The Golden Triangle by Maurice Leblanc (top rated books of all time TXT) 📕

“It’s an absolute miracle,” he said, at last. “How on earth did you do it?”

Without a word, Don Luis took from his pocket the book which Patrice had seen lying on his knees, The Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin, and motioned to him to read some lines which he indicated with his finger. They were written towards the end of the reign of Louis XVI and ran:

“We go daily to the village of Passy adjoining my home, where you take the waters in a beautiful garden. Streams and waterfalls pour down on all sides, this way and that, in artfully leveled beds. I am known to like skilful mechanism, so I have been shown the basin where the waters of all the rivulets meet and mingle. There stands a little marble figure in the midst; and the weight of water is strong enough to turn it a quarter circle to the left and then pour down straight to the Seine by a conduit, which opens in the ground of the basin.”

Patrice closed the book; and Don Luis went on to explain:

“Things have changed since, no doubt, thanks to the energies of Essarès Bey. The water escapes some other way now; and the aqueduct was used to drain off the gold. Besides, the bed of the river has narrowed. Quays have been built, with a system of canals underneath them. You see, captain, all this was easy enough to discover, once I had the book to tell me. Doctus cum libro.”

“Yes, but, even so, you had to read the book.”

“A pure accident. I unearthed it in Siméon’s room and put it in my pocket, because I was curious to know why he was reading it.”

“Why, that’s just how he must have discovered Essarès Bey’s secret!” cried Patrice. “He didn’t know the secret. He found the book among his employer’s papers and got up his facts that way. What do you think? Don’t you agree? You seem not to share my opinion. Have you some other view?”

Don Luis did not reply. He stood looking at the river. Beside the wharves, at a slight distance from the yard, a barge lay moored, with apparently no one on her. But a slender thread of smoke now began to rise from a pipe that stood out above the deck.

“Let’s go and have a look at her,” he said.

The barge was lettered:

La Nonchalante. Beaune

They had to cross the space between the barge and the wharf and to step over a number of ropes and empty barrels covering the flat portions of the deck. A companionway brought them to a sort of cabin, which did duty as a stateroom and a kitchen in one. Here they found a powerful-looking man, with broad shoulders, curly black hair and a clean-shaven face. His only clothes were a blouse and a pair of dirty, patched canvas trousers.

Don Luis offered him a twenty-franc note. The man took it eagerly.

“Just tell me something, mate. Have you seen a barge lately, lying at Berthou’s Wharf?”

“Yes, a motor-barge. She left two days ago.”

“What was her name?”

“The Belle Hélène. The people on board, two men and a woman, were foreigners talking I don’t know what lingo.⁠ ⁠… We didn’t speak to one another.”

“But Berthou’s Wharf has stopped work, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, the owner’s joined the army⁠ ⁠… and the foremen as well. We’ve all got to, haven’t we? I’m expecting to be called up myself⁠ ⁠… though I’ve got a weak heart.”

“But, if the yard’s stopped work, what was the boat doing here?”

“I don’t know. They worked the whole of one night, however. They had laid rails along the quay. I heard the trollies; and they were loading up. What with I don’t know. And then, early in the morning, they unmoored.”

“Where did they go?”

“Down stream, Mantes way.”

“Thanks, mate. That’s what I wanted to know.”

Ten minutes later, when they reached the house, Patrice and Don Luis found the driver of the cab which Siméon Diodokis had taken after meeting Don Luis. As Don Luis expected, Siméon had told the man to go to a railway-station, the Gare Saint-Lazare, and there bought his ticket.

“Where to?”

“To Mantes!”

“There’s no mistake about it,” said Patrice. “The information conveyed to M. Masseron that the gold had been sent away; the speed with which the work was carried out, at night, mechanically, by the people belonging to the boat; their alien nationality; the direction which they took: it all agrees. The probability is that, between the cellar into which the gold was shot and the place where it finished its journey, there was some spot where it used to remain concealed⁠ ⁠… unless the eighteen hundred bags can have awaited their despatch, slung one behind the other, along the wire. But that doesn’t matter much. The great thing is to know that the Belle Hélène, hiding somewhere in the outskirts, lay waiting for the favorable opportunity. In the old days Essarès Bey, by way of precaution, used to send her a signal with the aid of that shower of sparks which I saw. This time old Siméon, who is continuing Essarès’ work, no doubt on his own account, gave the crew notice; and the bags of gold are on their way to Rouen and Le Hâvre, where some steamer will take them over and carry them⁠ ⁠… eastwards. After all, forty or fifty tons, hidden in the hold under a layer of coal, is nothing. What do you say? That’s it, isn’t it? I feel positive about it.⁠ ⁠… Then we have Mantes, to which he took his ticket and for which the Belle Hélène is bound. Could anything be clearer? Mantes, where he’ll pick up his cargo of gold and go on board in some seafaring disguise, unknown and unseen.⁠ ⁠… Loot and looter disappearing together. It’s as clear as daylight. Don’t you agree?”

Once again Don Luis did not answer. However, he must