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

touched them profoundly, to such a degree did the maternal instinct reveal itself in her affectionate looks and patient care.

On the fourth day Marco Dario succeeded in drawing her aside and made his proposal:

“I have two sisters who would love you like a sister. I live in an old palace in which, if you would come to it, you would wear the air of a lady of the Renaissance.”

On the fifth day the trembling Errington spoke to her of his mother, “who would be so happy to have a daughter like you.” On the sixth day it was Webster’s turn. On the seventh day they nearly came to blows. On the eighth day, they clamored to her to choose between them.

“Why between you?” said she laughingly. “You are not the only people in my life, besides my four boys. I have relations, cousins, other suitors perhaps.”

“Choose.”

On the ninth day, under severe pressure, she promised to choose.

“Well there,” she said. “I’ll set you all in a row and kiss the one who shall be my husband.”

“When?”

“On the first day of the month of August.”

“Swear it!”

“I swear it.”

After that they stopped searching for the diamonds. As Errington observed⁠—and Montfaucon had said it before him⁠—the diamonds they desired were she, Dorothy. Their ancestor Beaugreval could not have foreseen for them a more magnificent treasure.

On the morning of the 24th Dorothy gave the signal for their departure. They quitted the ruins of Roche-Périac and said goodbye to the riches of the Marquis de Beaugreval.

“All the same,” said Dario. “You ought to have searched, cousin Dorothy. You only are capable of discovering what no one has discovered for two centuries.”

With a careless gesture she replied:

“Our excellent ancestor took care to tell us himself where the fortune was to be found⁠—In robore.⁠ ⁠… Let us accept his decision.”

They traveled again the stages which she had traveled already, crossed the Vilaine, and took, the road to Nantes. In the villages⁠—one must live; and the young girl accepted help from no one⁠—Dorothy’s Circus gave performances. Fresh cause for amazement on the part of the three foreigners. Dorothy conducting the parade, Dorothy on One-eyed Magpie, Dorothy addressing the public, what sparkling and picturesque scenes!

They slept two nights at Nantes, where Dorothy desired to see Maître Delarue. Quite recovered from his emotions, the notary welcomed her warmly, introduced her to his family, and kept her to lunch.

Finally on the last day of the month, starting early in the morning, they reached Hillocks Manor in the middle of the afternoon. Dorothy left the caravan in front of the gateway with the boys, and entered, accompanied by the three young men.

The courtyard was empty. The farm-servants must be at work in the fields. But through the open windows of the Manor they heard the noise of a violent discussion.

A man’s voice, harsh and common⁠—Dorothy recognized it as the voice of Voirin, the moneylender⁠—was scolding furiously; reinforced by thumps on the table:

“You’ve got to pay, Monsieur Raoul. Here’s the bill of sale, signed by your grandfather. At five o’clock on the 31st of July, 1921, three hundred thousand francs in banknotes or Government securities. If not, the Manor is mine. It’s four-fifty. Where’s the money?”

Dorothy heard next the voice of Raoul, then the voice of Count Octave de Chagny offering to arrange to pay the sum.

“No arrangements,” said the moneylender. “Banknotes. It’s four fifty-six.”

Archibald Webster caught Dorothy by the sleeve and murmured:

“Raoul? It’s one of our cousins?”

“Yes.”

“And the other man?”

“A moneylender.”

“Offer him a check.”

“He won’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“He wants the Manor.”

“What of it? We’re not going to let a thing like that happen.”

Dorothy said to him:

“You’re a good fellow, Archibald, and I thank you. But do you think that it’s by chance that we’re here on the 31st of July at four minutes to five?”

She went towards the steps, mounted them, crossed the hall, and entered the room.

Two cries greeted her appearance on the scene. Raoul started up, very pale, the Countess de Chagny ran to her.

She stopped them with a gesture.

In front of the table, Voirin, supported by two friends whom he had brought as witnesses, his papers and deeds spread out before him, held his watch in his hand.

“Five o’clock!” he cried in a tone of victory.

She corrected him:

“Five o’clock by your watch, perhaps. But look at the clock. We have still three minutes.”

“And what of it?” said the moneylender.

“Well, three minutes are more than we need to pay this little bill and clear you out of the house.”

She opened the traveling cape she was wearing and from one of its inner pockets drew a huge yellow envelope which she tore open. Out of it came a bundle of thousand-franc notes and a packet of securities.

“Count, monsieur. No, not here. It would take rather a time; and we’re eager to be by ourselves.”

Gently, but with a continuous pressure, she pushed him towards the door, and his two witnesses with him.

“Excuse me, monsieur, but it’s a family party⁠ ⁠… cousins who haven’t seen one another for two hundred years.⁠ ⁠… And we’re eager to be by ourselves.⁠ ⁠… You’re not angry with me, are you? And, by the way, you will send the receipt to Monsieur Davernoie. Au revoir, gentlemen.⁠ ⁠… There: there’s five o’clock striking.⁠ ⁠… Au revoir.”

XVIII In Robore Fortuna

When Dorothy had shut the door on the three men, she turned to find Raoul flushed and frowning; and he said:

“No, no. I can’t allow it.⁠ ⁠… You should have consulted me first.”

“Don’t get angry,” she said gently. “I wished first of all to rid you of this fellow Voirin. That gives us time to think things out.”

“I’ve thought them out!” he snapped. “I consider that settlement null and void!”

“I beg you, Raoul⁠—a little patience. Postpone your decision till tomorrow. By tomorrow, perhaps, I shall have persuaded you.”

She kissed the Countess de Chagny, then beckoning to the three strangers, she introduced them.

“I bring you guests, madame. Our cousin George Errington, of London. Our cousin Marco Dario, of Genoa.