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

As they expected, they found Goliath on the steps scratching at the closed door. They made him stop barking and in the silence they heard above them outcries and the sound of a struggle.

Instantly, to frighten the assailant, Raoul fired off his revolver. Then with his latchkey he opened the door; and they ran up the stairs.

One of the rooms facing them was lighted by two lamps. On the floor, face downwards, Raoul’s grandfather was writhing and uttering faint, hoarse cries.

Raoul dropped on his knees beside him. Dorothy seized one of the lamps and ran into the room on the opposite side of the corridor. She had noticed that the door of it was open.

The room was empty; through the open window stuck the top of a ladder.

She leant out:

“Montfaucon!”

“Here I am, mummy,” the child replied.

“Did you see anyone come down the ladder and run away?”

“From a distance, mummy⁠—as I came round the corner of the house.”

“Did you recognize the man?”

“The man was two, mummy.”

“Ah, there were two, were there?”

“Yes⁠ ⁠… another man⁠ ⁠… and the nasty gentleman.”

Raoul’s grandfather was not dead; he was not even in any danger of dying. From certain details of the conflict it looked as if d’Estreicher and his confederate had tried by threats and violence to force the old man to reveal what he knew, and doubtless to hand over the gold piece. In particular his throat showed red fingermarks where they had gripped it. Had the ruffian and his confederate succeeded at the last moment?

The servants were not very late getting back. The doctor was summoned and declared that there was no fear of any complications. But in the course of the next day they found that the old man did not answer any questions, did not appear to understand them, and only expressed himself by an incomprehensible stuttering.

The agitation, terror, and suffering had been too much for him.⁠ ⁠… He was mad.

In the flat country, in which stands Hillocks Manor, a deep gorge has been hollowed out by the river Maine. This gorge rings round the meadows and orchards and buildings of the Manor. Hillocks, humped with rocks and covered with fir-trees, rise in a semicircle at the back of the estate, and a backwater of the Maine, cutting the ring and isolating the hillocks, has formed a pleasant lake, which reflects the dark stones and red bricks and tiles of the ancient building.

Today that building is by way of being a farm. Part of the ground-floor is used for storerooms and barns, evidence of a wider cultivation, formerly flourishing, but very much fallen off since the days when Raoul’s grandfather made it his business in life.

The old Baron, as they called him, had a right to the title and to the apostrophe since the property, before the Revolution, formed the barony d’Avernoie. A great sportsman, a fine figure of a man, and fond of wine and women, he had very little liking for work; and his son, Raoul’s father, inheriting this distaste, had in his manner of life shown an equal lack of care for the future.

“I have done what I could, once I was demobilized,” Raoul confided to Dorothy, “to restore prosperity here; and uphill work it has been. But what would you? My father and my grandfather lived their lives in the assurance, which evidently sprang from those legends you have heard of: ‘One of these days we shall be rich. So why worry?’ And they did not worry. Actually we are in the hands of a moneylender who has bought up all our debts; and I have just heard that during my stay at Roborey my grandfather signed a bill of sale which gives that moneylender the power to turn us out of the house in six weeks.”

He was an excellent young fellow, a trifle slow-witted, rather awkward in manner, but of an upright disposition, serious and thoughtful. The charm of Dorothy had made an instant conquest of him, and in spite of an invincible timidity which had always prevented him from putting into words his deeper feelings, he did not hide either his admiration or the fact that she had robbed him of his peace of mind. Everything that she said charmed him. Everything that she bade him do was done.

Following her advice he made no secret of the assault of which his grandfather had been the victim and lodged a complaint against this unknown criminal. To the people about him he talked openly about the fortune which he expected to come to him shortly and of the investigations on foot to discover a gold medal, the possession of which was the first condition of obtaining it. Without revealing Dorothy’s name, he did not conceal the fact that she was a distant cousin, or the reasons which brought her to the Manor.

Three days later, having screwed double stages out of One-eyed Magpie, Saint-Quentin arrived in company with Castor and Pollux. Dorothy would not hear of any abode but her beloved caravan, which was installed in the middle of the courtyard; and once more the five comrades settled down to their happy, careless life. Castor and Pollux fought with less vigor. Saint-Quentin fished in the lake. The captain, always immensely consequential, took the old baron under his care and related to him and to Goliath interminable yarns.

As for Dorothy, she was observing. They found that she wore an air of mystery, keeping her thoughts and proceedings to herself. She spent hours playing with her comrades superintending their exercises. Then, her eyes fixed on the old baron, who, accompanied by his faithful dog, with tottering gait and dulled eyes, would go and lean against a tree in the orchard, she watched everything which might be a manifestation of instinct in him or of a survival of the past. At other times Raoul surprised her in some corner, motionless and silent. It seemed to him then as if the