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

been Vorski’s mistress and feared that she would make some disclosure in François’ presence. “Silence: that name is not to be spoken.”

“It will be when it has to be,” said the woman. “Ah, I’ve suffered enough through you, Véronique: it’s your turn now; and you’re only at the beginning of it!”

“Go!” cried Véronique, pointing her revolver.

“Once more, no threats, please.”

“Go, or I fire! I swear it on the head of my son.”

The woman retreated, betraying a certain anxiety in spite of herself. But she was seized with a fresh access of rage. Impotently she raised her clenched fists and shouted, in a raucous, broken voice:

“I will be revenged⁠ ⁠… You shall see. Véronique.⁠ ⁠… The cross⁠—do you understand?⁠—the cross is ready.⁠ ⁠… You are the fourth.⁠ ⁠… What, oh, what a revenge!”

She shook her gnarled, bony fists. And she continued:

“Oh, how I hate you! Fifteen years of hatred! But the cross will avenge me.⁠ ⁠… I shall string you up on it myself.⁠ ⁠… The cross is ready⁠ ⁠… you’ll see⁠ ⁠… the cross is ready for you!⁠ ⁠…”

She walked away slowly, holding herself erect under the threat of the revolver.

“Don’t kill her, mother, will you?” whispered François, suspecting the contest in his mother’s mind.

Véronique seemed to wake from a dream:

“No, no,” she replied, “don’t be afraid.⁠ ⁠… And yet perhaps I ought to⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, please let her be, mother, and let us go away.”

She lifted him in her arms, even before the woman was out of sight, pressed him to her and carried him to the cell as though he weighed no more than a little child.

“Mother, mother,” he said.

“Yes, darling, your own mother; and no one shall take you from me again, that I swear to you.”

Without troubling about the wounds inflicted by the stone she slipped, this time almost at the first attempt, through the gap made by François, drew him after her and then, but not before, released him from his bonds.

“There is no danger here,” she said, “at least for the moment, because they can hardly get at us except by the cell and I shall be able to defend the entrance.”

Mother and son exchanged the fondest of embraces. There was now no barrier to part their lips and their arms. They could see each other, could gaze into each other’s eyes.

“How handsome you are, my darling!” said Véronique.

She saw no resemblance between him and the boy murderer and was astonished that Honorine could have taken one for the other. And she felt as if she would never weary of admiring the breeding, the frankness and the sweetness which she read in his face.

“And you, mother,” he said, “do you think that I ever pictured a mother as beautiful as you? No, not even in my dreams, when you seemed as lovely as a fairy. And yet Stéphane often used to tell me⁠ ⁠…”

She interrupted him:

“We must hurry, dearest, and take refuge from their pursuit. We must go.”

“Yes,” he said, “and above all we must leave Sarek. I have invented a plan of escape which is bound to succeed. But, first of all, Stéphane: what has become of him? I heard the sound of which I spoke to you underneath my cell and I fear⁠ ⁠…”

She dragged him along by the hand, without answering his question:

“I have many things to tell you, darling, painful things which I must no longer keep from you. But presently will do.⁠ ⁠… For the moment we must take refuge in the Priory. That woman will go in search of help and come after us.”

“But she was not alone, mother, when she entered my cell suddenly and caught me in the act of digging at the wall. There was someone with her.”

“A boy, wasn’t it? A boy of your own size?”

“I could hardly see. He and the woman fell upon me, bound me and carried me into the passage. Then the woman left me for a moment and he went back to the cell. He therefore knows about this tunnel by now and about the exit in the Priory grounds.”

“Yes, I know. But we shall easily get the better of him; and we’ll block up the exit.”

“But there remains the bridge which joins the two islands,” François objected.

“No,” she said, “I burnt it down and the Priory is absolutely cut off.”

They were walking very quickly, Véronique pressing her pace, François a little anxious at the words spoken by his mother.

“Yes, yes,” he said, “I see that there is a good deal which I don’t know and which you have kept from me, mother, in order not to frighten me. For instance, when you burnt down the bridge.⁠ ⁠… It was with the petrol set aside for the purpose, wasn’t it, and as arranged with Maguennoc in case of danger? So you were threatened too; and the first attack was made on you, mother?⁠ ⁠… And then there was something that woman said with such a hateful look on her face!⁠ ⁠… And then⁠ ⁠… and then, above all, what has become of Stéphane? They were whispering about him just now in my cell.⁠ ⁠… All this worries me.⁠ ⁠… Then again I don’t see the ladder which you brought.⁠ ⁠…”

“Please, dearest, don’t let us wait a moment. The woman will have found assistance.⁠ ⁠…”

The boy stopped short:

“Mother.”

“What? Do you hear anything?”

“Someone walking.”

“Are you sure?”

“Someone coming this way.”

“Oh,” she said, in a hollow voice, “it’s the murderer coming back from the Priory!”

She felt her revolver and prepared herself for anything that might happen. But suddenly she pushed François towards a dark corner on her left, formed by the entry to one of those tunnels, probably blocked, which she had noticed when she came.

“Get in there,” she said. “We shall be all right here: he will not see us.”

The sound approached.

“Stand well back,” she said, “and don’t stir.”

The boy whispered:

“What’s that in your hand? A revolver? Mother, you’re not going to fire?”

“I ought to, I ought to,” said Véronique. “He’s such a monster!⁠ ⁠… It’s as with his mother⁠ ⁠… I ought to have⁠ ⁠… we shall perhaps regret it.” And she added, almost unconsciously, “He killed