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

clenched fist, out of which a ring stuck, on the forehead, among her hair, with such force that the blood spurted out.

She was still laughing, as she stammered:

“You b-b-brute! What a brute you are!”

“If you laugh, I’ll bite your mouth, you hussy,” he snarled, bending over her red lips.

He did not dare to carry out the threat, respecting her in spite of himself, and even a little intimidated. She was frightened, however, and laughed no more.

“What is this? What is it?” he repeated. “You should be crying, and you’re laughing. Why?”

“I was laughing because of the plates,” she said.

“What plates?”

“Those which form the case of the medal.”

“These?”

“Yes.”

“What about them?”

“They’re the plates of Dorothy’s Circus. I used to juggle with them.”

He looked utterly flabbergasted.

“What’s this rot you’re talking?”

“It is rot, isn’t it? Saint-Quentin and I soldered them together; I engraved the motto on them with a knife; and last night we threw them into the pool.”

“But you’re mad. I don’t understand. With what object did you do it?”

“Since poor old Juliet Assire babbled some admissions about the river when you tortured her, I was pretty sure you’d fall into the trap.”

“What do you mean? What trap?”

“I wanted to get you to come out of here.”

“You knew that I was here then?”

“Rather! I knew that you were watching us fish up the case; and I knew for certain what would happen after that. Believing that this case, found at the bottom of the pool under your very eyes, contained the medal, and seeing moreover that Raoul had gone and I was alone at the Manor, you wouldn’t be able to come. But you have come.”

He stuttered:

“The g-g-gold medal.⁠ ⁠… It isn’t in this case then?”

“No. It’s empty.”

“And Raoul?⁠ ⁠… Raoul?⁠ ⁠… You’re expecting him?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“With some detectives. He went to meet them.”

He clenched his fists and growled:

“You little beast, you denounced me.”

“I denounced you.”

Not for a second did d’Estreicher think she might be lying. He held the metal disc in his hand; and it would have been easy enough to force it open with his knife. To what end? The disc was empty. He was sure of it. Of a sudden he grasped the full force of the comedy she had played on the pool; it explained to him the odd uneasiness and disquiet he had felt while he was watching that series of actions the connection of which seemed to him strange.

However he had come. He had plunged blindly, with his head down, into the trap she had audaciously laid for him before his very eyes. Of what miraculous power was she mistress? And how was he going to slip through the meshes of the net which was being drawn tighter and tighter round him?

“Let’s be getting away,” he said, eager to get out of danger.

But he was suffering from a lassitude of will, and instead of picking up his victim, he questioned her.

“The disc is empty. But you know where the medal is?” he questioned.

“Of course I know,” said Dorothy, who only thought of gaining time and whose furtive eyes were scanning the top of the wall.

The man’s eyes sparkled:

“Ah, you do, do you?⁠ ⁠… You must be a fool to admit it!⁠ ⁠… Since you know, you’re going to tell, my dear. If not⁠—”

He drew his revolver.

She said mockingly:

“Just as with Juliet Assire? Twenty’s what you count, isn’t it? You may as well save your breath; it doesn’t work with me.”

“I swear, dammit!⁠—”

“Words!”

No: the battle was certainly not lost. Dorothy, though exhausted, her face smeared with blood, clung to every possible incident with grim tenacity. She felt strongly that, in his fury, d’Estreicher was capable of killing her. But she was quite as clearly aware of his confusion of ideas and of her power over him. He hadn’t the strength to depart and abandon the medal for which he had struggled so desperately. If only his hesitation lasted a few minutes longer, Raoul was bound to appear on the scene.

At this moment an incident occurred which appeared to excite her keenest interest, for she leant forward to follow it more closely. The old Baron came out of the Manor, carrying a bag, not dressed, as usual, in a blouse, but in a cloth suit, and wearing a felt hat. That showed that he had made a choice, that is to say, an effort of thought. Then there was another such effort. Goliath was not with him. He waited for him, stamped his foot, and when the dog did come, caught him by the collar, looked about him, and took his way to the gate.

The two confederates barred his path; he muttered some grumbling complaints and tried to get past them. They shoved him back and at last he went off among the trees, without loosing Goliath, but leaving his bag behind him.

His action was easy to understand; and Dorothy and d’Estreicher alike grasped the fact that the old fellow had wanted to go off on the quest of the treasure. In spite of his madness, he had not forgotten the enterprise. The appointed date was engraved on his memory; and on the day he had fixed, he strapped up his bag and started out like a piece of mechanism which one has wound up and which goes off at the moment fixed.

D’Estreicher called out to his confederates:

“Search his bag!”

Since they found nothing, no medal, no clue, he walked up and down in front of Dorothy for a moment, undecided what course to take and then stopped beside her:

“Answer me. Raoul loves you. You don’t love him. Otherwise I should have put a stop to your little flirtation a fortnight ago. But all the same you feel some obligations towards him in the matter of the medal and the treasure; and you’ve joined forces. It’s just foolishness, my dear, and I’m going to set your mind at rest about the matter, for there’s a thing you don’t know and I’m going to tell it you. After which I’m sure you’ll speak. Answer me then. With regard