The Lone Wolf by Louis Joseph Vance (good ebook reader .txt) 📕

the electric lights, knocking its porcelain box from the

wall, breaking the connection, and creating a short-circuit which

extinguished every light in that part of the house.

 

With his way thus apparently cleared, the police in confusion, darkness

aiding him, Lanyard plunged on; but in mid-stride, as he crossed the

threshold, his ankle was caught by the still prostrate younger sergent

and jerked from under him.

 

His momentum threw him with a crash—and may have spared him a worse

mishap; for in the same breath he heard the report of a pistol and knew

that Popinot had fired at his fugitive shadow.

 

As he brought one heel down with crushing force on the sergent’s wrist,

freeing his foot, he was dimly conscious of the voice of the commissaire

shouting frantic prayers to cease firing. Then the pain-maddened sergent

crawled to his knees, lunged blindly forward, knocked the adventurer

back in the act of rising, and fell on top of him.

 

Hampered by two hundred pounds of fighting Frenchman, Lanyard felt his

cause was lost, yet battled on—and would while breath was in him.

 

With a heave, a twist and a squirm, he slipped from under, and swinging

a fist at random barked his knuckles against the mouth of the sergent.

Momentarily that one relaxed his hold, and Lanyard struggled to his

knees, only to go down as the indomitable Frenchman grappled yet a

second time.

 

Now, however, as they fell, Lanyard was on top: and shifting both hands

to his antagonist’s left forearm, he wrenched it up and around. There

was a cry of pain, and he jumped clear of one no longer to be reckoned

with.

 

Nevertheless, as he had feared, the delay had proved ruinous. He had

only found his feet when an unidentified person hurled himself bodily

through the gloom and wrapped his arms round Lanyard’s thighs. And as

both went down, two others piled up on top….

 

For the next minute or two, Lanyard fought blindly, madly, viciously,

striking and kicking at random. For all that—even with one sergent

hors de combat—they were three to one; and though with the ferocity of

sheer desperation he shook them all off, at one time, and gained a few

yards more, it was only again to be overcome and borne down, crushed

beneath the weight of three.

 

His wind was going, his strength was leaving him. He mustered up every

ounce of energy, all his wit and courage, for one last effort: fought

like a cat, tooth and nail; toiled once more to his knees, with two

clinging to him like wolves to the flanks of a stag; shook one off,

regained his feet, swayed; and in one final gust of ferocity dashed

both fists repeatedly into the face of him who still clung to him.

 

That one was Popinot; he knew instinctively that this was so; and a

grim joy filled him as he felt the man’s clutches relax and fall away,

and guessed how brutal was the damage he had done that fat, evil face.

 

At length free, he made off, running, stumbling, reeling: gained the

hall; flung open the door; and heedless of the picket who had fired on

him from below the window, dashed down the steps and away….

 

Three shots sped him through that intricate tangle of night-bound park.

But all went wide; the pursuit—what little there was—blundered off

at haphazard and lost itself, as well.

 

He came to the wall, crept along in shelter of its shadow until he

found a tree with a low-swung branch that jutted out over the street,

climbed this, edged out over the wall, and dropped to the sidewalk.

 

A shout from the quarter of the carriage gates greeted his appearance.

He turned and ran again. Flying footsteps for a time pursued him; and

once, with a sinking heart, he heard the rumble of a motor. But he

recovered quickly, regained his wind, and ran well, with long, steady,

ground-consuming strides; and he doubled, turned and twisted in a

manner to wake the envy of the most subtle fox.

 

In time he felt warranted in slowing down to a rapid walk.

 

Weariness was now a heavy burden upon him, and his spirit numb with

desperate need of rest; but his pace did not flag, nor his purpose

falter from its goal.

 

It was a long walk if a direct one to which he set himself as soon as

confident the pursuit had failed once more. He plodded on, without

faltering, to the one place where he might feel sure of finding his

beloved, if she lived and were free. He knew that she had not

forgotten, and in his heart he knew that she would never again of her

own will fail him….

 

Nor had she: when—weary and spent from that heartbreaking climb up the

merciless acclivity of the Butte Montmartre—he staggered rather than

walked past the sleepy verger and found his way through the crowding

shadows to the softly luminous heart of the basilica of the Sacr�-Cour,

he found her there, kneeling, her head bowed upon hands resting on the

back of the chair before her: a slight and timid figure, lost and lonely

in the long ranks of empty chairs that filled the nave.

 

Slowly, almost fearfully, he went to her, and silently he slipped into

the chair by her side.

 

She knew, without looking up, that it was he….

 

After a little her hand stole out, closed round his fingers, and drew

him forward with a gentle, insistent pressure. He knelt then with her,

hand in hand—filled with the wonder of it, that he to whom religion

had been nothing should have been brought to this by a woman’s hand.

 

He knelt for a long time, for many minutes, profoundly intrigued, his

sombre gaze questioning the golden shadows and ancient mystery of the

distant choir and shining altar: and there was no question in his heart

but that, whatever should ensue of this, the unquiet spirit of the Lone

Wolf was forevermore at rest.

XXV WINGS OF THE MORNING

About half-past six Lanyard left the dressing-room assigned him in the

barracks at Port Aviation and, waddling quaintly in the heavy

wind-resisting garments supplied him at the instance of Ducroy, made

his way between two hangars toward the practice field.

 

Now the eastern skies were pulsing with fitful promise of the dawn; but

within the vast enclosure of the aerodrome the gloom of night lingered

so stubbornly that two huge search-lights had been pressed into the

service of those engaged in tuning up the motor of the Parrott biplane.

 

In the intense, white, concentrated glare—that rippled oddly upon the

wrinkled, oily garments of the dozen or so mechanics busy about the

machine—the under sides of those wide, motionless planes hung against

the dark with an effect of impermanence: as though they were already

afloat and needed but a breath to send them winging skyward….

 

To one side a number of young and keen-faced Frenchmen, officers of the

corps, were lounging and watching the preparations with alert and

intelligent interest.

 

To the other, all the majesty of Mars was incarnate in the person of

Monsieur Ducroy, posing valiantly in fur-lined coat and shining top-hat

while he chatted with an officer whose trim, athletic figure was well

set off by his aviating uniform.

 

As Lanyard drew near, this last brought his heels together smartly,

saluted the Minister of War, and strode off toward the flying-machine.

 

“Captain Vauquelin informs me he will be ready to start in five

minutes, monsieur,” Ducroy announced. “You are in good time.”

 

“And mademoiselle?” the adventurer asked, peering

anxiously round.

 

Almost immediately the girl came forward from the shadows, with a smile

apologetic for the strangeness of her attire.

 

She had donned, over her street dress, an ample leather garment which

enveloped her completely, buttoning tight at throat and wrists and

ankles. Her small hat had been replaced by a leather helmet which left

only her eyes, nose, mouth and chin exposed, and even these were soon

to be hidden by a heavy veil for protection against spattering oil.

 

“Mademoiselle is not nervous?” Ducroy enquired politely.

 

Lucy smiled brightly.

 

“I? Why should I be, monsieur?”

 

“I trust mademoiselle will permit me to commend her courage. But

pardon! I have one last word for the ear of Captain Vauquelin.”

 

Lifting his hat, the Frenchman joined the group near the machine.

 

Lanyard stared unaffectedly at the girl, unable to disguise his wonder

at the high spirits advertised by her rekindled colour and brilliant

eyes.

 

“Well?” she demanded gaily. “Don’t tell me I don’t look like a fright!

I know I do!”

 

“I daren’t tell you how you look to me,” Lanyard replied soberly. “But

I will say this, that for sheer, down right pluck, you—”

 

“Thank you, monsieur! And you?”

 

He glanced with a deprecatory smile at the flimsy-looking contrivance

to which they were presently to entrust their lives.

 

“Somehow,” said he doubtfully, “I don’t feel in the least upset or

exhilarated. It seems little out of the average run of life—all in the

day’s work!”

 

“I think,” she said, judgmatical, “that you’re very like the other lone

wolf, the fictitious one—Lupin, you know—a bit of a blagueur. If

you’re not nervous, why keep glancing over there?—as if you were

rather expecting somebody—as if you wouldn’t be surprised to see

Popinot or De Morbihan pop out of the ground—or Ekstrom!”

 

“Hum!” he said gravely. “I don’t mind telling you now, that’s precisely

what I am afraid of.”

 

“Nonsense!” the girl cried in open contempt. “What could they do?”

 

“Please don’t ask me,” Lanyard begged seriously. “I might try to tell

you.”

 

“But don’t worry, my dear!” Fugitively her hand touched his. “We’re

ready.”

 

It was true enough: Ducroy was moving impressively back toward them.

 

“All is prepared,” he announced in sonorous accents.

 

A bit sobered, in silence they approached the machine.

 

Vauquelin kept himself aloof while Lanyard and a young officer helped

the girl to the seat to the right of the pilot, and strapped her in.

When Lanyard had been similarly secured in the place on the left, the

two sat, imprisoned, some six feet above the ground.

 

Lanyard found his perch comfortable enough. A broad band of webbing

furnished support for his back; another crossed his chest by way of

provision against forward pitching; there were rests for his feet, and

for his hands cloth-wound grips fixed to struts on either side.

 

He smiled at Lucy across the empty seat, and was surprised at the

clearness with which her answering smile was visible. But he wasn’t to

see it again for a long and weary time; almost immediately she began to

adjust her veil.

 

The morning had grown much lighter within the last few minutes.

 

A long wait ensued, during which the swarm of mechanics, assistants and

military aviators buzzed round their feet like bees.

 

The sky was now pale to the western horizon. A fleet of heavy clouds

was drifting off into the south, leaving in their wake thin veils of

mist that promised soon to disappear before the rays of the sun. The

air seemed tolerably clear and not unseasonably cold.

 

The light grew stronger still: features of distant objects defined

themselves; traces of colour warmed the winter landscape.

 

At length their pilot, wearing his wind-mask, appeared and began to

climb to his perch. With a cool nod for Lanyard and a civil bow to his

woman passenger, he settled himself, adjusted several levers, and

flirted a gay hand to his brother-officers.

 

There was a warning cry. The crowd dropped back rapidly