The Secret of Sarek Maurice Leblanc (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📖

to think that this anomaly was not to be explained except by supernatural causes or by magic recipes of which Maguennoc held the secret. No, there was some reason, perhaps a very simple one, of which events would afford a full explanation.

Meanwhile, amid the beautiful pagan setting, in the very centre of the miracle which it seemed to have wrought by its presence, the figure of Christ Crucified rose from the mass of flowers which offered Him their colours and their perfumes. Véronique knelt and prayed.

Next day and the day after, she returned to the Calvary of the Flowers. Here the mystery that surrounded her on every side had manifested itself in the most charming fashion; and her son played a part in it that enabled Véronique to think of him, before her own flowers, without hatred or despair.

But, on the fifth day, she perceived that her provisions were becoming exhausted; and in the middle of the afternoon she went down to the village.

There she noticed that most of the houses had been left open, so certain had their owners been, on leaving, of coming back again and taking what they needed in a second trip.

Sick at heart, she dared not cross the thresholds. There were geraniums on the window-ledges. Tall clocks with brass pendulums were ticking off the time in the empty rooms. She moved away.

In a shed near the quay, however, she saw the sacks and boxes which Honorine had brought with her in the motorboat.

“Well,” she thought, “I shan’t starve. There’s enough to last me for weeks; and by that time⁠ ⁠…”

She filled a basket with chocolate, biscuits, a few tins of preserved meat, rice and matches; and she was on the point of returning to the Priory, when it occurred to her that she would continue her walk to the other end of the island. She would fetch her basket on the way back.

A shady road climbed upwards on the right. The landscape seemed to be the same: the same flat stretches of moorland, without ploughed fields or pastures; the same clumps of ancient oaks. The island also became narrower, with no obstacle to block the view of the sea on either side or of the Penmarch headland in the distance.

There was also a hedge which ran from one cliff to the other and which served to enclose a property, a shabby property, with a straggling, dilapidated, tumbledown house upon it, some outhouses with patched roofs and a dirty, badly-kept yard, full of scrap-iron and stacks of firewood.

Véronique was already retracing her steps, when she stopped in alarm and surprise. It seemed to her that she heard someone moan. She listened, striving to plumb the vast silence, and once again the same sound, but this time more distinctly, reached her ears; and there were others: cries of pain, cries for help, women’s cries. Then had not all the inhabitants taken to flight? She had a feeling of joy mingled with some sorrow, to know that she was not alone in Sarek, and of fear also, at the thought that events would perhaps drag her back again into the fatal cycle of death and horror.

So far as Véronique was able to judge, the noise came not from the house, but from the buildings on the right of the yard. This yard was closed with a simple gate which she had only to push and which opened with the creaking sound of wood upon wood.

The cries in the outhouse at once increased in number. The people inside had no doubt heard Véronique approach. She hastened her steps.

Though the roof of the outbuildings was gone in places, the walls were thick and solid, with old arched doors strengthened with iron bars. There was a knocking against one of these doors from the inside, while the cries became more urgent:

“Help! Help!”

But there was a dispute; and another, less strident voice grated:

“Be quiet, Clémence, can’t you? It may be them!”

“No, no, Gertrude, it’s not! I don’t hear them!⁠ ⁠… Open the door, will you? The key ought to be there.”

Véronique, who was seeking for some means of entering, now saw a big key in the lock. She turned it; and the door opened.

She at once recognized the sisters Archignat, half-dressed, gaunt, evil-looking, witch-like. They were in a washhouse filled with implements; and Véronique saw at the back, lying on some straw, a third woman, who was bewailing her fate in an almost inaudible voice and who was obviously the third sister.

At that moment, one of the first two collapsed from exhaustion; and the other, whose eyes were bright with fever, seized Véronique by the arm and began to gasp:

“Did you see them, tell me?⁠ ⁠… Are they there?⁠ ⁠… How is it they didn’t kill you?⁠ ⁠… They are the masters of Sarek since the others went off.⁠ ⁠… And it’s our turn next.⁠ ⁠… We’ve been locked in here now for six days.⁠ ⁠… Listen, it was on the day when everybody left. We three came here, to the washhouse, to fetch our linen, which was drying. And then they came.⁠ ⁠… We didn’t hear them.⁠ ⁠… One never does hear them.⁠ ⁠… And then, suddenly, the door was locked on us.⁠ ⁠… A slam, a turn of the key⁠ ⁠… and the thing was done.⁠ ⁠… We had bread, apples and best of all, brandy.⁠ ⁠… We didn’t do so badly.⁠ ⁠… Only, were they going to come back and kill us? Was it our turn next?⁠ ⁠… Oh, my dear good lady, how we strained our ears! And how we trembled with fear!⁠ ⁠… My eldest sister’s gone crazy.⁠ ⁠… Hark, you can hear her raving.⁠ ⁠… The other, Clémence, has borne all she can.⁠ ⁠… And I⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… Gertrude⁠ ⁠…”

Gertrude had plenty of strength left, for she was twisting Véronique’s arm:

“And Corréjou? He came back, didn’t he, and went away again? Why didn’t anyone come to look for us? It would have been easy enough: everybody knew where we were; and we called out at the least sound. So what does it all mean?”

Véronique hesitated what to reply. Still,