Memoirs of Arsène Lupin by Maurice Leblanc (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

hand in order that the hot wax should fall on it and wake him up. He took a look at the two prisoners, another at the rope that ran through the back of the chair which was to act as an alarm, and went to sleep.

Ralph worked away slowly and gently at the task of freeing himself, not without success. It must be about nine o’clock.

“If I can get away at eleven o’clock,” he said to himself, “I shall reach Lillebonne by midnight, get some supper there, and at three o’clock in the morning arrive at the sacred spot. With the first light of dawn I shall put the strongbox of the monks into my pocket⁠—yes: into my pocket. I’ve no need of the Corbus, or anyone else.”

But at half-past ten he was practically at the same point.

Loose though the ropes were, he could not free his foot from them, and he was beginning to give up hope when of a sudden he thought he heard a slight noise which differed from all the whisperings that break the deep silence of the night, leaves that rustle, birds that flutter among the branches, murmurs of the breeze.

The noise came again; and he was certain that it came from the window he had opened, which Leonard had carelessly pushed to.

Then one side of the window seemed to be moving slowly forward.

Ralph looked at Beaumagnan. He too had heard the noise and was looking at the window.

Then the hot wax of the candle fell on Leonard’s hand; and he awoke. He looked at the bonds of the prisoners and the rope of the alarm and dropped off to sleep again. The noise, which had for the while ceased, came again⁠—it was plain that the movements of their jailor were being carefully watched.

What was going on? It was evident that since the gate was locked someone must have climbed over the wall; and it must be someone familiar with the light house who knew where to find a spot from which the broken glass had been cleared. Who? A peasant? A poacher? Was it a rescuer⁠—some friend of Beaumagnan’s? Or was it just a prowler in the night?

A head appeared, indistinct in the darkness; and then the figure of a woman slipped easily over the sill which was at no great height from the ground.

Before he saw her face, Ralph knew that it was none other than Clarice!

With what pride and delight and thankfulness did he regard her! Josephine had been wrong, quite wrong in supposing her rival too feeble to act. In her anxiety, unable to tear herself away in her fear for his safety, mastering her exhaustion and her fear for herself, she must have lurked in the wood in which the lighthouse stood, and waited for the night.

And now she was attempting the impossible to save the man who had so cruelly betrayed her.

Once more Leonard awoke. But fortunately she was directly behind him. Once more he fell asleep and she moved noiselessly forward till she stood beside him, reached forward, and picked up Josephine’s dagger which lay on the chair which was to act as alarm and add by its jingle to the noise of its fall. Was she going to strike?

Ralph was terrified. Now that the light of the candle clearly illuminated her face, it seemed to him to be set in a cold ferocity. But their eyes met, and she obeyed the unspoken bidding of his will. She did not strike. Ralph bent forward a little so that the rope which ran through the back of the chair hung slack. Beaumagnan, seeing what he would be at, bent forward too.

Then slowly, with a steady hand, she cut the rope.

As luck had it, their enemy did not wake. Had he done so, she would assuredly have killed him. Her eyes, still holding that threat of death, never left him. She bent down, her hand fumbled about for Ralph’s bonds. She freed his wrists.

He whispered: “Give me the knife.”

She handed it to him. But a hand was quicker than his. Beaumagnan who for hours had also been patiently at work, loosening his bonds, snatched the knife from her.

Furious, Ralph gripped his arm. If Beaumagnan loosed himself and got away before he did, farewell all hope of seizing the treasure. There was a desperate struggle, in which either of them put forth all his strength, telling himself that the least noise would wake Leonard.

Clarice, trembling with fear, sank to her knees, quite as much in order not to fall to the ground as to beseech them.

But Beaumagnan’s wound, slight though it was, rendered him incapable of prolonged resistance. He let go the knife.

At that very moment Leonard moved his head, opened his eyes, and gazed at the picture before him, the two men half risen, clinging to one another in a fighting attitude, Clarice on her knees.

His gaze rested on it several seconds, several terrible seconds, for there was no doubt that, seeing what they were at, he would shoot them down, and rid himself of them. But his open eyes did not see them; they were blinded by the clouds of sleep. His eyelids closed down again over them before the consciousness of what they rested on came to him.

Thereupon Ralph cut through the rest of his bonds. He was free. As Clarice rose, trembling, to her feet, he whispered: “Be quick! Escape!”

She shook her head and pointed to Beaumagnan.

It was plain that she was not going to leave him behind her, a prisoner exposed to the vengeance of Leonard.

Ralph protested; but he could not move her.

Tiring of the conflict, he handed the knife to Beaumagnan.

“She’s right,” he said in a whisper. “One must play fair. Here you are. Free yourself. And afterwards let each look out for himself. What?”

He followed Clarice to the window. One after the other, they slipped over the sill. Once in the enclosure, she took his hand and led him to a gap in the