The Crystal Stopper by Maurice Leblanc (classic books for 10 year olds txt) 📕

Sebastiani slackened the thongs that bound Daubrecq’s wrists and inserted and fixed the stick between the thongs.

“Shall I turn, monsieur le marquis?”

A further silence. The marquis waited. Seeing that Daubrecq did not flinch, he whispered:

“Can’t you speak? Why expose yourself to physical suffering?”

No reply.

“Turn away, Sebastiani.”

Sebastiani made the stick turn a complete circle. The thongs stretched and tightened. Daubrecq gave a groan.

“You won’t speak? Still, you know that I won’t give way, that I can’t give way, that I hold you and that, if necessary, I shall torture you till you die of it. You won’t speak? You won’t?... Sebastiani, once more.”

The huntsman obeyed. Daubrecq gave a violent start of pain and fell back on his bed with a rattle in his throat.

“You fool!” cried the marquis, shaking with rage. “Why don’t you speak? What, haven’t you had enough of that list? Surely it’s somebody else’s turn! Come, speak... Where is it? One word. One word only... and we will leave you in peace... And, to-morrow, when I have the list, you shall be free. Free, do you understand? But, in Heaven’s name, speak!... Oh, the brute! Sebastiani, one more turn.”

Sebastiani made a fresh effort. The bones cracked.

“Help! Help!” cried Daubrecq, in a hoarse voice, vainly struggling to release himself. And, in a spluttering whisper, “Mercy... mercy.”

It was a dreadful sight... The faces of the three sons were horror-struck. Lupin shuddered, sick at heart, and realized that he himself could never have accomplished that abominable thing. He listened for the words that were bound to come. He must learn the truth. Daubrecq’s secret was about to be expressed in syllables, in words wrung from him by pain. And Lupin began to think of his retreat, of the car which was waiting for him, of the wild rush to Paris, of the victory at hand.

“Speak,” whispered d’Albufex. “Speak and it will be over.”

“Yes... yes...” gasped Daubrecq.

“Well...?”

“Later... to-morrow...”

“Oh, you’re mad!... What are you talking about: to-morrow?... Sebastiani, another turn!”

“No, no!” yelled Daubrecq. “Stop!”

“Speak!”

“Well, then... the paper... I have hidden the paper...”

But his pain was too great. He raised his head with a last effort, uttered incoherent words, succeeded in twice saying, “Marie... Marie...” and fell back, exhausted and lifeless.

“Let go at once!” said d’Albufex to Sebastiani. “Hang it all, can we have overdone it?”

But a rapid examination showed him that Daubrecq had only fainted. Thereupon, he himself, worn out with the excitement, dropped on the foot of the bed and, wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead, stammered:

“Oh, what a dirty business!”

“Perhaps that’s enough for to-day,” said the huntsman, whose rough face betrayed a certain emotion. “We might try again to-morrow or the next day...”

The marquis was silent. One of the sons handed him a flask of brandy. He poured out half a glass and drank it down at a draught:

“To-morrow?” he said. “No. Here and now. One little effort more. At the stage which he has reached, it won’t be difficult.” And, taking the huntsman aside, “Did you hear what he said? What did he mean by that word, ‘Marie’? He repeated it twice.”

“Yes, twice,” said the huntsman. “Perhaps he entrusted the document to a person called Marie.”

“Not he!” protested d’Albufex. “He never entrusts anything to anybody. It means something different.”

“But what, monsieur le marquis?”

“We’ll soon find out, I’ll answer for it.”

At that moment, Daubrecq drew a long breath and stirred on his couch.

D’Albufex, who had now recovered all his composure and who did not take his eyes off the enemy, went up to him and said:

“You see, Daubrecq, it’s madness to resist... Once you’re beaten, there’s nothing for it but to submit to your conqueror, instead of allowing yourself to be tortured like an idiot... Come, be sensible.”

He turned to Sebastiani:

“Tighten the rope... let him feel it a little that will wake him up... He’s shamming death...” Sebastiani took hold of the stick again and turned until the cord touched the swollen flesh. Daubrecq gave a start.

“That’ll do, Sebastiani,” said the marquis. “Our friend seems favourably disposed and understands the need for coming to terms. That’s so, Daubrecq, is it not? You prefer to have done with it? And you’re quite right!”

The two men were leaning over the sufferer, Sebastiani with his hand on the stick, d’Albufex holding the lamp so as to throw the light on Daubrecq’s face: “His lips are moving... he’s going to speak. Loosen the rope a little, Sebastiani: I don’t want our friend to be hurt... No, tighten it: I believe our friend is hesitating... One turn more... stop! ... That’s done it! Oh, my dear Daubrecq, if you can’t speak plainer than that, it’s no use! What? What did you say?”

Arsene Lupin muttered an oath. Daubrecq was speaking and he, Lupin, could not hear a word of what he said! In vain, he pricked up his ears, suppressed the beating of his heart and the throbbing of his temples: not a sound reached him.

“Confound it!” he thought. “I never expected this. What am I to do?”

He was within an ace of covering Daubrecq with his revolver and putting a bullet into him which would cut short any explanation. But he reflected that he himself would then be none the wiser and that it was better to trust to events in the hope of making the most of them.

Meanwhile the confession continued beneath him, indistinctly, interrupted by silences and mingled with moans. D’Albufex clung to his prey:

“Go on!... Finish, can’t you?...”

And he punctuated the sentences with exclamations of approval:

“Good!... Capital!... Oh, how funny!... And no one suspected?... Not even Prasville?... What an ass!... Loosen a bit, Sebastiani: don’t you see that our friend is out of breath?... Keep calm, Daubrecq... don’t tire yourself... And so, my dear fellow, you were saying...”

That was the last. There was a long whispering to which d’Albufex listened without further interruption and of which Arsene Lupin could not catch the least syllable. Then the marquis drew himself up and exclaimed, joyfully:

“That’s it!... Thank you, Daubrecq. And, believe me, I shall never forget