"WE WILL HELP YOU"
The Count was silent.
Dorothy murmured fearfully, full of the dread with which the utterance
of certain words inspired one:
"Is it possible? Can they have murdered.... Can they have murdered my
father?"
"Everything leads one to believe it."
"And how?"
"Poison."
The blow had fallen. The young girl burst into tears. The Count bent
over her and said:
"Read it. For my part, I am of the opinion that your father scribbled
these last pages between two attacks of fever. When he was dead, the
hospital authorities finding a letter and an envelope all ready for the
post, sent it all on to me without examining it. Look at the end....
It is the writing of a very sick man.... The pencil moves at random
directed by an effort of will which was every moment growing weaker."
Dorothy dried her tears. She wished to know and judge for herself, and
she read in a low voice:
"What a dream!... But was it really a dream?... What I saw last
night, did I see it in a nightmare? Or did I actually see it?...
The rest of the wounded men ... my neighbors ... not one of them
was awakened. Yet the man ... the men made a noise.... There were
two of them. They were talking in a low voice ... in the garden ...
under a window ... which was certainly open on account of the
heat.... And then the window was pushed.... To do that one of the
two must have climbed on to the shoulders of the other. What did he
want? He tried to pass his arm through.... But the window caught
against the table by the side of the bed.... And then he must have
slipped off his jacket.... In spite of that his sleeve must have
caught in the window and only his arm ... his bare arm, came
through ... preceded by a hand which groped in my direction ... in
the direction of the drawer.... Then I understood.... The medal was
in the drawer.... Ah, how I wanted to cry out! But my throat was
cramped.... Then another thing terrified me. The hand held a small
bottle.... There was on the table a glass of water, for me to drink
with a dose of my medicine.... The hand poured several drops from
the bottle into the glass. Horror!... Poison beyond a doubt!... But
I will not drink my medicine--no, no!... And I write this, this
morning, to make sure of being able to recall it.... I write that
the hand afterwards opened the drawer.... And while it was seizing
the medal ... I saw ... I saw on the naked arm ... above the
elbow ... words written----"
Dorothy had to bend lower so shaky and illegible did the writing
become; and it was with great difficulty that she was able, syllable by
syllable, to decipher it:
"Three words written ... tattooed ... as sailors do ... three
words ... Good God! ... these three words! The words on the
medal!... _In robore fortuna!_"
That was all. The unfinished sheet showed nothing more but
undecipherable characters, which Dorothy did not even try to make out.
For a long while she sat with bowed head, the tears falling from her
half-closed eyes. They perceived that the circumstances in which, in
all likelihood, her father had died, had brought back all her grief.
The Count, however, continued:
"The fever must have returned ... the delirium ... and not knowing what
he was doing, he must have drunk the poison. Or, at any rate, it is a
plausible hypothesis ... for what else could it have been that this
hand poured into the glass? But I confess that we have not arrived
at any certainty in the matter. D'Estreicher and Raoul's father, at
once apprized by me of what had happened, accompanied me to Chartres.
Unfortunately, the staff, the surgeon-major and the two nurses had been
changed, so that I was brought up short against the official document
which ascribed the death to infectious complications. Moreover, ought
we to have made further researches? My two cousins were not of that
opinion, neither was I? A crime?... How to prove it? By means of these
lines in which a sick man describe a nightmare which has ridden him?
Impossible. Isn't that your opinion, mademoiselle?"
Dorothy did not answer; and it put the Count rather out of countenance.
He seemed to defend himself--not without a touch of temper:
"But we could not, Mademoiselle! Owing to the war, we ran against
endless difficulties. It was impossible! We had to cling to the one
fact which we had actually learned and not venture beyond this actual
fact which I will state in these terms: In addition to us four, to
us three rather, since Jean d'Argonne, alas! was no more, there was
a fourth person attacking the problem which we had set ourselves to
solve; and that person, moreover, had a considerable advantage over us.
A rival, an enemy had arisen, capable of the most infamous actions to
attain his end. What enemy?
"Events did not allow us to busy ourselves with this affair, and what
is more, prevented us from finding you as we should have wished. Two
letters that I wrote to you at Bar-le-Duc remained unanswered. Months
passed. Georges Davernoie was killed at Verdun, d'Estreicher wounded in
Artois, and I myself despatched on a mission to Salonica from which I
did not return till after the Armistice. In the following year the work
here was begun. The house-warming took place yesterday, and only to-day
does chance bring you here.
"You can understand, Mademoiselle, how amazed we were when we learned,
step by step, first that excavations were being made without our
knowing anything about it, that the places in which they had been
made were explained by the word Fortuna, which bore out exactly the
inscription which your father had read twice, on the gold medal and on
the arm which stole the gold medal from him. Our confidence in your
extraordinary clearsightedness became such that Madame de Chagny and
Raoul Davernoie wished you to be informed of the complete history of
the affair; and I must admit that the Countess de Chagny displayed
remarkable intuition and judgment since the confidence we felt in you
was really placed in that Yolande d'Argonne whom her father recommended
to us. It is then but natural, mademoiselle, that we should invite
you to collaborate with us in our attempt. You take the place of Jean
d'Argonne, as Raoul Davernoie has taken the place of Georges Davernoie.
Our partnership is unbroken."
A shadow rested on the satisfaction that the Count de Chagny was
feeling in his eloquence and magnanimous proposal. Dorothy maintained
an obstinate silence. Her eyes gazed vacantly before her. She did not
stir. Was she thinking that the Count had not taken much trouble to
discover the daughter of his kinsman Jean d'Argonne and to rescue her
from the life she was leading? Was she still feeling some resentment
on account of the humiliation she had suffered in being accused of
stealing the earrings?
The Countess de Chagny questioned her gently:
"What's the matter, Dorothy? This letter has filled you with gloom.
It's the death of your father, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Dorothy after a pause in a dull voice. "It's a terrible
business."
"You also believe that they murdered him?"
"Certainly. If not, the medal would have been found. Besides, the last
sheets of the letter are explicit."
"And it's your feeling that we ought to have striven to bring the
murderer to book?"
"I don't know ... I don't know," said the young girl slowly.
"But if you think so, we can take the matter up again. You may be sure
that we will lend you our assistance."
"No," she said. "I will act alone. It will be best. I will discover the
guilty man; and he shall be punished. I promise my father he shall. I
swear it."
She uttered these words with measured gravity, raising her hand a
little.
"We will help you, Dorothy," declared the Countess. "For I hope that
you won't leave us.... Here you are at home."
Dorothy shook her head. "You are too kind, madame."
"It isn't kindness: it's affection. You won my heart at first sight,
and I beg you to be my friend."
"I am, madame--wholly your friend. But----"
"What? You refuse?" exclaimed the Count de Chagny in a tone of
vexation. "We offer the daughter of Jean d'Argonne, our cousin, a life
befitting her name and birth and you prefer to go back to that wretched
existence!"
"It is not wretched, I assure you, monsieur. My four children and I are
used to it. Their health demands it."
The Countess insisted: "But we can't allow it--really! You're going to
stay with us at least some days; and from this evening you will dine
and sleep at the château."
"I beg you to excuse me, madame. I'm rather tired.... I want to be
alone."
In truth she appeared of a sudden to be worn out with fatigue. One
would never have supposed that a smile could animate that drawn,
dejected face.
The Countess de Chagny insisted no longer.
"Ah well, postpone your decision till to-morrow. Send your four
children to dinner this evening. It will give us great pleasure to
question them.... Between now and to-morrow you can think it over, and
if you persist, I'll let you go your way. You'll agree to that, won't
you?"
Dorothy rose and went towards the door. The Count and Countess went
with her. But on the threshold she paused for a moment. In spite of her
grief, the mysterious adventure which had during the last hour or two
been revealed to her continued to exercise her mind, without, so to
speak, her being aware of it; and throwing the first ray of light into
the darkness, she asserted:
"I really believe that all the legends that have been handed down in
our families are based on a reality. There must be somewhere about here
buried, or hidden, treasure; and that treasure one of these days will
become the property of him, or of those who shall be the possessors of
the talisman--that is to say, of the gold medal which was stolen from
my father. That's why I should like to know whether any of you, besides
my father, has ever heard of a gold medal being mentioned in these
legends."
It was Raoul Davernoie who answered:
"That's a point on which I can give you some information, mademoiselle.
A fortnight ago I saw in the hands of my grandfather, with whom I live
at Hillocks Manor in Vendée, a large gold coin. He was studying it;
and he put it back in its case at once with the evident intention of
hiding it from me."
"And he didn't tell you anything about it?"
"Not a word. However, on the eve of my departure he said to me: 'When
you come back I've an important revelation to make to you. I ought to
have made it long ago.'"
"You believe that he was referring to the matter in hand?"
"I do. And for that reason on my arrival at Roborey I informed my
cousins, de Chagny and d'Estreicher, who promised to pay me a visit at
the end of July when I will inform them of what I have learned."
"That's all?"
"All, mademoiselle; and it appears to me to confirm your hypothesis. We
have here a talisman of which there are doubtless several copies."
"Yes ... yes ... there's no doubt about it," murmured the young girl.
"And the death of my father is explained by the fact that he was the
possessor of this talisman."
"But," objected Raoul Davernoie, "was it not enough to steal it from
him? Why this useless crime?"
"Because, remember, the gold medal gives certain indications. In
getting rid of my father they reduced the number of those who, in
perhaps the near future, will be called upon to share these riches. Who
knows whether other crimes have not been committed?"
"Other crimes? In that case my grandfather is in danger."
"He is," she said simply.
The Count became uneasy and, pretending to laugh, he said:
"Then we also are in danger, mademoiselle, since there are signs of
recent excavation about Roborey."
"You also, Count."
"We ought then to be on our guard."
"I advise you to."
The Count de Chagny turned pale and said in a shaky voice:
"How? What measures should we take?"
"I will tell you to-morrow," said Dorothy. "You shall know to-morrow
what you have to fear and what measures you ought to take to defend
yourselves."
"You promise that?"
"I promise it."
D'Estreicher, who had followed with close attention every phase of the
conversation, without taking part in it, stepped forward:
"We make all the more point of this meeting to-morrow, mademoiselle,
because we still have to solve together a little additional problem,
the problem of the card-board box. You haven't forgotten it?"
"I forget nothing, monsieur," she said. "To-morrow, at the hour fixed,
that little matter and other matters, the theft of the sapphire
earrings among other things, shall be made clear."
She went out of the orangery.
* * * * *
The night was falling. The gates had been re-opened; and the
showmen, having dismantled their shows, were departing. Dorothy found
Saint-Quentin waiting for her in great anxiety and the three children
lighting a fire. When the dinner-bell rang, she sent them to the
château and remained alone to make her meal of the thick soup and some
fruit. In the evening, while waiting for them, she strolled through the
night towards the parapet which looked down on to the ravine and rested
her elbows on it.
The moon was not visible, but the veil of light clouds, which floated
across the heavens, were imbued with its light. For a long while she
was conscious of the deep silence, and, bare-headed, she presented her
burning brow to the fresh evening airs which ruffled her hair.
"Dorothy...."
Her name had been spoken in a low voice by some one who had drawn near
her without her hearing him. But the sound of his voice, low as it was,
made her tremble. Even before recognizing the outline of d'Estreicher
she divined his presence.
Had the parapet been lower and the ravine less profound she might have
essayed flight, such dread did this man inspire in her. However, she
braced herself to keep calm and master him.
"What do you want, monsieur," she said coldly. "The Count and Countess
had the delicacy to respect my desire to keep quiet. I'm surprised to
see you here."
He did not answer, but she discerned his dark shape nearer and repeated:
"What do you want?"
"I only want to say a few words to you," he murmured.
"To-morrow--at the château will be soon enough."
"No; what I have to say can only be heard by you and me; and I can
assure you, mademoiselle, that you can listen to it without being
offended. In spite of the incomprehensible hostility that you have
displayed towards me from the moment we met, I feel, for my part,
nothing but friendliness, admiration, and the greatest respect for you.
You need fear neither my words nor my actions. I am not addressing
myself to the charming and attractive young girl, but to the woman who,
all this afternoon, has dumfounded us by her intelligence. Now, listen
to me----"
"No," she broke in. "I will not. Your proposals can only be insulting."
He went on, in a louder voice; and she could feel that gentleness and
respectfulness did not come easy to him; he went on:
"Listen to me. I order you to listen to me ... and to answer at
once. I'm no maker of phrases and I'll come straight to the point,
rather crudely if I must, at the risk of shocking you. Here it is:
Chance has in a trice thrown you into an affair which I have every
right to consider my business and no one else's. We are stuck with
supernumeraries, of whom, when the time comes, I do not mean to take
the slightest account. All these people are imbeciles who will never
get anywhere. Chagny is a conceited ass.... Davernoie a country
bumpkin ... so much dead weight that we've got to lug about with us,
you and I. Then why work for them?... Let's work for ourselves, for the
two of us. Will you? You and I partners, friends, what a job we should
make of it! My energy and strength at the service of your intelligence
and clearsightedness! Besides ... besides, consider all I know! For I,
I know the problem! What will take you weeks to discover, what, I'm
certain, you'll never discover, I have at my fingers' ends. I know
all the factors in the problem except one or two which I shall end by
adding to them. Help me. Let us search together. It means a fortune,
the discovery of fabulous wealth, boundless power.... Will you?"
He bent a little too far over the young girl; and his fingers brushed
the cloak she was wearing. Dorothy, who had listened in silence in
order to learn the inmost thoughts of her adversary, started back
indignantly at his touch.
"Be off!... Leave me alone!... I forbid you to touch me!... You a
friend?... You? You?"
The repulsion with which he inspired Dorothy set him beside himself,
and foaming with rage, he cried furiously:
"So.... So ... you refuse? You refuse, in spite of the secret I have
surprised, in spite of what I can do ... and what I'm going to do....
For the stolen earrings: it is not merely a matter of Saint-Quentin.
You were there, in the ravine, to watch over his expedition. And what
is more, as his accomplice, you protected him. And the proof exists,
terrible, irrefutable. The box is in the hands of the Countess. And you
dare? You! A thief!"
He made a grab at her. Dorothy ducked and slipped along the parapet.
But he was able to grip her wrists, and he was dragging her towards
him, when of a sudden he let go of her, struck by a ray of light which
blinded him.
Perched on the parapet Montfaucon had switched full on his face the
clear light of an electric torch.
D'Estreicher took himself off. The ray followed him, cleverly guided.
"Dirty little brat!" he growled. "I'll get you.... And you too, young
woman! If to-morrow, at two o'clock, at the château, you do not come to
heel, the box will be opened in the presence of the police. It's for
you to choose."
He disappeared in the shrubbery.
* * * * *
Toward three o'clock in the morning, the trap, which looked down on the
box from the interior of the caravan, was opened, as it had been opened
the morning before. A hand reached out and shook Saint-Quentin, who was
sleeping under his rugs.
"Get up. Dress yourself. No noise."
He protested.
"Dorothy, what you wish to do is absurd."
"Do as you're told."
Saint-Quentin obeyed.
Outside the caravan he found Dorothy, quite ready. By the light of the
moon he saw that she was carrying a canvas bag, slung on a band running
over her shoulder, and a coil of rope.
She led him to the spot at which the parapet touched the entrance
gates. They fastened the rope to one of the bars and slid down it. Then
Saint-Quentin climbed up to the parapet and unfastened the rope. They
went down the slope into the ravine and along the foot of the cliff to
the fissure up which Saint-Quentin had climbed the night before.
"Let us climb up," said Dorothy. "You will let down the rope and help
me to ascend."
The ascent was not very difficult. The window of the pantry was open.
They climbed in through it and Dorothy lit her bull's-eye lantern.
"Take that little ladder in the corner," she said.
But Saint-Quentin started to reason with her afresh:
"It's absurd. It's madness. We are running into the lion's maw."
"Get on!"
"But indeed, Dorothy."
He got a thump in the ribs.
"Stop it! And answer me," she snapped. "You're sure that d'Estreicher's
is the last bedroom in the left-hand passage."
"Certain. As you told me to, I questioned the servants without seeming
to do so, after dinner last night."
"And you dropped the powder I gave you into his cup of coffee?"
"Yes."
"Then he's sleeping like a log; and we can go straight to him. Not
another word!"
On their way they stopped at a door. It was the dressing-room adjoining
the boudoir of the Countess. Saint-Quentin set his ladder against it
and climbed through the transom.
Three minutes later he came back.
"Did you find the card-board box?" Dorothy asked.
"Yes. I found it on the table, took the earrings out of it, and put the
box back in its place with the rubber ring round it."
They went on down the passage.
Each bedroom had a dressing-room and a closet which served as wardrobe
attached to it. They stopped before the last transom; Saint-Quentin
climbed through it and opened the door of the dressing-room for Dorothy.
There was a door between the dressing-room and the bedroom. Dorothy
opened it an inch and let a ray from her lantern fall on the bed.
"He's asleep," she whispered.
She drew a large handkerchief from her bag, uncorked a small bottle of
chloroform and poured some drops on the handkerchief.
Across the bed, in his clothes, like a man suddenly overcome by sleep,
d'Estreicher was sleeping so deeply that the young girl switched on
the electric light. Then very gently she placed the chloroformed
handkerchief over his face.
The man sighed, writhed, and was still.
Very cautiously Dorothy and Saint-Quentin passed two slip-knots in a
rope over both of his arms and tied the two ends of it round the iron
uprights of the bed. Then quickly without bothering about him they
wrapped the bedclothes round his body and legs, and tied them round
him with the table-cloth and curtain-cords.
Then d'Estreicher did awake. He tried to defend himself--too late. He
called out. Dorothy gagged him with a napkin.
* * * * *
Next morning the Count and Countess de Chagny were taking their coffee
with Raoul Davernoie in the big dining-room of the château when the
porter came to inform them that at daybreak the directress of Dorothy's
Circus had asked him to open the gates and that the caravan had
departed. The directress had left a letter addressed to the Count de
Chagny. All three of them went upstairs to the Countess's boudoir. The
letter ran as follows:
"My cousin"--offended by her brusqueness, the Count started--then
he went on:
"My cousin: I took an oath, and I keep it. The man who was making
excavations round the château and last night stole the earrings, is
the same person who five years ago stole the medal and poisoned my
father.
"I hand him over to you. Let justice take its course.
"DOROTHY, PRINCESS OF ARGONNE."
The Count and Countess and their cousin gazed at one another in
amazement. What did it mean? Who was the culprit. How and where had she
handed him over?
"It's a pity that d'Estreicher isn't down," said the Count. "He is so
helpful."
The Countess took up the card-board box which d'Estreicher had
entrusted to her and opened it without more ado. The box contained
exactly what Dorothy had told them, some white pebbles and shells. Then
why did d'Estreicher seem to attach so much importance to his finding
it?
Some one knocked gently at the boudoir door. It was the major-domo, the
Count's confidential man.
"What is it, Dominique?"
"The château was broken into last night."
"Impossible!" the Count declared in a positive tone. "The doors were
all locked. Where did they break in?"
"I don't know. But I've found a ladder against the wall by Monsieur
d'Estreicher's bedroom; and the transom is broken. The criminals made
their way into the dressing-room and when they had done the job, came
out through the bedroom door."
"What job?"
"I don't know, sir. I didn't like to go further into the matter by
myself. I put everything back in its place."
The Count de Chagny drew a hundred-franc note from his pocket.
"Not a word of this, Dominique. Watch the corridor and see that no one
disturbs us."
Raoul and his wife followed him. The door between d'Estreicher's
dressing-room and bedroom was half open. The smell of chloroform filled
the room.
The Count uttered a cry.
On his bed lay d'Estreicher gagged and safely bound to it. His eyes
were rolling wildly. He was groaning.
Beside him lay the muffler which Dorothy had described as belonging to
the man who was engaged in making excavations.
On the table, well in sight, lay the sapphire earrings.
But a terrifying, overwhelming sight met the eyes of all three of them
simultaneously--the irrefutable proof of the murder of Jean d'Argonne
and the theft of the medal. His right arm, bare, was stretched out
across the bed, fastened by the wrist. And on that arm they read,
tattooed:
_In robore fortuna._