The Secret Tomb by Maurice Leblanc (i like reading .txt) 📕

deeply deplore⁠—it has seemed to us, I say, that we ought in our turn, to enlighten you concerning events of which he was cognizant and of which he would have informed you had he not been prevented by death⁠ ⁠… of which he actually desired, as we know, that you should be informed.”

He paused, delighted with his preamble. On occasions like this he loved to indulge in a pomposity of diction employing only the most select vocabulary, striving to observe the rules of grammar, and fearless of subjunctives. He went on:

“Mademoiselle, my father, François de Chagny, my grandfather, Dominique de Chagny, and my great-grandfather, Gaspard de Chagny, lived their lives in the sure conviction that great wealth would be⁠ ⁠… how shall I put it?⁠ ⁠… would be offered to them, by reason of certain unknown conditions of which each of them was confident in advance that he would be the beneficiary. And each of them took the greater joy in the fact and indulged in a hope all the more agreeable because the Revolution had ruined the house of the Counts de Chagny from the rooftree to the basement. On what was this conviction based? Neither François, nor Dominique, nor Gaspard de Chagny ever knew. It came from vague legends which described exactly neither the nature of the riches nor the epoch at which they would appear, but all of which had this in common that they evoked the name of Roborey. And these legends could not have gone very far back since this château, which was formerly called the Château de Chagny, only received the name of Chagny-Roborey in the reign of Louis XVI. Is it this designation which brought about the excavations that were made from time to time? It is extremely probable. At all events it is a fact that at the very moment the war broke out I had formed the resolution of restoring this Château de Roborey, which had become merely a shooting-box and definitely settling down in it, for all that, and I am not ashamed to say it, my recent marriage with Madame de Chagny had enabled me to wait for these so-called riches without excessive impatience.”

The Count smiled a subtle smile in making this discreet allusion to the manner in which he had regilded his heraldic shield, and continued:

“It is needless to tell you, I hope, that during the war the Count de Chagny did his duty as a good Frenchman. In 1915, as lieutenant of light-infantry, I was in Paris on leave when a series of coincidences, brought about by the war, brought me into touch with three persons with whom I had not previously been acquainted, and whose ties of kinship with the Chagny-Roborey I learnt by accident. The first was the father of Raoul Davernoie, Commandant Georges Davernoie, the second Maxime d’Estreicher, the last Jean d’Argonne. All four of us were distant cousins, all four on leave or recovering from wounds. And so it came about that in the course of our interviews, that we learnt, to our great surprise, that the same legend had been handed down in each of our four families. Like their fathers and their grandfathers Georges Davernoie, d’Estreicher, and Jean d’Argonne were awaiting the fabulous fortune which was promised them and which was to settle the debts which this conviction had led them on to contract. Moreover, the same ignorance prevailed among the four cousins. No proof, no indication⁠—”

After a fresh pause intended to lead up to an impressive effect, the Count continued: “But yes, one indication, however: Jean d’Argonne remembered a gold medal the importance of which his father had formerly impressed on him. His father died a few days later from an accident in the hunting-field without having told him anything more. But Jean d’Argonne declared that this medal bore on it an inscription, and that one of these words, he did not recall it at once, was this word Roborey, on which all our hopes are undoubtedly concentrated. He informed us then of his intention of ransacking the twenty trunks or so, which he had been able in August, 1914, to bring away from his country seat before its imminent pillage, and to store in a shed at Bar-le-Duc. But before he went, since we were all men of honor, exposed to the risks of war, we all four took a solemn oath that all our discoveries relative to the famous treasure, should be common property. Henceforth and forever, the treasure, should Providence decide to grant it to us, belonged to all the four; and Jean d’Argonne, whose leave expired, left us.”

“It was at the end of 1915, wasn’t it?” asked Dorothy. “We passed a week together, the happiest week of my life. I was never to see him again.”

“It was indeed towards the end of 1915,” the Count agreed. “A month later Jean d’Argonne, wounded in the North, was sent into hospital at Chartres, from which he wrote to us a long letter⁠ ⁠… never finished.”

The Countess de Chagny made a sudden movement. She appeared to disapprove of what her husband had said.

“Yes, yes, I will lay that letter before you,” said the Count firmly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” murmured the Countess. “Nevertheless⁠—”

“What are you afraid of, madame?” said Dorothy.

“I am afraid of our causing you pain to no purpose, Dorothy. The end of it will reveal to you very painful things.”

“But it is our duty to communicate it to her,” said the Count in a peremptory tone. And he drew from his pocketbook a letter stamped with the Red Cross and unfolded it. Dorothy felt her heart flutter with a sudden oppression. She recognized her father’s handwriting. The Countess squeezed her hand. She saw that Raoul Davernoie was regarding her with an air of compassion; and with an anxious face, trying less to understand the sentences she heard than to guess the end of this letter, she listened to it.

“My dear Octave,

“I will first of all set your mind at