813 by Maurice LeBlanc (best non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📖

Lenormand felt a shudder pass over his skin. He suddenly understood. It was not a casual trickling through, as he had thought, but a carefully-prepared flood, mechanically, irresistibly produced by some infernal system.

“Oh, the scoundrel!” he snarled. “If ever I lay hands on him…!”

“Yes, yes, chief, but we must first get out of this… And, as far as I can see…”

Gourel seemed completely prostrated, incapable of having an idea, of proposing a plan.

M. Lenormand knelt down on the ground and measured the rate at which the water was rising. A quarter, or thereabouts, of the first door was covered; and the water was half-way toward the second door.

“The progress is slow, but uninterrupted,” he said “In a few hours it will be over our heads.”

“But this is terrible, chief, it’s horrible!” moaned Gourel.

“Oh, look here, don’t come boring me with your lamentations, do you understand? Cry, if it amuses you, but don’t let me hear you!”

“It’s the hunger that weakens me, chief; my brain’s going round.”

“Bite your fist!”

As Gourel said, the position was terrible; and, if M. Lenormand had had less energy, he would have abandoned the vain struggle. What was to be done? It was no use hoping that Ribeira would have the charity to let them out. It was no use either hoping that the brothers Doudeville would rescue them, for the inspectors did not know of the existence of the tunnel. So no hope remained… no hope but that of an impossible miracle…

“Come, come,” said M. Lenormand, “this is too silly. We’re not going to kick the bucket here! Hang it all, there must be something!… Show me a light, Gourel.”

Flattening himself against the second door, he examined it from top to bottom, in every corner. There was an enormous bolt on that side, just as there probably was on the other. He unfastened the screws with the blade of his knife; and the bolt came off in his hand.

“And what next?” asked Gourel.

“What next?” he echoed. “Well, this bolt is made of iron, pretty long and very nearly pointed. Certainly, it’s not as good as a pick-axe, but it’s better than nothing and…”

Without finishing his sentence, he drove the implement into the side-wall of the tunnel, a little in front of the pillar of masonry that supported the hinges of the door. As he expected, once he had passed the first layer of cement and stones, he found soft earth:

“To work! “he cried.

“Certainly, chief, but would you explain…?”

“It’s quite simple. I want to dig round this pillar a passage, three or four yards long, which will join the tunnel on the other side of the door and allow us to escape.”

“But it will take us hours; and meanwhile, the water is rising.”

“Show me a light, Gourel.”

“In twenty minutes, or half an hour at most, it will have reached our feet.”

“Show me a light, Gourel.”

M. Lenormand’s idea was correct and, with some little exertion, by pulling the earth, which he first loosened with his implement, towards him and making it fall into the tunnel, he was not long in digging a hole large enough to slip into.

“It’s my turn, chief!” said Gourel.

“Aha, you’re returning to life, I see! Well, fire away!… You have only to follow the shape of the pillar.”

At that moment, the water was up to their ankles. Would they have time to complete the work begun?

It became more difficult as they went on, for the earth which they disturbed was in their way; and, lying flat on their stomachs in the passage, they were obliged at every instant to remove the rubbish that obstructed them.

After two hours, the work was perhaps three-quarters through, but the water now covered their legs. Another hour and it would reach the opening of the hole which they were digging. And that would mean the end!

Gourel, who was exhausted by the want of food and who was too stout to move with any freedom in that ever-narrower passage, had had to give up. He no longer stirred, trembling with anguish at feeling that icy water which was gradually swallowing him up.

As for M. Lenormand, he worked on with indefatigable ardor. It was a terrible job, this ants’ work performed in the stifling darkness. His hands were bleeding. He was fainting with hunger. The insufficiency of the air hampered his breathing; and, from time to time, Gourel’s sighs reminded him of the awful danger that threatened him at the bottom of his hole.

But nothing could discourage him, for now he again found opposite him those cemented stones which formed the side-wall of the gallery. It was the most difficult part, but the end was at hand.

“It’s rising,” cried Gourel, in a choking voice, “it’s rising!”

M. Lenormand redoubled his efforts. Suddenly the stem of the bolt which he was using leapt out into space. The passage was dug. He had now only to widen it, which became much easier once he was able to shoot the materials in front of him.

Gourel, mad with terror, was howling like a dying beast. M. Lenormand paid no attention to him. Safety was at hand.

Nevertheless, he had a few seconds of anxiety when he perceived, by the sound of the materials falling, that this part of the tunnel was also under water, which was natural, as the door did not form a sufficiently tight-fitting barrier. But what did it matter! The outlet was free. One last effort… he passed through.

“Come, Gourel,” he cried, returning to fetch his companion.

He dragged him, half dead, by the wrists:

“Come along, booby, pull yourself together! We are saved.”

“Do you really think so, chief?… The water’s up to our chests “

“Never mind, as long as it’s not over our mouths… Where’s your lantern?”

“It’s not working.”

“No matter.” He gave an exclamation of delight. “One step… two steps!.. A staircase…-. At last!”

They emerged from the water, that accursed water which had almost swallowed them up; and it was a delicious sensation, a release that sent up their spirits.

“Stop!” said M. Lenormand.

His head had knocked against something. With arms outstretched, he pushed against the obstacle, which yielded at once. It was the flap of a trap-door; and, when this trap-door was opened, he found himself in a cellar into which the light of a fine night filtered through an air-hole.

He threw back the flap and climbed the last treads.

Then a veil fell over his eyes. Arms seized upon him. He felt himself as.it were wrapped in a sheet, in a sort of sack, and then fastened with cords.

“Now for the other one!” said a voice.

The same operation must have been performed on Gourel; and the same voice said:

“If they call out, kill them at once. Have you your dagger?”

“Yes.”

“Come along. You two, take this one… you two, that one… No light… and no noise either… It would be a serious matter. They’ve been searching the garden next door since this morning… there are ten or fifteen of them knocking about… Go back to the house, Gertrude, and, if the least thing happens, telephone to me in Paris.”

M. Lenormand felt that he was being lifted up and carried and, a moment after, that he was in the open air.

“Bring the cart nearer,” said a voice.

M. Lenormand heard the sound of a horse and cart.

He was laid out on some boards. Gourel was hoisted up beside him. The horse started at a trot.

The drive lasted about half an hour.

“Halt!” commanded the voice. “Lift them out. Here, driver, turn the cart so that the tail touches the parapet of the bridge… Good… No boats on the river? Sure? Then let’s waste no time… Oh, have you fastened some stones to them?”

“Yes, paving-stones.”

“Right away, then! Commend your soul to God, M. Lenormand, and pray for me, Parbury-Ribeira, better known by the name of Baron Altenheim. Are you ready? All right? Well, here’s wishing you a pleasant journey, M. Lenormand!”

M. Lenormand was placed on the parapet. Someone gave him a push. He felt himself falling into space and he still heard the voice chuckling:

“A pleasant journey!”

Ten seconds later it was Sergeant Gourel’s turn.