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

“The ladder!” exclaimed Stéphane. “It’s the ladder, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s François,” said Véronique, catching her breath with joy and hope. “He is saved. He is coming to rescue us.”

At that moment, the wall of torment was almost upright, vibrating implacably beneath their shoulders. The cave no longer existed behind them. The depths had already claimed them; at most they were clinging to a narrow ledge.

Véronique leant outwards again. The ladder swung back and then became stationary, fixed by its two hooks.

Above them, at the opening in the cliff, was a boy’s face; and the boy was smiling and making gestures:

“Mother, mother⁠ ⁠… quick!”

The call was eager and urgent. The two arms were outstretched towards the pair below. Véronique moaned:

“Oh, it’s you, it’s you, my darling!”

“Quick, mother, I’m holding the ladder!⁠ ⁠… Quick!⁠ ⁠… It’s quite safe!”

“I’m coming, darling, I’m coming.”

She had seized the nearest upright. This time, with Stéphane’s assistance, she had no difficulty in placing her foot on the bottom rung. But she said:

“And you, Stéphane? You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“I have plenty of time,” he said. “Hurry.”

“No, you must promise.”

“I swear. Hurry.”

She climbed four rungs and stopped:

“Are you coming, Stéphane?”

He had already turned towards the cliff and slipped his left hand into a narrow fissure which remained between the drawbridge and the rock. His right hand reached the ladder and he was able to set foot on the lowest rung. He too was saved.

With what delight Véronique covered the rest of the distance! What mattered the void below her, now that her son was there, waiting for her to clasp him to her breast at last!

“Here I am, here I am,” she said. “Here I am, my darling.”

She swiftly put her head and shoulders in the window. He pulled her through; and she climbed over the ledge. At last she was with her son.

They flung themselves into each other’s arms:

“Oh, mother, mother, is it really true? Mother!”

But she had no sooner closed her arms about him than she drew back a little, she did not know why. An inexplicable discomfort checked her first outburst.

“Come here,” she said, dragging him to the light of the window. “Come and let me look at you.”

The boy did as she wished. She examined him for two or three seconds, no longer, and suddenly, giving a start of terror, ejaculated:

“Then it’s you? It’s you, the murderer?”

Oh, horror! She was once more looking on the face of the monster who had killed her father and Honorine before her eyes!

“So you know me?” he chuckled.

Véronique realised her mistake from the boy’s very tone. This was not François but the other, the one who had played his devilish part in the clothes which François usually wore.

He gave another chuckle:

“Ah, you’re beginning to see things as they are, ma’am! You know me now, don’t you?”

The hateful face contracted, became wicked and cruel, animated by the vilest expression.

“Vorski! Vorski!” stammered Véronique. “It’s Vorski I recognise in you.”

He burst out laughing:

“Why not? Do you think I’m going to disown my father as you did?”

“Vorski’s son! His son!” Véronique repeated.

“Lord bless me, yes, his son: why shouldn’t I be? Surely the good fellow had the right to have two sons! Me first and dear François next!”

“Vorski’s son!” Véronique exclaimed once more.

“And one of the best, I tell you, ma’am, a worthy son of his father and brought up on the highest principles. I’ve shown you as much already, haven’t I? But it’s not finished, we’re only at the beginning.⁠ ⁠… Here, would you like me to give you a fresh proof? Just take a squint at that stick-in-the-mud of a tutor!⁠ ⁠… No, but look how things go when I take a hand in them.”

He sprang to the window. Stéphane’s head appeared. The boy picked up a stone and struck with all his might, throwing him backwards.

Véronique, who at the first moment had hesitated, not realising the danger, now rushed and seized the boy’s arm. It was too late. The head vanished. The hooks of the ladder slipped off the ledge. There was a loud cry, followed by the sound of a body falling into the water below.

Véronique ran to the window. The ladder was floating on the part of the little pool which she was able to see, lying motionless in its frame of rocks. There was nothing to point to the place where Stéphane had fallen, not an eddy, not a ripple.

She called out:

“Stéphane! Stéphane!⁠ ⁠…”

No reply, nothing but the great silence of space in which the winds are still and the sea asleep.

“You villain, what have you done?” she cried.

“Don’t take on, missus,” he said. “Master Stéphane brought up your kid to be a duffer. Come it’s a laughing matter, it is, really. Give us a kiss, won’t you, daddy’s missus? But, I say, what a face you’re pulling! Surely you don’t hate me as much as all that?”

He went up to her, with his arms outstretched. Véronique swiftly covered him with her revolver:

“Be off, be off, or I’ll kill you as I would a mad dog! Be off!”

The boy’s face became more inhuman than ever. He fell back step by step, snarling:

“Oh, I’ll make you pay for this, my pretty lady!⁠ ⁠… What do you mean by it? I come up to give you a kiss⁠ ⁠… I’m full of kindly feelings⁠ ⁠… and you want to shoot me! You shall pay for it in blood⁠ ⁠… in nice red flowing blood⁠ ⁠… blood⁠ ⁠… blood.⁠ ⁠…”

He seemed to love the sound of the word. He repeated it time after time, then once more gave a burst of evil laughter and fled down the tunnel which led to the Priory, shouting:

“The blood of your son, Mother Véronique!⁠ ⁠… The blood of your darling François!”

Shuddering, uncertain how to act next, Véronique listened till she no longer heard the sound of his footsteps. What should she do? The murder of Stéphane had for a moment turned her thoughts from François; but she now once more fell a prey to anguish. What