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

Had the parapet been lower and the ravine less profound she might have essayed flight, such dread did this man inspire in her. However, she braced herself to keep calm and master him.

“What do you want, monsieur,” she said coldly. “The Count and Countess had the delicacy to respect my desire to keep quiet. I’m surprised to see you here.”

He did not answer, but she discerned his dark shape nearer and repeated:

“What do you want?”

“I only want to say a few words to you,” he murmured.

“Tomorrow⁠—at the château will be soon enough.”

“No; what I have to say can only be heard by you and me; and I can assure you, mademoiselle, that you can listen to it without being offended. In spite of the incomprehensible hostility that you have displayed towards me from the moment we met, I feel, for my part, nothing but friendliness, admiration, and the greatest respect for you. You need fear neither my words nor my actions. I am not addressing myself to the charming and attractive young girl, but to the woman who, all this afternoon, has dumbfounded us by her intelligence. Now, listen to me⁠—”

“No,” she broke in. “I will not. Your proposals can only be insulting.”

He went on, in a louder voice; and she could feel that gentleness and respectfulness did not come easy to him; he went on:

“Listen to me. I order you to listen to me⁠ ⁠… and to answer at once. I’m no maker of phrases and I’ll come straight to the point, rather crudely if I must, at the risk of shocking you. Here it is: Chance has in a trice thrown you into an affair which I have every right to consider my business and no one else’s. We are stuck with supernumeraries, of whom, when the time comes, I do not mean to take the slightest account. All these people are imbeciles who will never get anywhere. Chagny is a conceited ass.⁠ ⁠… Davernoie a country bumpkin⁠ ⁠… so much dead weight that we’ve got to lug about with us, you and I. Then why work for them?⁠ ⁠… Let’s work for ourselves, for the two of us. Will you? You and I partners, friends, what a job we should make of it! My energy and strength at the service of your intelligence and clearsightedness! Besides⁠ ⁠… besides, consider all I know! For I, I know the problem! What will take you weeks to discover, what, I’m certain, you’ll never discover, I have at my fingers’ ends. I know all the factors in the problem except one or two which I shall end by adding to them. Help me. Let us search together. It means a fortune, the discovery of fabulous wealth, boundless power.⁠ ⁠… Will you?”

He bent a little too far over the young girl; and his fingers brushed the cloak she was wearing. Dorothy, who had listened in silence in order to learn the inmost thoughts of her adversary, started back indignantly at his touch.

“Be off!⁠ ⁠… Leave me alone!⁠ ⁠… I forbid you to touch me!⁠ ⁠… You a friend?⁠ ⁠… You? You?”

The repulsion with which he inspired Dorothy set him beside himself, and foaming with rage, he cried furiously:

“So.⁠ ⁠… So⁠ ⁠… you refuse? You refuse, in spite of the secret I have surprised, in spite of what I can do⁠ ⁠… and what I’m going to do.⁠ ⁠… For the stolen earrings: it is not merely a matter of Saint-Quentin. You were there, in the ravine, to watch over his expedition. And what is more, as his accomplice, you protected him. And the proof exists, terrible, irrefutable. The box is in the hands of the Countess. And you dare? You! A thief!”

He made a grab at her. Dorothy ducked and slipped along the parapet. But he was able to grip her wrists, and he was dragging her towards him, when of a sudden he let go of her, struck by a ray of light which blinded him.

Perched on the parapet Montfaucon had switched full on his face the clear light of an electric torch.

D’Estreicher took himself off. The ray followed him, cleverly guided.

“Dirty little brat!” he growled. “I’ll get you.⁠ ⁠… And you too, young woman! If tomorrow, at two o’clock, at the château, you do not come to heel, the box will be opened in the presence of the police. It’s for you to choose.”

He disappeared in the shrubbery.

Toward three o’clock in the morning, the trap, which looked down on the box from the interior of the caravan, was opened, as it had been opened the morning before. A hand reached out and shook Saint-Quentin, who was sleeping under his rugs.

“Get up. Dress yourself. No noise.”

He protested.

“Dorothy, what you wish to do is absurd.”

“Do as you’re told.”

Saint-Quentin obeyed.

Outside the caravan he found Dorothy, quite ready. By the light of the moon he saw that she was carrying a canvas bag, slung on a band running over her shoulder, and a coil of rope.

She led him to the spot at which the parapet touched the entrance gates. They fastened the rope to one of the bars and slid down it. Then Saint-Quentin climbed up to the parapet and unfastened the rope. They went down the slope into the ravine and along the foot of the cliff to the fissure up which Saint-Quentin had climbed the night before.

“Let us climb up,” said Dorothy. “You will let down the rope and help me to ascend.”

The ascent was not very difficult. The window of the pantry was open. They climbed in through it and Dorothy lit her bull’s-eye lantern.

“Take that little ladder in the corner,” she said.

But Saint-Quentin started to reason with her afresh:

“It’s absurd. It’s madness. We are running into the lion’s maw.”

“Get on!”

“But indeed, Dorothy.”

He got a thump in the ribs.

“Stop it! And answer me,” she snapped. “You’re sure that d’Estreicher’s is the last bedroom in the left-hand passage.”

“Certain. As you told me to, I questioned the servants without seeming to do so, after dinner last night.”

“And you dropped the powder I gave