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

Patrice, who would have attracted the enemy’s attention more easily, because of his lame leg, went to the Grand Hôtel.

He woke late the next morning. Don Luis rang him up and told him that Siméon, after calling at the post-office, had gone down to the river and then to the station, where he met a fashionably-dressed woman, with her face hidden by a thick veil, and brought her back to the hotel. The two were lunching together in the room on the third floor.

At four o’clock Don Luis rang up again, to ask Patrice to join him at once in a little café at the end of the town, facing the Seine. Here Patrice saw Siméon on the quay. He was walking with his hands behind his back, like a man strolling without any definite object.

“Comforter, spectacles, the same getup as usual,” said Patrice. “Not a thing about him changed. Watch him. He’s putting on an air of indifference, but you can bet that his eyes are looking up stream, in the direction from which the Belle Hélène is coming.”

“Yes, yes,” said Don Luis. “Here’s the lady.”

“Oh, that’s the one, is it?” said Patrice. “I’ve met her two or three times already in the street.”

A dust-cloak outlined her figure and shoulders, which were wide and rather well-developed. A veil fell around the brim of her felt hat. She gave Siméon a telegram to read. Then they talked for a moment, seemed to be taking their bearings, passed by the café and stopped a little lower down. Here Siméon wrote a few words on a sheet of notepaper and handed it to his companion. She left him and went back into the town. Siméon resumed his walk by the riverside.

“You must stay here, captain,” said Don Luis.

“But the enemy doesn’t seem to be on his guard,” protested Patrice. “He’s not turning round.”

“It’s better to be prudent, captain. What a pity that we can’t have a look at what Siméon wrote down!”

“I might⁠ ⁠…”

“Go after the lady? No, no, captain. Without wishing to offend you, you’re not quite cut out for it. I’m not sure that even I⁠ ⁠…”

And he walked away.

Patrice waited. A few boats moved up or down the river. Mechanically, he glanced at their names. And suddenly, half an hour after Don Luis had left him, he heard the clearly-marked rhythm, the pulsation of one of those powerful motors which, for a few years past, have been fitted to certain barges.

At the bend of the river a barge appeared. As she passed in front of him, he distinctly and with no little excitement read the name of the Belle Hélène!

She was gliding along at a fair pace, to the accompaniment of a regular, throbbing beat. She was big and broad in the beam, heavy and pretty deep in the water, though she appeared to carry no cargo. Patrice saw two watermen on board, sitting and smoking carelessly. A dinghy floated behind at the end of a painter.

The barge went on and passed out of sight at the turn. Patrice waited another hour before Don Luis came back.

“Well?” he asked. “Have you seen her?”

“Yes, they let go the dinghy, a mile and a half from here, and put in for Siméon.”

“Then he’s gone with them?”

“Yes.”

“Without suspecting anything?”

“You’re asking me too much, captain!”

“Never mind! We’ve won! We shall catch them up in the car, pass them and, at Vernon or somewhere, inform the military and civil authorities, so that they may proceed to arrest the men and seize the boat.”

“We shall inform nobody, captain. We shall proceed to carry out these little operations ourselves.”

“What do you mean? Surely⁠ ⁠…”

The two looked at each other. Patrice had been unable to dissemble the thought that occurred to his mind. Don Luis showed no resentment:

“You’re afraid that I shall run away with the three hundred millions? By jingo, it’s a largish parcel to hide in one’s jacket-pocket!”

“Still,” said Patrice, “may I ask what you intend to do?”

“You may, captain, but allow me to postpone my reply until we’ve really won. For the moment, we must first find the barge again.”

They went to the Hôtel des Trois-Empereurs and drove off in the car towards Vernon. This time they were both silent.

The road joined the river a few miles lower down, at the bottom of the steep hill which begins at Rosny. Just as they reached Rosny the Belle Hélène was entering the long loop which curves out to La Roche-Guyon, turns back and joins the highroad again at Bonnières. She would need at least three hours to cover the distance, whereas the car, climbing the hill and keeping straight ahead, arrived at Bonnières in fifteen minutes.

They drove through the village. There was an inn a little way beyond it, on the right. Don Luis made his chauffeur stop here:

“If we are not back by twelve tonight,” he said, “go home to Paris. Will you come with me, captain?”

Patrice followed him towards the right, whence a small road led them to the riverbank. They followed this for a quarter of an hour. At last Don Luis found what he appeared to be seeking, a boat fastened to a stake, not far from a villa with closed shutters. Don Luis unhooked the chain.

It was about seven o’clock in the evening. Night was falling fast, but a brilliant moonlight lit the landscape.

“First of all,” said Don Luis, “a word of explanation. We’re going to wait for the barge. She’ll come in sight on the stroke of ten and find us lying across stream. I shall order her to heave to; and there’s no doubt that, when they see your uniform by the light of the moon or of my electric lamp, they will obey. Then we shall go on board.”

“Suppose they refuse?”

“If they refuse, we shall board her by force. There are three of them and two of us. So⁠ ⁠…”

“And then?”

“And then? Well, there’s every reason to believe that the two men forming the crew are only extra