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

affairs appear to me, at the first glance, very simple, and I am always astonished that no one has picked out such and such a detail which contains in it the whole of the truth.”

Saint-Quentin, convinced, reflected. He threw back his head:

“That’s it! That’s it! Nothing escapes you; you think of everything. And that’s how it came about that the earrings, instead of having been stolen by Saint-Quentin, were stolen by d’Estreicher. And it is d’Estreicher and not Saint-Quentin who will go to prison because you willed it so.”

She began to laugh:

“Perhaps I did will it so. But Justice shows no sign of submitting to my will. The newspapers do not speak of anything happening. There is no mention of the drama of Roborey.”

“Then what has become of that scoundrel?”

“I don’t know.”

“And won’t you be able to learn?”

“Yes,” she said confidently.

“How?”

“From Raoul Davernoie.”

“You’re going to see him then?”

“I’ve written to him.”

“Where to?”

“At Roborey.”

“He answered you.”

“Yes⁠—a telegram which I went to the Post Office to find before the performance.”

“And he’s going to meet us?”

“Yes. On leaving Roborey and returning home, he is to meet us at Vitré at about three o’clock. It’s three now.”

They had climbed up to a point in the city from which one had a view of a road which wound in and out among meadows and woods.

“There,” she said. “His car ought not to be long coming into sight. That’s his road.”

“You really believe⁠—”

“I really believe that that excellent young fellow will not miss an opportunity of seeing me again,” she said, smiling.

Saint-Quentin, always rather jealous and easily upset, sighed:

“All the people you talk to are like that, obliging and full of attention.”

They waited several minutes. A car came into sight between two hedges. They went forward and so came close to the caravan round which the three urchins were playing.

Presently the car came up the ascent and emerged from a turning, driven by Raoul Davernoie. Running to meet him and preventing him by a gesture from getting out of the car, Dorothy called out to him:

“Well, what has happened? Arrested?”

“Who? D’Estreicher?” said Raoul, a little taken aback by this greeting.

“D’Estreicher of course.⁠ ⁠… He has been handed over to the police, hasn’t he? He’s under lock and key?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He escaped.”

The answer gave her a shock.

“D’Estreicher free!⁠ ⁠… Free to act!⁠ ⁠… It’s frightful!”

And under her breath she muttered:

“Good heavens! Why⁠—why didn’t I stay? I should have prevented this escape.”

But repining was of no avail and Dorothy was not the girl to waste much time on it. Without further delay she began to question the young man.

“Why did you stay on at the château?”

“To be exact⁠—because of d’Estreicher.”

“Granted. But an hour after his escape you ought to have started for home.”

“For what reason?”

“Your grandfather.⁠ ⁠… I warned you at Roborey.”

Raoul Davernoie protested:

“First of all I have written to him to be on his guard for reasons which I would explain to him. And then, as a matter of fact, the risk that he runs is a trifle problematical.”

“In what way? He is the possessor of that indispensable key to the treasure, the gold medal. D’Estreicher knows it. And you do not believe in his danger.”

“But this key to the treasure, d’Estreicher also possesses it, since on the day he murdered your father, he stole the gold medal from him.”

Dorothy stood beside the door of the car, her hand on the handle to prevent Raoul from opening it.

“Start at once, I beg you. I certainly don’t understand the whole of the affair. Is d’Estreicher, who already is the possessor of the medal, going to try to steal a second? Has the one he stole from my father been stolen from him by an accomplice? As yet I don’t know anything about it. But I am certain that from now on the real ground of the struggle is younder, at your home. I’m so sure of it that I’m going there myself as well. Look: here is my road-map. Hillocks Manor near Clisson⁠—still nearly a hundred miles to go⁠—eight stages for the caravan. Be off; you will get there tonight. I shall be there in eight days.”

Dominated by her, he gave way.

“Perhaps you’re right. I ought to have thought of all this myself⁠—especially since my father will be alone tonight.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. All the servants are keeping holiday. One of them is getting married at a neighboring village.”

She started.

“Does d’Estreicher know?”

“I think so. I fancy I spoke of this fête before him, during my stay at Roborey.”

“And when did he escape?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“So since the day before yesterday⁠—”

She did not finish the sentence. She ran to the caravan, up the steps, into it. Almost on the instant she came out of it with a small suitcase and a cloak.

“I’m off,” she said. “I’m coming with you. There isn’t a moment to be lost!”

She cranked up the engine herself, giving her orders the while:

“I give the car and the three children into your charge, Saint-Quentin. Follow the red line I have drawn on the map. Double stages⁠—no performances. You can be there in five days.”

She took the seat beside Davernoie. The car was already starting when she caught up the captain who was stretching out his hands to her. She dropped him among the portmanteaux and bags in the tonneau.

“There⁠—keep quiet. Au revoir, Saint-Quentin, Castor and Pollux⁠—no fighting!”

She waved goodbye to them.

The whole scene had not lasted three minutes.

Raoul Davernoie’s car was by way of being an old, old model. Therefore its pace was but moderate, and Raoul, delighted to be taking with him this charming creature, who was also his cousin, and his relations with whom, thanks to what had happened, were uncommonly intimate, was able to relate in detail what had taken place, the manner of their finding d’Estreicher, and the incidents of his captivity.

“What saved him,” said he, “was a rather deep wound he had made in his head by striking it against the iron bed-head in his efforts to rid himself of his bonds. He lost a lot of blood. Fever