The Teeth of the Tiger Maurice Leblanc (best novels of all time .txt) 📖

stood in the middle of the road, levelled his two revolvers, and shouted:

“Stop, or I fire!”

The terrified driver put on both brakes. The car pulled up.

Don Luis rushed to one of the doors.

“Thunder!” he roared, discharging one of his revolvers for no reason and smashing a windowpane.

There was no one in the car.

XIX “The Snare Is Laid. Beware, Lupin!”

The power that had impelled Don Luis to battle and victory was so intense that it suffered, so to speak, no cheek. Disappointment, rage, humiliation, torture, were all swallowed up in an immediate desire for action and information, together with a longing to continue the chase. The rest was but an incident of no importance, which would soon be very simply explained.

The petrified taxi-driver was gazing wildly at the peasants coming from the distant farms, attracted by the sound of the aeroplane. Don Luis took him by the throat and put the barrel of his revolver to the man’s temple:

“Tell me what you know⁠—or you’re a dead man.”

And when the unhappy wretch began to stammer out entreaties:

“It’s no use moaning, no use hoping for assistance.⁠ ⁠… Those people won’t get here in time. So there’s only one way of saving yourself: speak! Last night a gentleman came to Versailles from Paris in a taxi, left it and took yours: is that it?”

“Yes.”

“The gentleman had a lady with him?”

“Yes.”

“And he engaged you to take him to Nantes?”

“Yes.”

“But he changed his mind on the way and told you to put him down?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Before we got to Mans, in a little road on the right, with a sort of coach-house, looking like a shed, a hundred yards down it. They both got out there.”

“And you went on?”

“He paid me to.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred francs. And there was another fare waiting at Nantes that I was to pick up and bring back to Paris for a thousand francs more.”

“Do you believe in that other fare?”

“No. I think he wanted to put people off the scent by sending them after me to Nantes while he branched off. Still, I had my money.”

“And, when you left them, weren’t you curious to see what happened?”

“No.”

“Take care! A movement of my finger and I blow out your brains. Speak!”

“Well, yes, then. I went back on foot, behind a bank covered with trees. The man had opened the coach-house and was starting a small limousine car. The lady did not want to get in. They argued pretty fiercely. He threatened and begged by turns. But I could not hear what they said. She seemed very tired. He gave her a glass of water, which he drew from a tap in the wall. Then she consented. He closed the door on her and took his seat at the wheel.”

“A glass of water!” cried Don Luis. “Are you sure he put nothing else into the glass?”

The driver seemed surprised at the question and then answered:

“Yes, I think he did. He took something from his pocket.”

“Without the lady’s knowledge?”

“Yes, she didn’t see.”

Don Luis mastered his horror. After all it was impossible that the villain had poisoned Florence in that way, at that place, without anything to warrant so great a hurry. No, it was more likely that he had employed a narcotic, a drug of some sort which would dull Florence’s brain and make her incapable of noticing by what new roads and through what towns he was taking her.

“And then,” he repeated, “she decided to step in?”

“Yes; and he shut the door and got into the driver’s seat. I went away then.”

“Before knowing which direction they took?”

“Yes.”

“Did you suspect on the way that they thought that they were being followed?”

“Certainly. He did nothing but put his head out of the window.”

“Did the lady cry out at all?”

“No.”

“Would you know him again if you saw him?”

“No, I’m sure I shouldn’t. At Versailles it was dark. And this morning I was too far away. Besides, it’s curious, but the first time he struck me as very tall, and this morning, on the contrary, he looked quite a short man, as though bent in two. I can’t understand it at all.”

Don Luis reflected. It seemed to him that he had asked all the necessary questions. Moreover, a gig drawn by a quick-trotting horse was approaching the crossroads. There were two others behind it. And the groups of peasants were now quite near. He must finish the business.

He said to the chauffeur:

“I can see by your face that you intend to talk about me. Don’t do that, my man: it would be foolish of you. Here’s a thousand-franc note for you. Only, if you blab, I’ll make you repent it. That’s all I have to say to you.”

He turned to Davanne, whose machine was beginning to block the traffic, and asked:

“Can we start?”

“Whenever you like. Where are we going?”

Paying no attention to the movements of the people coming from every side, Don Luis unfolded his map of France and spread it out before him. He experienced a few seconds of anxiety at seeing the complicated tangle of roads and picturing the infinite number of places to which the villain might carry Florence. But he pulled himself together. He did not allow himself to hesitate. He refused even to reflect.

He was determined to find out, and to find out everything, at once, without clues, without useless consideration, simply by the marvellous intuition which invariably guided him at any crisis in his life.

And his self-respect also required that he should give Davanne his answer without delay, and that the disappearance of those whom he was pursuing should not seem to embarrass him. With his eyes glued to the map, he placed one finger on Paris and another on Le Mans and, even before he had asked himself why the scoundrel had chosen that Paris⁠–⁠Le Mans⁠–⁠Angers route, he knew the answer to the question.

The name of a town had struck him and made the truth appear like a flash of lightning: Alençon! Then and there, by the