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

state of nervous extenuation which left her indifferent to anything that might happen, she fell asleep.

Vorski’s return did not even rouse her. He had to shake her:

“The hour is at hand, my girl. Say your prayers.”

He spoke low, so that his assistants might not hear what he said; and, whispering in her ear, he told her things of long ago, insignificant trifles which he dribbled out in a thick tone. At last he called out:

“It’s still too light, Otto. Go and see what you can find in the larder, will you? I’m hungry.”

They sat down to table, but Vorski stood up again at once:

“Don’t look at me, my girl. Your eyes worry me. What do you expect? My conscience doesn’t worry me when I’m alone, but it gets worked up when a fine pair of eyes like yours go right through me. Lower your lids, my pretty one.”

He bound Véronique’s eyes with a handkerchief which he knotted behind her head. But this did not satisfy him; and he unhooked a muslin curtain from the window, wrapped her whole head in it and wound it round her neck. Then he sat down again to eat and drink.

The three of them hardly spoke and said not a word of their trip across the island, nor of the duel of the afternoon. In any case, these were details which did not interest Véronique and which, even if she had paid attention to them, would not have aroused her. Everything had become indifferent to her. The words reached her ears but assumed no definite meaning. She thought of nothing but dying.

When it was dark, Vorski gave the signal for departure.

“Then you’re still determined?” asked Otto, in a voice betraying a certain hostility.

“More so than ever. What’s your reason for asking?”

“Nothing.⁠ ⁠… But, all the same⁠ ⁠…”

“All the same what?”

“Well, I may as well out with it, we only half like the job.”

“You don’t mean to say so! And you only discover it now, my man, after stringing up the sisters Archignat and treating it as a lark!”

“I was drunk that day. You made us drink.”

“Well, get boozed if you want to, old cock. Here, take the brandy-bottle. Fill your flask and shut up.⁠ ⁠… Conrad, is the stretcher ready?”

He turned to his victim:

“A polite attention for you, my dear.⁠ ⁠… Two old stilts of your brat’s, fastened together with straps.⁠ ⁠… It’s very practical and comfortable.”

At half-past eight, the grim procession set out, with Vorski at the head, carrying a lantern. The accomplices followed with the litter.

The clouds which had been threatening all the afternoon had now gathered and were rolling, thick and black, over the island. The night was falling swiftly. A stormy wind was blowing and made the candle flicker in the lantern.

“Brrrr!” muttered Vorski. “Dismal work! A regular Golgotha evening.”

He swerved and grunted at the sight of a little black shape bounding along by his side:

“What’s that? Look. It’s a dog, isn’t it?”

“It’s the boy’s mongrel,” said Otto.

“Oh, of course, the famous All’s Well! The brute’s come in the nick of time. Everything’s going jolly well! Just wait a bit, you mangy beast!”

He aimed a kick at the dog. All’s Well avoided it and keeping out of reach, continued to accompany the procession, giving a muffled bark at intervals.

It was a rough ascent; and every moment one of the three men, leaving the invisible path that skirted the grass in front of the house and led to the open space by the Fairies’ Dolmen, tripped in the brambles or in the runners of ivy.

“Halt!” Vorski commanded. “Stop and take breath, my lads. Otto, hand us your flask. My heart’s turning upside down.”

He took a long pull:

“Your turn, Otto.⁠ ⁠… What, don’t you want to? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m thinking that there are people on the island who are looking for us.”

“Let them look!”

“And suppose they come by boat and climb that path in the cliffs which the woman and the boy were trying to escape by this morning, the path we found?”

“What we have to fear is an attack by land, not by sea. Well, the footbridge is burnt. There’s no means of communication.”

“Unless they find the entrance to the cells, on the Black Heath, and follow the tunnel to this place.”

“Have they found the entrance?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, granting that they do find it, haven’t we just blocked the exit on this side, broken down the staircase, thrown everything topsy-turvy? To clear it will take them half a day and more. Whereas at midnight the thing’ll be done and by daybreak we shall be far away from Sarek.”

“It’ll be done, it’ll be done; that is to say, we shall have one more murder on our conscience. But⁠ ⁠…”

“But what?”

“What about the treasure?”

“Ah, the treasure! You’ve got it out at last! Well, make your mind easy: your shares of it are as good as in your pockets.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Rather! Do you imagine that I’m staying here and doing all this dirty work for fun?”

They resumed their progress. After a quarter of an hour, a few drops of rain began to fall. There was a clap of thunder. The storm still appeared to be some distance away.

They had difficulty in completing the rough ascent: and Vorski had to help his companions.

“At last!” he said. “We’re there. Otto, hand me the flask. That’s it. Thanks.”

They had laid their victim at the foot of the oak which had had its lower branches removed. A flash of light revealed the inscription, “V. d’H.” Vorski picked up a rope, which had been left there in readiness, and set a ladder against the trunk of the tree:

“We’ll do as we did with the sisters Archignat,” he said. “I’ll pass the cord over the big branch which we left intact. That will serve as a pulley.”

He interrupted himself and jumped to one side. Something extraordinary had just happened.

“What’s that?” he whispered. “What was it? Did you hear that whistling sound?”

“Yes,” said Conrad, “it grazed my ear. One would have said it