The Secret Tomb Maurice Leblanc (best love story novels in english .TXT) 📖

you, Dorothy,” declared the Countess. “For I hope that you won’t leave us.⁠ ⁠… Here you are at home.”

Dorothy shook her head. “You are too kind, madame.”

“It isn’t kindness: it’s affection. You won my heart at first sight, and I beg you to be my friend.”

“I am, madame⁠—wholly your friend. But⁠—”

“What? You refuse?” exclaimed the Count de Chagny in a tone of vexation. “We offer the daughter of Jean d’Argonne, our cousin, a life befitting her name and birth and you prefer to go back to that wretched existence!”

“It is not wretched, I assure you, monsieur. My four children and I are used to it. Their health demands it.”

The Countess insisted: “But we can’t allow it⁠—really! You’re going to stay with us at least some days; and from this evening you will dine and sleep at the château.”

“I beg you to excuse me, madame. I’m rather tired.⁠ ⁠… I want to be alone.”

In truth she appeared of a sudden to be worn out with fatigue. One would never have supposed that a smile could animate that drawn, dejected face.

The Countess de Chagny insisted no longer.

“Ah well, postpone your decision till tomorrow. Send your four children to dinner this evening. It will give us great pleasure to question them.⁠ ⁠… Between now and tomorrow you can think it over, and if you persist, I’ll let you go your way. You’ll agree to that, won’t you?”

Dorothy rose and went towards the door. The Count and Countess went with her. But on the threshold she paused for a moment. In spite of her grief, the mysterious adventure which had during the last hour or two been revealed to her continued to exercise her mind, without, so to speak, her being aware of it; and throwing the first ray of light into the darkness, she asserted:

“I really believe that all the legends that have been handed down in our families are based on a reality. There must be somewhere about here buried, or hidden, treasure; and that treasure one of these days will become the property of him, or of those who shall be the possessors of the talisman⁠—that is to say, of the gold medal which was stolen from my father. That’s why I should like to know whether any of you, besides my father, has ever heard of a gold medal being mentioned in these legends.”

It was Raoul Davernoie who answered:

“That’s a point on which I can give you some information, mademoiselle. A fortnight ago I saw in the hands of my grandfather, with whom I live at Hillocks Manor in Vendée, a large gold coin. He was studying it; and he put it back in its case at once with the evident intention of hiding it from me.”

“And he didn’t tell you anything about it?”

“Not a word. However, on the eve of my departure he said to me: ‘When you come back I’ve an important revelation to make to you. I ought to have made it long ago.’ ”

“You believe that he was referring to the matter in hand?”

“I do. And for that reason on my arrival at Roborey I informed my cousins, de Chagny and d’Estreicher, who promised to pay me a visit at the end of July when I will inform them of what I have learned.”

“That’s all?”

“All, mademoiselle; and it appears to me to confirm your hypothesis. We have here a talisman of which there are doubtless several copies.”

“Yes⁠ ⁠… yes⁠ ⁠… there’s no doubt about it,” murmured the young girl. “And the death of my father is explained by the fact that he was the possessor of this talisman.”

“But,” objected Raoul Davernoie, “was it not enough to steal it from him? Why this useless crime?”

“Because, remember, the gold medal gives certain indications. In getting rid of my father they reduced the number of those who, in perhaps the near future, will be called upon to share these riches. Who knows whether other crimes have not been committed?”

“Other crimes? In that case my grandfather is in danger.”

“He is,” she said simply.

The Count became uneasy and, pretending to laugh, he said:

“Then we also are in danger, mademoiselle, since there are signs of recent excavation about Roborey.”

“You also, Count.”

“We ought then to be on our guard.”

“I advise you to.”

The Count de Chagny turned pale and said in a shaky voice:

“How? What measures should we take?”

“I will tell you tomorrow,” said Dorothy. “You shall know tomorrow what you have to fear and what measures you ought to take to defend yourselves.”

“You promise that?”

“I promise it.”

D’Estreicher, who had followed with close attention every phase of the conversation, without taking part in it, stepped forward:

“We make all the more point of this meeting tomorrow, mademoiselle, because we still have to solve together a little additional problem, the problem of the cardboard box. You haven’t forgotten it?”

“I forget nothing, monsieur,” she said. “Tomorrow, at the hour fixed, that little matter and other matters, the theft of the sapphire earrings among other things, shall be made clear.”

She went out of the orangery.

The night was falling. The gates had been reopened; and the showmen, having dismantled their shows, were departing. Dorothy found Saint-Quentin waiting for her in great anxiety and the three children lighting a fire. When the dinner-bell rang, she sent them to the château and remained alone to make her meal of the thick soup and some fruit. In the evening, while waiting for them, she strolled through the night towards the parapet which looked down on to the ravine and rested her elbows on it.

The moon was not visible, but the veil of light clouds, which floated across the heavens, were imbued with its light. For a long while she was conscious of the deep silence, and, bareheaded, she presented her burning brow to the fresh evening airs which ruffled her hair.

“Dorothy.⁠ ⁠…”

Her name had been spoken in a low voice by someone who had drawn near her without her hearing him. But the sound of his voice, low as it was, made her tremble. Even before recognizing the outline