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

the illusion with which, by a stroke of really incredible daring, she had filled his mind. Nevertheless she essayed the impossible to bring about the ruffian’s capture, a capture which she could not effect alone, and which would only become definite if she kept him awed till the freeing of Webster, Errington, and Marco Dario.

As authoritative as if she were disposing of an army corps, she gave her orders to her rescuers:

“One of you stay there with the rifle leveled, ready to fire at the slightest movement, and let the remainder of the troop go to set the prisoners free! Hurry up, now. Go round the tower. They’re to the left of the entrance⁠—a little further on.”

The remainder of the troop was Castor and Pollux, unless Saint-Quentin went with them, thinking it best simply to leave his rifle, model 1870, resting in the loophole and aimed directly at the ruffian.

“They are going.⁠ ⁠… They are entering.⁠ ⁠… They are searching,” she said to herself, trying to follow the movements of the children.

But she saw d’Estreicher’s tense face little by little relax. He had looked at the barrel of the rifle. He had heard the quiet steps of the children, so different from the row which a band of peasants would have made. Soon she no longer doubted that the ruffian would escape before the others came.

The last of his hesitation vanished; he let his arms fall, grinding his teeth.

“Sold!” he said. “It’s those brats and the rifle is nothing but old iron! My God, you have a nerve!”

“Am I to shoot?”

“Come off it! A girl like you kills to defend herself, not for killing’s sake. To hand me over to justice? Will that give you back the diamonds? I would rather have my tongue torn out and be roasted over a slow fire than divulge the secret. They’re mine. I’ll take them when I please.”

“One step forward and I shoot.”

“Right, you’ve won the party. I’m off.”

He listened.

“The brats are gabbling over yonder. By the time they’ve untied them, I shall be a long way off. Au revoir.⁠ ⁠… We shall meet again.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes. I shall have the last word. The diamonds first. The love affair afterwards. I did wrong to mix the two.”

She shook her head.

“You will not have the diamonds. Would I let you go, if I weren’t sure? But, and I’ve told you so: you are lost.”

“Lost? And why?” he sneered.

“I feel it.”

He was about to reply. But the sound of voices nearer came to their ears. He leapt out of the guardroom and ran for it, bending low, through the bushes.

Dorothy, who had darted after him, aimed at him, with a sudden determination to bring him down. But, after a moment’s hesitation, she lowered her weapon, murmuring:

“No, no. I cannot.⁠ ⁠… I cannot. And then what good would it be? Anyhow my father will be avenged.⁠ ⁠…”

She went towards her friends. The boys had had great difficulty in freeing them, so tangled was the network of cords that bound them. Webster was the first to get to his feet and run to meet her.

“Where is he?”

“Gone,” she said.

“What! You had a revolver and you let him get away?”

Errington came up, then Dario, both furious.

“He has got away? Is it possible? But which way did he go?”

Webster snatched Dorothy’s weapon.

“You hadn’t the heart to kill him? Was that it?”

“I had not,” said Dorothy.

“A blackguard like that! A murderer! Ah well, that’s not our way, I swear. Here we are, friends.”

Dorothy barred their way.

“And his confederates? There are five or six of them besides d’Estreicher⁠—all armed with rifles.”

“All the better,” said the American. “There are seven shots in the revolver.”

“I beg you,” she said, fearing the result of an unequal battle. “I beg you.⁠ ⁠… Besides, it’s too late.⁠ ⁠… They must have got on board their boat.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The three young men set out in pursuit. She would have liked to go with them, but Montfaucon clung to her skirt, sobbing, his legs still hampered by his bonds.

“Mummy⁠ ⁠… mummy⁠ ⁠… don’t go away.⁠ ⁠… I was so frightened!”

She no longer thought of anything but him, took him on her knees, and consoled him.

“You mustn’t cry, Captain dear. It’s all over. That nasty man won’t come back any more. Have you thanked Saint-Quentin? And your comrades Castor and Pollux? Where would we have been without them, my darling?”

She kissed the three boys tenderly.

“Yes! Where would we have been? Ah, Saint-Quentin, the idea of the rifle.⁠ ⁠… What a find! You are a splendid fellow, old chap! Come and be kissed again! And tell me how you managed to get to us? I didn’t miss the little heaps of pebbles that you sowed along the path from the inn. But why did you go round the marsh? Did you hope to get to the ruins of the château by going along the beach at the foot of the cliffs?”

“Yes, mummy,” replied Saint-Quentin, very proud at being so complimented by her, and deeply moved by her kisses.

“And wasn’t it impossible?”

“Yes. But I found a better way⁠ ⁠… on the sand, a little boat, which we pushed into the sea.”

“And you had the courage, the three of you, and the strength to row? It must have taken you an hour?”

“An hour and a half, mummy. There were heaps of sandbanks which blocked our way. At last we landed not far from here in sight of the tower. And when we got here I recognized the voice of d’Estreicher.”

“Ah, my poor, dear darlings!”

Again there was a deluge of kisses, which she rained right and left on the cheeks of Saint-Quentin, Castor’s forehead, and the Captain’s head. And she laughed! And she sang! It was so good to be alive. So good to be no longer face to face with a brute who gripped your wrists and sullied you with his abominable leer! But she suddenly broke off in the middle of these transports.

“And Maître Delarue? I was forgetting him!”

He was lying at the back of his cell behind a rampart of tall