The Secret Tomb by Maurice Leblanc (i like reading .txt) 📕
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When Dorothy, ropedancer and palmist, arrives at the Château de Roborey with her circus, she’s already observed strange excavations at the grounds. Fate reveals a familial connection and drags her and her motley crew of war orphans into a quest for long-lost ancestral treasure, but her new-found nemesis is always close on her trail.
Maurice Leblanc, most famous for his Arsène Lupin stories, here switches to a new protagonist, but fans of his other work will find her strangely recognisable. Indeed, the mystery presented here is later referenced in The Countess of Cagliostro as a puzzle that Lupin did not have time to solve. This book was originally serialised in Le Journal between January and March 1923, and was published in novel form both in French and in this English translation later in the year. It was also later adapted as a French-language made-for-TV movie in 1983.
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- Author: Maurice Leblanc
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The Captain dragged through the crowd an enormous bag in which were engulfed pennies and dirty notes; and from the top of the caravan Dorothy delivered her farewell address:
“Very many thanks, agriculturists and townspeople! It is with regret that we leave this generous locality. But before we depart we take this opportunity of informing you that Mademoiselle Dorothy (she saluted) is not only the directress of a circus and a first-class performer. Mademoiselle Dorothy (she saluted) will also demonstrate her extraordinary excellence in the sphere of clairvoyance and psychic powers. The lines of the hand, the cards, coffee grounds, handwriting, and astrology have no secrets for her. She dissipates the darkness. She solves enigmas. With her magic ring she makes invisible springs burst forth, and above all, she discovers in the most unfathomable places, under the stones of old castles, and in the depths of forgotten dungeons, fantastic treasures whose existence no one suspected. A word to the wise is enough. I have the honor to thank you.”
She descended quickly. The three boys were packing up the properties.
Saint-Quentin came to her.
“We hook it, don’t we, straight away? Those policemen have kept an eye on me the whole time.”
She replied:
“Then you didn’t hear the end of my speech?”
“What about it?”
“What about it? Why, the consultations are going to begin—the superlucid clairvoyant Dorothy. Look, I here come some clients … the bearded nobleman and the gentleman in velveteen … I like the gentleman in velveteen. He is very polite; and there’s no side about his fawn-colored gaiters—the complete gentleman-farmer.”
The bearded nobleman was beside himself. He loaded the young girl with extravagant compliments, looking at her the while in an uncommonly equivocal fashion. He introduced himself as “Maxime d’Estreicher,” introduced his companion as “Raoul Davernoie,” and finally, on behalf of the Countess Octave, invited her to come to tea in the château.
“Alone?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” protested Raoul Davernoie with a courteous bow. “Our cousin is anxious to congratulate all your comrades. Will you come, mademoiselle?”
Dorothy accepted. Just a moment to change her frock, and she would come to the château.
“No, no; no toilet!” cried d’Estreicher. “Come as you are. … You look perfectly charming in that slightly scanty costume. How pretty you are like that!”
Dorothy flushed and said dryly:
“No compliments, please.”
“It isn’t a compliment, mademoiselle,” he said a trifle ironically. “It’s the natural homage one pays to beauty.”
He went off, taking Raoul Davernoie with him.
“Saint-Quentin,” murmured Dorothy, looking after them. “Keep an eye on that gentleman.”
“Why?”
“He’s the man in the blouse who nearly brought you down this morning.”
Saint-Quentin staggered as if he had received the charge of shot.
“Are you sure?”
“Very nearly. He has the same way of walking, dragging his right leg a little.”
He muttered:
“He has recognized me!”
“I think so. When he saw you jumping about during the performance it recalled to his mind the black devil performing acrobatic feats against the face of the cliff. And it was only a step from you to me who shoved the slab over on to his head. I read it all in his eyes and his attitude towards me this afternoon—just in his manner of speaking to me. There was a touch of mockery in it.”
Saint-Quentin lost his temper:
“And we aren’t hurrying off at once! You dare stay?”
“I dare.”
“But that man?”
“He doesn’t know that I penetrated his disguise. … And as long as he doesn’t know—”
“You mean that your intention is?”
“Perfectly simple—to tell them their fortunes, amuse them, and puzzle them.”
“But what’s your object?”
“I want to make them talk in their turn.”
“What about?”
“What I want to know.”
“What do you want to know?”
“That’s what I don’t know. It’s for them to teach me.”
“And suppose they discover the robbery? Suppose they cross-examine us?”
“Saint-Quentin, take the Captain’s wooden gun, mount guard in front of the caravan, and when the policemen approach, shoot them down.”
When she had made herself tidy, she took Saint-Quentin with her to the château and on the way made him repeat all the details of his nocturnal expedition. Behind them came Castor and Pollux, then the Captain, who dragged after him by a string a little toy cart loaded with tiny packages.
They entertained them in the large drawing-room of the château. The Countess, who indeed was, as Dorothy had said, an agreeable and amiable woman, and of a seductive prettiness, stuffed the children with dainties, and was wholly charming to the young girl. For her part, Dorothy seemed quite as much at her ease with her hosts as she had been on the top of the caravan. She had merely hidden her short skirt and bodice under a large black shawl, drawn in at the waist by a belt. The ease of her manner, her cultivated intonation, her correct speech, to which now and then a slang word gave a certain spiciness, her quickness, and the intelligent expression of her brilliant eyes amazed the Countess and charmed the three men.
“Mademoiselle,” d’Estreicher exclaimed, “if you can foretell the future, I can assure you that I too can clearly foresee it, and that certain fortune awaits you. Ah, if you would put yourself in my hands and let me direct your career in Paris! I am in touch with all the worlds and I can guarantee your success.”
She tossed her head:
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “confess that you do not find me congenial.”
“Neither congenial nor uncongenial. I don’t really know you.”
“If you really knew me, you’d have confidence in me.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Why?”
She took his hand, turned it over, bent over the open palm, and as she examined it said slowly:
“Dissipation. … Greedy for money. … Conscienceless. …”
“But I protest, mademoiselle! Conscienceless? I? I who am full of scruples.”
“Your hand says the opposite, monsieur.”
“Does it also say that I have no luck?”
“None at all.”
“What? Shan’t I ever be rich?”
“I fear not.”
“Confound it. … And what about my death? Is it a long way off?”
“Not very.”
“A painful death?”
“A matter of
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