The Teeth of the Tiger Maurice Leblanc (best novels of all time .txt) 📖

thing could not go on indefinitely. There were plenty of other means of doing away with me. They had their hands to strangle me with, the butt ends of their muskets to smash my head with, pebbles to stone me with. And there were over forty of them!

“The old chief picked up a bulky stone and stepped toward me, his features distorted with hatred. He raised himself to his full height, lifted the huge block, with the assistance of two of his men, above my head and dropped it⁠—in front of me, on the stake! It was a staggering sight for the poor old man. I had, in one second, unfastened my bonds and sprung backward; and I was standing at three paces from him, with my hands outstretched before me, and holding in those outstretched hands the two revolvers which had been taken from me on the day of my capture!

“What followed was the business of a few seconds. The chief now began to laugh as I had laughed, sarcastically. To his mind, in the disorder of his brain, those two revolvers with which I threatened him could have no more effect than the useless weapons which had spared my life. He took up a large pebble and raised his hand to hurl it at my face. His two assistants did the same. And all the others were prepared to follow his example.

“ ‘Hands down!’ I cried, ‘or I fire!’ The chief let fly his stone. At the same moment three shots rang out. The chief and his two men fell dead to the ground. ‘Who’s next?’ I asked, looking round the band.

“Forty-two Moors remained. I had eleven bullets left. As none of the men budged, I slipped one of my revolvers under my arm and took from my pocket two small boxes of cartridges containing fifty more bullets. And from my belt I drew three great knives, all of them nicely tapering and pointed. Half of the troop made signs of submission and drew up in line behind me. The other half capitulated a moment after. The battle was over. It had not lasted four minutes.”

XVIII Arsène I Emperor of Mauretania

Don Luis ceased. A smile of amusement played round his lips. The recollection of those four minutes seemed to divert him immensely.

Valenglay and the Prefect of Police, who were neither of them men to be unduly surprised at courage and coolness, had listened to him, nevertheless, and were now looking at him in bewildered silence. Was it possible for a human being to carry heroism to such unlikely lengths?

Meanwhile, he went up to the other side of the chimney and pointed to a larger map, representing the French roads.

“You told me, Monsieur le Président, that the scoundrel’s motor car had left Versailles and was going toward Nantes?”

“Yes; and all our arrangements are made to arrest him either on the way, or else at Nantes or at Saint-Nazaire, where he may intend to take ship.”

Don Luis Perenna followed with his forefinger the road across France, stopping here and there, marking successive stages. And nothing could have been more impressive than this dumb show.

The man that he was, preserving his composure amid the overthrow of all that he had most at heart, seemed by his calmness to dominate time and circumstances. It was as though the murderer were running away at one end of an unbreakable thread of which Don Luis held the other, and as though Don Luis could stop his flight at any time by a mere movement of his finger and thumb.

As he studied the map, the master seemed to command not only a sheet of cardboard, but also the highroad on which a motor car was spinning along, subject to his despotic will.

He went back to the table and continued:

“The battle was over. And there was no question of its being resumed. My forty-two worthies found themselves face to face with a conqueror, against whom revenge is always possible, by fair means or foul, but with one who had subjugated them in a supernatural manner. There was no other explanation of the inexplicable facts which they had witnessed. I was a sorcerer, a kind of marabout, a direct emissary of the Prophet.”

Valenglay laughed and said:

“Their interpretation was not so very unreasonable, for, after all, you must have performed a sleight-of-hand trick which strikes me also as being little less than miraculous.”

“Monsieur le Président, do you know a curious short story of Balzac’s called ‘A Passion in the Desert’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the key to the riddle lies in that.”

“Does it? I don’t quite see. You were not under the claws of a tigress. There, was no tigress to tame in this instance.”

“No, but there were women.”

“Eh? How do you mean?”

“Upon my word, Monsieur le Président,” said Don Luis gayly, “I should not like to shock you. But I repeat that the troop which carried me off on that week’s march included women; and women are a little like Balzac’s tigress, creatures whom it is not impossible to tame, to charm, to break in, until you make friends of them.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the Premier, madly puzzled, “but that needs time.”

“I had a week.”

“And complete liberty of action.”

“No, no, Monsieur le Président. The eyes are enough to start with. The eyes give rise to sympathy, interest, affection, curiosity, a wish to know you better. After that, the merest opportunity⁠—”

“And did an opportunity offer?”

“Yes, one night. I was fastened up, or at least they thought I was. I knew that the chief’s favourite was alone in her tent close by. I went there. I left her an hour afterward.”

“And the tigress was tamed?”

“Yes, as thoroughly as Balzac’s: tamed and blindly submissive.”

“But there were several of them?”

“I know, Monsieur le President, and that was the difficulty. I was afraid of rivalry. But all went well: the favourite was not jealous, far from it. And then, as I have told you, her submission was absolute. In short,