand why I found nothing, nor any of those who have searched. The old chap was right: the hiding-place is undiscoverable."
He began to walk up and down, in silence, like a man who is weighing alternative actions. Then, returning to the cells, he said to the three guards, his finger pointing to the prisoners:
"No means of their escaping, is there? The ropes are strong. Then march along to the boat and get ready to start."
His confederates hesitated.
"Well, what's the matter with you?" said their leader.
One of them risked saying:
"But ... the treasure?"
Dorothy observed their hostile attitude. Doubtless they distrusted one another; and the idea of leaving before the division of the spoil, appeared to endanger their interests.
"The treasure?" he cried. "What about it? Do you suppose I'm going to swallow it. You'll get the share you've been promised. I've sworn it. And a big share too."
He bullied all three of them, impatient to be alone.
"Hurry up! Ah, I was forgetting.... Call your two comrades on duty; and all five of you carry away the false Marquis. We'll throw him into the sea. In that way he'll neither be seen nor known. Get on."
His confederates discussed the matter for a moment. But their leader maintained his ascendancy over them, and grumbling, with lowering faces, they obeyed his orders.
"Six o'clock," he said. "At seven I'll be with you so that we can get off soon after dark. And have everything ready, mind you! Set the cabin in order.... Perhaps there'll be an additional passenger."
Once more he looked at Dorothy and studied her face while his confederates moved off.
"A passenger, or rather a lady passenger. What, Dorothy?"
Always impassive, she did not answer. But her suffering became keener and keener. The terrible moment drew near.
He still held the envelope and the letter of the Marquis in his hand. From his pocket he drew a lighter and lit it to read the instructions once more.
"Admirable!" he murmured almost purring with satisfaction. "A first-class idea!... As well search at the bottom of hell. Ah, that Marquis! What a man!"
He twisted the paper into a long spill and put its end in the flame. The paper caught fire. At its flame he lit a cigarette with an affectation of nonchalance, and turning toward the prisoners, he waited, with hand outstretched, till there remained of the document only a little ash which was scattered by the breath of the breeze.
"Look Webster, look Errington and Dario. This is all you'll ever see of the secret of your ancestor ... a little ash.... It's gone. Confess that you haven't been very smart. You are three stout fellows and you haven't been able either to keep the treasure which was waiting for you, nor to defend the pretty cousin whom you admired, open-mouthed. Hang it! There were six of us in the little room in the tower; and it would have been enough for one of you to grip hold of my collar.... I was damned uncomfortable. Instead of that, what a cropper you came. All the worse for you ... and all the worse for her!"
He showed them his revolver.
"I shan't need to use this. What?" he said. "You must have noticed that at the slightest movement the cords grow tighter round your throats. If you insist ... it's strangulation pure and simple. A word to the wise. Now, cousin Dorothy, I'm at your service. Follow me. We're going to perform the impossible in our attempt to come to an understanding."
All resistance was futile. She went with him to the other side of the tower across an accumulation of ruins, to a chamber of which there only remained the walls, pierced with loop-holes, which he said was the ancient guardroom.
"We shall be able to talk comfortably here. Your suitors will be able neither to see nor hear us. The solitude is absolute. Look here's a grassy bank. Please sit down."
She crossed her arms and remained standing, her head straight. He waited, murmured: "As you like"; then, taking the seat he had offered her, he said:
"This is our third interview, Dorothy. The first time, on the terrace of Roborey, you refused my offers, which was to be expected. You were ignorant of the exact value of my information; and all I could seem to you was a rather odd and disreputable person, against who you were burning to make war. A very noble sentiment which imposed on the Chagny cousins, but which did not deceive me, since I knew all about the theft of the earrings. In reality you had only one object: to get rid, in view of the great windfall you hoped for, of the most dangerous competitor. And the chief proof of that is that immediately after having denounced me you hurried off to Hillocks Manor, where you would probably find the solution of the riddle, and where I was again brought up short by your intrigues. To turn young Davernoie's head and sneak the medal, such was the task you undertook, and I admiringly confess carried it out from beginning to end. Only ... only ... d'Estreicher is not the kind of man to be disposed of so easily. Escape, that sham fire, the recovery of the medal, the capture of the codicil, in short complete redress. At the present moment the four diamonds belong to me. Whether I take possession of them to-morrow, or in a week, or in a year, is of no consequence. They are mine. Dozens of people, hundreds perhaps, have been vainly searching for them for two centuries; there is no reason why others should find them now. Behold me then exceedingly rich ... millions and millions. Wealth like that permits one to become honest ... which is my intention ... if always Dorothy consents to be the passenger of whom I told my men. One word in answer. Is it yes? Is it no?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I knew what to expect," he said. "All the same I wished to make the test ... before having recourse to extreme measures."
He awaited the effect of this threat. Dorothy did not stir.
"How calm you are!" he said in a tone in which there was a note of disquiet. "However you understand the situation exactly?"
"Exactly."
"We're alone. I have as pledges, as means of acting on you, the life of Montfaucon and the lives of these three bound men. Then how comes it that you are so calm?"
She said clearly and positively:
"I am calm because I know you are lost."
"Come, come," he said laughing.
"Irretrievably lost."
"And why?"
"Just now, at the inn, after having learnt about the kidnaping of Montfaucon, I sent my three other boys to the nearest farms to bring all the peasants they met."
He sneered:
"By the time they've got together a troop of peasants, I shall be a long way off."
"They are nearly here. I'm certain of it."
"Too late, my pretty dear. If I'd had the slightest doubt, I'd have had you carried off by my men."
"By your men? No...."
"What is there to prevent it?"
"You are afraid of them, in spite of your airs of wild-beast tamer. They're asking themselves whether you didn't stay here to take advantage of the secret you have stolen and get hold of the diamonds. They would find an ally in me. You would not dare to take the risk."
"And then?"
"Then that's why I am calm."
He shook his head and in a grating voice:
"A lie, little one. Play-acting. You are paler than the dead, for you know exactly where you stand. Whether I am tracked here in an hour, or whether my men end by betraying me, makes little difference. What does matter, to you, to me, is not what happens in an hour, but what is going to happen now. And you have no doubts about what is going to happen, have you?"
He rose and standing over her, studied her with a menacing bitterness:
"From the first minute I was caught like an imbecile! Rope-dancer, acrobat, princess, thief, mountebank, there is something in you which overwhelms me. I have always despised women ... not one has troubled me in my life. You, you attract me while you frighten me. Love? No. Hate.... Or rather a disease.... A poison which burns me and of which I must rid myself, Dorothy."
He was very close to her, his eyes hard and full of fever. His hands hovered about the young girl's shoulders, ready to throw her down. To avoid their grasp she had to draw back towards the wall. He said in a very low, breathless voice:
"Stop laughing, Dorothy! I've had enough of your gypsy spells. The taste of your lips, that's the potion that's going to heal me. Afterwards I shall be able to fly and never see you again. But afterwards only. Do you understand?"
He set his two hands on her shoulders so roughly that she tottered. However, she continued to defy him with her attitude wholly contemptuous. Her will was strained to prevent him from getting once more the impression that she could tremble in the depths of her being and grow weak.
"Do you understand?... Do you understand?" the man stuttered, hammering her arms and neck. "Do you understand that nothing can stop it? Help is impossible. It's the penalty of defeat. To-day I avenge myself ... and at the same time I free myself from you.... When we are separated, I shall be able to say to myself: 'Yes, she hurt me, but I do not regret it. The dénouement of the adventure effaces everything.'"
He leant more and more heavily on the young girl's shoulders, and said to her with sarcastic joy:
"Your eyes are troubled, Dorothy! What a pleasure to see that! There is fear in your eyes—fear.... How beautiful they are, Dorothy! This is indeed the reward of victory—just a look like that, which is full of fear—fear of me. That is worth more than anything. Dorothy, Dorothy, I love you.... Forget you? What folly! If I wish to kiss your lips, it is that I may love you even more ... and that you may love me ... that you may follow me like a slave and like the mistress of my heart."
She touched the wall. The man tried to draw her to him. She made an effort to free herself.
"Ah!" he cried in a sudden fury, mauling her. "No resistance, my dear. Give me your lips, at once, do you hear! If not, it's Montfaucon who'll pay. Do you want me to swing him round again as I did just now? Come, obey, or I'll certainly cut across to his cell; and so much the worse for the brat's head!"
Dorothy was at the end of her forces. Her legs were bending. All her being shuddered with horror at this contact with the ruffian; and at the same time she trembled to repulse him, so great was her fear lest he should at once fling himself on the child.
Her stiff arms began to bend. The man re-doubled his efforts to force her to her knees. It was all over. He was nearly at his goal. But at that moment the most unexpected sight caught her eye. Behind him, a few feet away, something was moving, something which passed through the opposite wall. It was the barrel of a rifle leveled at him through the loop-hole slit.
On the instant she remembered that Saint-Quentin had carried away from the inn an old and useless rifle without cartridges!
She did not make a sign which could draw d'Estreicher's attention to it. She understood Saint-Quentin's maneuver. The boy threatened, but he could only threaten. It was for her to contrive the method by which that menace should as soon as d'Estreicher saw it directed against him, have its full effect. It was certain that d'Estreicher would only need a moment to perceive, as Dorothy herself perceived, the rust and the deplorable condition of the weapon, as harmless as a child's gun.
Quite clearly Dorothy perceived what she had to: to pull herself together, to face the enemy boldly, and to confuse him, were it only for a few seconds, as she had already succeeded in upsetting him by her coolness and self-control. Her safety, the safety of Montfaucon depended on her firmness.In robore fortuna, she thought.
But that thought she unconsciously uttered in a low voice, as one utters a prayer for protection. And at once she felt her adversary's grip relax. The old motto, on which he had so often reflected, uttered so quietly, at such a moment, by this woman whom he believed to be at bay, disconcerted him. He looked at her closely and was astounded. Never had her beautiful face worn such a serene air. Over the white teeth the lips opened, and the eyes, a moment ago terrified and despairing, now regarded him with the quietest smile.
"What on earth is it?" he cried, beside himself, as he recalled her astounding laughter near the pool at Hillocks Manor. "Are you going to laugh again to-day?"
"I'm laughing for the same reason: you are lost."
He tried to take it as a joke:
"Hang it! How?"
"Yes," she declared. "I told you so from the first moment; and I was right."
"You're mad," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
She noticed that he had grown more respectful, and sure of a victory which rested in her extraordinary coolness and in the absolute similarity of the two scenes, she repeated:
"You are lost. The situation really is the same as at the Manor. There Raoul and the children had gone to seek for help; and of a sudden, when you were the master, the barrel of a gun was leveled at you. Here, it is the same. The three urchins have found men. They are there, as at the Manor with their guns.... You remember? They are here. The barrels of the guns are leveled at you."
"You l-l-lie!" stammered the ruffian.
"They are there," she declared in a yet more impressive tone. "I've heard my boys' signal. They haven't wasted time coming round the tower. They are on the other side of that wall."
"You lie!" he cried. "What you say is impossible!"
She said, always with the coolness of a person no longer menaced by peril, and with an imperious contempt:
"Turn round!... You'll seetheirguns leveled at your breast. At a word from me they fire! Turn round then!"
He shrunk back. He did not wish to obey. But Dorothy's eyes, blazing, irresistible, stronger than he, compelled him; and yielding to their compulsion, he turned round.
It was the last quarter of the last minute.
With all the force of her being, with a strength of conviction which did not permit the ruffian to think, she commanded:
"Hands up, you blackguard! Or they'll shoot you like a dog! Hands up! Shoot there! Show no mercy! Shoot! Hands up!"
D'Estreicher saw the rifle. He raised his hands.
Dorothy sprang on him and in a second tore a revolver from his jacket pocket, and aiming at his head, without her heart quickening a beat and with a perfectly steady hand, she said slowly, her eyes gleaming maliciously:
"Idiot! I told you plainly you were lost."
The scene had not lasted a minute; and in less than a minute the readjustment had taken place. Defeat was changed to victory.
A precarious victory. Dorothy knew that a man like d'Estreicher would not long remain the dupe of the illusion with which, by a stroke of really incredible daring, she had filled his mind. Nevertheless she essayed the impossible to bring about the ruffian's capture, a capture which she could not effect alone, and which would only become definite if she kept him awed till the freeing of Webster, Errington, and Marco Dario.
As authoritative as if she were disposing of an army corps, she gave her orders to her rescuers:
"One of you stay there with the rifle leveled, ready to fire at the slightest movement, and let the remainder of the troop go to set the prisoners free! Hurry up, now. Go round the tower. They're to the left of the entrance—a little further on."
The remainder of the troop was Castor and Pollux, unless Saint-Quentin went with them, thinking it best simply to leave his rifle, model 1870, resting in the loop-hole and aimed directly at the ruffian.
"They are going.... They are entering.... They are searching," she said to herself, trying to follow the movements of the children.
But she saw d'Estreicher's tense face little by little relax. He had looked at the barrel of the rifle. He had heard the quiet steps of the children, so different from the row which a band of peasants would have made. Soon she no longer doubted that the ruffian would escape before the others came.
The last of his hesitation vanished; he let his arms fall, grinding his teeth.
"Sold!" he said. "It's those brats and the rifle is nothing but old iron! My God, you have a nerve!"
"Am I to shoot?"
"Come off it! A girl like you kills to defend herself, not for killing's sake. To hand me over to justice? Will that give you back the diamonds? I would rather have my tongue torn out and be roasted over a slow fire than divulge the secret. They're mine. I'll take them when I please."
"One step forward and I shoot."
"Right, you've won the party. I'm off."
He listened.
"The brats are gabbling over yonder. By the time they've untied them, I shall be a long way off.Au revoir....We shall meet again."
"No," she said.
"Yes. I shall have the last word. The diamonds first. The love affair afterwards. I did wrong to mix the two."
She shook her head.
"You will not have the diamonds. Would I let you go, if I weren't sure? But, and I've told you so: you are lost."
"Lost? And why?" he sneered.
"I feel it."
He was about to reply. But the sound of voices nearer came to their ears. He leapt out of the guardroom and ran for it, bending low, through the bushes.
Dorothy, who had darted after him, aimed at him, with a sudden determination to bring him down. But, after a moment's hesitation, she lowered her weapon, murmuring:
"No, no. I cannot.... I cannot. And then what good would it be? Anyhow my father will be avenged...."
She went towards her friends. The boys had had great difficulty in freeing them, so tangled was the network of cords that bound them. Webster was the first to get to his feet and run to meet her.
"Where is he?"
"Gone," she said.
"What! You had a revolver and you let him get away?"
Errington came up, then Dario, both furious.
"He has got away? Is it possible? But which way did he go?"
Webster snatched Dorothy's weapon.
"You hadn't the heart to kill him? Was that it?"
"I had not," said Dorothy.
"A blackguard like that! A murderer! Ah well, that's not our way, I swear. Here we are, friends."
Dorothy barred their way.
"And his confederates? There are five or six of them besides d'Estreicher—all armed with rifles."
"All the better," said the American. "There are seven shots in the revolver."
"I beg you," she said, fearing the result of an unequal battle. "I beg you.... Besides, it's too late.... They must have got on board their boat."
"We'll see about that."
The three young men set out in pursuit. She would have liked to go with them, but Montfaucon clung to her skirt, sobbing, his legs still hampered by his bonds.
"Mummy ... mummy ... don't go away.... I was so frightened!"
She no longer thought of anything but him, took him on her knees, and consoled him.
"You mustn't cry, Captain dear. It's all over. That nasty man won't come back any more. Have you thanked Saint-Quentin? And your comrades Castor and Pollux? Where would we have been without them, my darling?"
She kissed the three boys tenderly.
"Yes! Where would we have been? Ah, Saint-Quentin, the idea of the rifle.... What a find! You are a splendid fellow, old chap! Come and be kissed again! And tell me how you managed to get to us? I didn't miss the little heaps of pebbles that you sowed along the path from the inn. But why did you go round the marsh? Did you hope to get to the ruins of the château by going along the beach at the foot of the cliffs?"
"Yes, mummy," replied Saint-Quentin, very proud at being so complimented by her, and deeply moved by her kisses.
"And wasn't it impossible?"
"Yes. But I found a better way ... on the sand, a little boat, which we pushed into the sea."
"And you had the courage, the three of you, and the strength to row? It must have taken you an hour?"
"An hour and a half, mummy. There were heaps of sandbanks which blocked our way. At last we landed not far from here in sight of the tower. And when we got here I recognized the voice of d'Estreicher."
"Ah, my poor, dear darlings!"
Again there was a deluge of kisses, which she rained right and left on the cheeks of Saint-Quentin, Castor's forehead, and the Captain's head. And she laughed! And she sang! It was so good to be alive. So good to be no longer face to face with a brute who gripped your wrists and sullied you with his abominable leer! But she suddenly broke off in the middle of these transports.
"And Maître Delarue? I was forgetting him!"
He was lying at the back of his cell behind a rampart of tall grasses.
"Attend to him! Quick, Saint-Quentin, cut his ropes. Goodness! He has fainted. Look here, Maître Delarue, you come to your senses. If not, I leave you."
"Leave me!" cried the notary, suddenly waking up. "But you've no right! The enemy——"
"The enemy has run away, Maître Delarue."
"He may come back. These are terrible people. Look at the hole their chief made in my hat! The donkey finished by throwing me off, just at the entrance to the ruins. I took refuge in a tree and refused to come down. I didn't stay there long. The ruffian knocked my hat off with a bullet."
"Are you dead?"
"No. But I'm suffering from internal pains and bruises."
"That will soon pass off, Maître Delarue. To-morrow there won't be anything left, I assure you. Saint-Quentin, I put Maître Delarue in your charge. And yours, too, Montfaucon. Rub him."
She hurried off with the intention of joining her three friends, whose badly conducted expedition worried her. Starting out at random, without any plan of attack, they ran the risk once more of letting themselves be taken one by one.
Happily for them, the young men did not know the place where d'Estreicher's boat was moored; and though the portion of the peninsula situated beyond the ruins was of no great extent, since they were at once hampered by masses of rock which formed veritable barriers, she found all three of them. Each of them had lost his way in the labyrinth of little paths, and each of them, without knowing it, was returning to the tower.
Dorothy, who had a finer sense of orientation, did not lose her way. She had a flair for the little paths which led nowhere, and instinctively chose those which led to her goal. Moreover she soon discovered foot-prints. It was the path followed regularly by the band in going to and fro between the ruins and the sea. It was no longer possible to go astray.
But at this point they heard cries which came from a point straight ahead of them. Then the path turned sharply and ran to the right. A pile of rocks had necessitated this change of direction, abrupt and rugged rocks. Nevertheless they scaled them to avoid making the apparently long detour.
Dario who was the most agile and leading, suddenly exclaimed:
"I see them! They're all on the boat.... But what the devil are they doing?"
Webster joined him, revolver in hand:
"Yes, I see them too! Let's run down.... We shall be nearer to them."
Before them was the extremity of the plateau, on which the rocks stood, on a promontory, a hundred and twenty feet high, which commanded the beach. Two very high granite needles formed as it were the pillars of an open door, through which they saw the blue expanse of the ocean.
"Look out! Down with you!" commanded Dorothy, dropping full length on the ground.
The others flattened themselves against the rocky walls.
A hundred and fifty yards in front of them, on the deck of a large motor fishing-boat, there was a group of five men; and among them a woman was gesticulating. On seeing Dorothy and her friends, one of the men turned sharply, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. A splinter of granite flew from the wall near Errington.
"Halt there! Or I'll shoot again!" cried the man who had fired.
Dorothy checked her companions.
"What are you going to do? The cliff is perpendicular. You don't mean to jump into the empty air?"
"No, but we can get back to the road and go round," Dario proposed.
"I forbid you to stir. It would be madness."
Webster lost his temper:
"I've a revolver!"
"They have rifles, they have. Besides, you would get there too late. The drama would be over."
"What drama?"
"Look."
Dominated by her, they remained quiet, sheltered from the bullets. Below them developed, like a performance at which they were compelled to be present without taking part in it, what Dorothy had called the drama; and all at once they grasped its tragic horror.
The big boat was rocking beside a natural quay which formed the landing-place of a peaceful little creek. The woman and the five men were bending over an inert body which appeared to be bound with bands of red wool. The woman was apostrophizing this sixth individual, shaking her fists in his face, and heaping abuse on him, of which only a few words reached the ears of the young people.
"Thief!... Coward!... You refuse, do you?... You wait a minute!"
She gave some orders with regard to an operation, for which everything was ready, for the young people perceived, when the group of ruffians broke up, that the end of a long rope which ran over the mainyard, was round the prisoner's neck. Two men caught hold of the other end of it.
The inert body was set on its feet. It stood upright for a few seconds, like a doll one is about to make dance. Then, gently, without a jerk, they drew it up a yard from the deck.
"D'Estreicher!" murmured one of the young men recognizing the Russian soldier's cap.
Dorothy recalled with a shudder the prediction she had made to her enemy directly after their meeting at the Château de Roborey. She said in a low voice:
"Yes, d'Estreicher."
"What do they want from him?"
"They want to get the diamonds from him."
"But he hasn't got them."
"No. But they may believe he has them. I suspected that that was what they had in mind. I noticed the savage expression of their faces and the glances they exchanged as they left the ruins by d'Estreicher's orders. They obeyed him in order to prepare the trap into which he has fallen."
Below, the figure only remained suspended from the yard for an instant. They lowered the doll. Then they drew it up again twice; and the woman yelled:
"Will you speak?... The treasure you promised us?... What have you done with it?"
Beside Dorothy, Webster muttered:
"It isn't possible! We can't allow them to...."