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

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s this: according to grandfather again, these two cells were once torture-chambers⁠ ⁠… ‘death chambers’ was the word grandfather used.”

“Oh, but how alarming!”

“Why alarm yourself, mother? You see that they are not thinking of torturing me. Only, on the off chance and not knowing what sort of fate was in store for Stéphane, I sent him something to eat by All’s Well, who is sure to have found a way of getting to him.”

“No,” she said, “All’s Well did not understand.”

“How do you know, mother?”

“He thought you were sending him to Stéphane Maroux’s room and he heaped it all under the bed.”

“Oh!” said the boy, anxiously. “What can have become of Stéphane?” And he at once added, “You see, mother, that we must hurry, if we would save Stéphane and save ourselves.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing, if you act quickly.”

“But still⁠ ⁠…”

“Nothing, I assure you. I feel certain that we shall get the better of every obstacle.”

“And, if any others present themselves⁠ ⁠… dangers which we cannot foresee?⁠ ⁠…”

“It is then,” said François, laughing, “that the man whom I am expecting will come and protect us.”

“You see, my darling, you yourself admit the need of assistance.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why, no, mother, I am trying to ease your mind, but nothing will happen. Come, how would you have a son who has just found his mother lose her again at once? It isn’t possible. In real life, may be⁠ ⁠… but we are not living in real life. We are absolutely living in a romance; and in romances things always come right. You ask All’s Well. It’s so, old chap, isn’t it: we shall win and be united and live happy ever after? That’s what you think, All’s Well? Then be off, old chap, and take mother with you. I’m going to fill up the hole, in case they come and inspect my cell. And be sure not to try and come in when the hole is stopped, eh, All’s Well? That’s when the danger is. Go, mother, and don’t make a noise when you come back.”

Véronique was not long away. She found the pickaxe; and, forty minutes after, brought it and managed to slip it into the cell.

“No one has been yet,” said François, “but they are certain to come soon and you had better not stay. I may have a night’s work before me, especially as I shall have to stop because of likely visits. So I shall expect you at seven o’clock tomorrow.⁠ ⁠… By the way, talking of Stéphane: I have been thinking it over. Some noises which I heard just now confirmed my notion that he is shut up more or less underneath me. The opening that lights my cell is too narrow for me to pass through. Is there a fairly wide window at the place where you are now?”

“No, but it can be widened by removing the little stones round it.”

“Capital. You will find in Maguennoc’s workshop a bamboo ladder, with iron hooks to it, which you can easily bring with you tomorrow morning. Next, take some provisions and some rugs and leave them in a thicket at the entrance to the tunnel.”

“What for, darling?”

“You’ll see. I have a plan. Goodbye, mother. Have a good night’s rest and pick up your strength. We may have a hard day before us.”

Véronique followed her son’s advice. The next morning, full of hope, she once more took the road to the cell. This time, All’s Well, reverting to his instincts of independence, did not come with her.

“Keep quite still, mother,” said François, in so low a whisper that she could scarcely hear him. “I am very closely watched; and I think there’s someone walking up and down in the passage. However, my work is nearly done; the stones are all loosened. I shall have finished in two hours. Have you the ladder?”

“Yes.”

“Remove the stones from the window⁠ ⁠… that will save time⁠ ⁠… for really I am frightened about Stéphane.⁠ ⁠… And be sure not to make a noise.⁠ ⁠…”

Véronique moved away.

The window was not much more than three feet from the floor: and the small stones, as she had supposed, were kept in place only by their own weight and the way in which they were arranged. The opening which she thus contrived to make was very wide; and she easily passed the ladder which she had brought with her through and secured it by its iron hooks to the lower ledge.

She was some hundred feet or so above the sea, which lay all white before her, guarded by the thousand reefs of Sarek. But she could not see the foot of the cliff, for there was under the window a slight projection of granite which jutted forward and on which the ladder rested instead of hanging perpendicularly.

“That will help François,” she thought.

Nevertheless, the danger of the undertaking seemed great; and she wondered whether she herself ought not to take the risk, instead of her son, all the more so as François might be mistaken, as Stéphane’s cell was perhaps not there at all and as perhaps there was no means of entering it by a similar opening. If so, what a waste of time! And what a useless danger for the boy to run!

At that moment she felt so great a need of self-devotion, so intense a wish to prove her love for him by direct action, that she formed her resolution without pausing to reflect, even as one performs immediately a duty which there is no question of not performing. Nothing deterred her: neither her inspection of the ladder, whose hooks were not wide enough to grip the whole thickness of the ledge, nor the sight of the precipice, which gave an impression that everything was about to fall away from under her. She had to act; and she acted.

Pinning up her skirt, she stepped across the wall, turned round, supported herself on the ledge, groped with her foot in space and found one of the rungs. Her whole