FACE TO FACE
"If they seize me," she thought. "If it's d'Estreicher's intention to
kidnap me without more ado, there's nothing to be done. Before I could
be rescued, they would carry me off to their underground lair, and from
there I don't know where!"
And why should it be otherwise? Master of the medal and of Dorothy, the
ruffian had only to fly.
On the instant she saw all the faults of her plan. In order to compel
d'Estreicher to risk a sortie that she might capture him during that
sortie, she had invented a too subtle ruse, which actual developments
of Fortune's spite might turn to her undoing. A conflict which turns on
the number of seconds gained or lost is extremely doubtful.
She went quickly into the house and pushed the disc under a heap of
discarded things in a small lumber-room. The necessary hunt for it
would delay for a while the enemy's flight. But when she came back to
go out of the house, d'Estreicher, grimacing ironically behind his
spectacles and under his thick beard, stood on the threshold of the
front door.
Dorothy never carried a revolver. All her life she never cared to trust
to anything but her courage and intelligence. She regretted it at this
horrible moment when she found herself face to face with the man who
had murdered her father. Her first act would have been to blow out his
brains.
Divining her vengeful thought, he seized her arm quickly and twisted
it, as he had twisted the arm of old Juliet Assire. Then bending over
her, he snapped:
"Where have you put it?... Be quick!"
She did not even dream of resisting, so acute was the pain, and took
him to the little room, and pointed to the heap. He found the disc
at once, weighed it in his hand, examining it with an air of immense
satisfaction and said:
"That's all right. Victory at last! Twenty years of struggle come to an
end. And over and above what I bargained for, you, Dorothy--the most
magnificent and desirable of rewards."
He ran his hand over her frock to make sure that she was not armed,
then seized her round the body, and with a strength which no one would
have believed him to possess, swung her over his shoulder on to his
back.
"You make me feel uneasy, Dorothy," he chuckled. "What? No resistance?
What pretty behavior, my dear! There must be something in the way of a
trap under it all. So I'll be off."
Outside she caught sight of the two men, who were on guard at the big
gate. One of them was the confederate she knew, from having seen him at
Juliet Assire's cottage. The other, his face flattened against the bars
of a small wicket, was watching the road.
D'Estreicher called to them:
"Keep your eyes skinned, boys. You mustn't be caught in the sheepfold.
And when I whistle, bucket off back to the hillocks."
He himself made for them with long strides without weakening under
his burden. She could smell the odor of a damp cellar with which his
subterranean lair had impregnated his garments. He held her by the neck
with a hard hand that bruised it.
They came to the wooden bridge and were just about to cross it. No more
than a hundred yards from it, perhaps, among the bushes and rocks,
was one of the entrances to his underground lair. Already the man was
raising his whistle to his lips.
With a deft movement, Dorothy snatched the disc, which was sticking up
above the top of the pocket into which he had stuffed it, and threw it
towards the pool. It ran along the ground, rolled down the bank, and
disappeared under the water.
"You little devil!" growled the ruffian throwing her roughly to the
ground. "Stir, and I'll break your head!"
He went down the bank and floundered about in the viscid mud of the
river, keeping an eye on Dorothy and cursing her.
She did not dream of flying. She kept looking from one to another of
the points at the top of the wall above which she expected the heads of
the farm-servants or the detectives to rise. It was certainly five or
six minutes past the hour, yet none of them appeared. Nevertheless she
did not lose hope. She expected d'Estreicher, who had evidently lost
his head, to make some mistake of which she could take advantage.
"Yes, yes," he snarled: "You wish to gain time, my dear. And suppose
you do? Do you think I'll let go of you? I've got you both, you and the
medal; and your bumpkin of a Raoul isn't the man to loosen my grip.
Besides, if he does come, it'll be all the worse for him. My men have
their orders: a good crack on the head----"
He was still searching; he stopped short, uttered a cry of triumph and
stood upright, the disc in his hand.
"Here it is, ducky. Certainly the luck is with me; and you've lost. On
we go, cousin Dorothy!"
Dorothy cast a last look along the walls. No one. Instinctively, at the
approach of the man she hated, she made as if to thrust him off. It
made him laugh--so absurd did any resistance seem. Violently he beat
down her outstretched arms, and again swung her on to his shoulder with
a movement in which there was as much hate as desire.
"Say good-bye to your sweetheart, Dorothy, for the good Raoul is in
love with you. Say good-bye to him. If ever you see him again, it will
be too late."
He crossed the bridge and strode in among the hillocks.
It was all over. In another thirty seconds, even if he were attacked,
no longer being in sight of the points on the wall at which the men
armed with guns were to rise up, he would have time to reach the mouth
of the entrance to his lair. Dorothy had lost the battle. Raoul and the
detectives would arrive too late.
"You don't know how nice it is to have you there, all quivering, and
to carry you away with me, against me, without your being able to
escape the inevitable," whispered d'Estreicher. "But what's the matter
with you? Are you crying? You mustn't, my dear. After all why should
you? You would certainly let yourself be lulled one of these days on
the bosom of the handsome Raoul. Then there's no reason why I should
be more distasteful to you than he, is there? But--hang it!" he cried
angrily, "haven't you done sobbing yet?"
He turned her on his shoulder and caught hold of her head.
He was dumfounded.
Dorothy was laughing.
"What--what's this? What are you laughing at? Is it p-p-possible that
you dare to laugh? What on earth do you mean by it?"
This laughter frightened him as a threat of danger? The slut! What
was she laughing at? A sudden fury rose in him, and setting her down
clumsily against a tree, he struck her with his clenched fist, out of
which a ring stuck, on the forehead, among her hair, with such force
that the blood spurted out.
She was still laughing, as she stammered:
"You b-b-brute! What a brute you are!"
"If you laugh, I'll bite your mouth, you hussy," he snarled, bending
over her red lips.
He did not dare to carry out the threat, respecting her in spite of
himself, and even a little intimidated. She was frightened, however,
and laughed no more.
"What is this? What is it?" he repeated. "You should be crying, and
you're laughing. Why?"
"I was laughing because of the plates," she said.
"What plates?"
"Those which form the case of the medal."
"These?"
"Yes."
"What about them?"
"They're the plates of Dorothy's Circus. I used to juggle with them."
He looked utterly flabbergasted.
"What's this rot you're talking?"
"It is rot, isn't it? Saint-Quentin and I soldered them together; I
engraved the motto on them with a knife; and last night we threw them
into the pool."
"But you're mad. I don't understand. With what object did you do it?"
"Since poor old Juliet Assire babbled some admissions about the river
when you tortured her, I was pretty sure you'd fall into the trap."
"What do you mean? What trap?"
"I wanted to get you to come out of here."
"You knew that I was here then?"
"Rather! I knew that you were watching us fish up the case; and I knew
for certain what would happen after that. Believing that this case,
found at the bottom of the pool under your very eyes, contained the
medal, and seeing moreover that Raoul had gone and I was alone at the
Manor, you wouldn't be able to come. But you have come."
He stuttered:
"The g-g-gold medal.... It isn't in this case then?"
"No. It's empty."
"And Raoul?... Raoul?... You're expecting him?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"With some detectives. He went to meet them."
He clenched his fists and growled:
"You little beast, you denounced me."
"I denounced you."
Not for a second did d'Estreicher think she might be lying. He held the
metal disc in his hand; and it would have been easy enough to force it
open with his knife. To what end? The disc was empty. He was sure of
it. Of a sudden he grasped the full force of the comedy she had played
on the pool; it explained to him the odd uneasiness and disquiet he had
felt while he was watching that series of actions the connection of
which seemed to him strange.
However he had come. He had plunged blindly, with his head down, into
the trap she had audaciously laid for him before his very eyes. Of what
miraculous power was she mistress? And how was he going to slip through
the meshes of the net which was being drawn tighter and tighter round
him?
"Let's be getting away," he said, eager to get out of danger.
But he was suffering from a lassitude of will, and instead of picking
up his victim, he questioned her.
"The disc is empty. But you know where the medal is?" he questioned.
"Of course I know," said Dorothy, who only thought of gaining time and
whose furtive eyes were scanning the top of the wall.
The man's eyes sparkled:
"Ah, you do, do you?... You must be a fool to admit it!... Since you
know, you're going to tell, my dear. If not----"
He drew his revolver.
She said mockingly:
"Just as with Juliet Assire? Twenty's what you count, isn't it? You may
as well save your breath; it doesn't work with me."
"I swear, dammit!----"
"Words!"
No: the battle was certainly not lost. Dorothy, though exhausted, her
face smeared with blood, clung to every possible incident with grim
tenacity. She felt strongly that, in his fury, d'Estreicher was capable
of killing her. But she was quite as clearly aware of his confusion of
ideas and of her power over him. He hadn't the strength to depart and
abandon the medal for which he had struggled so desperately. If only
his hesitation lasted a few minutes longer, Raoul was bound to appear
on the scene.
At this moment an incident occurred which appeared to excite her
keenest interest, for she leant forward to follow it more closely. The
old Baron came out of the Manor, carrying a bag, not dressed, as usual,
in a blouse, but in a cloth suit, and wearing a felt hat. That showed
that he had made a choice, that is to say, an effort of thought. Then
there was another such effort. Goliath was not with him. He waited for
him, stamped his foot, and when the dog did come, caught him by the
collar, looked about him, and took his way to the gate.
The two confederates barred his path; he muttered some grumbling
complaints and tried to get past them. They shoved him back and at last
he went off among the trees, without loosing Goliath, but leaving his
bag behind him.
His action was easy to understand; and Dorothy and d'Estreicher alike
grasped the fact that the old fellow had wanted to go off on the quest
of the treasure. In spite of his madness, he had not forgotten the
enterprise. The appointed date was engraved on his memory; and on the
day he had fixed, he strapped up his bag and started out like a piece
of mechanism which one has wound up and which goes off at the moment
fixed.
D'Estreicher called out to his confederates:
"Search his bag!"
Since they found nothing, no medal, no clue, he walked up and down in
front of Dorothy for a moment, undecided what course to take and then
stopped beside her:
"Answer me. Raoul loves you. You don't love him. Otherwise I should
have put a stop to your little flirtation a fortnight ago. But all the
same you feel some obligations towards him in the matter of the medal
and the treasure; and you've joined forces. It's just foolishness, my
dear, and I'm going to set your mind at rest about the matter, for
there's a thing you don't know and I'm going to tell it you. After
which I'm sure you'll speak. Answer me then. With regard to this medal,
you must be wondering how I come to be hunting for it, since, as you
very well know, I stole it from your father. What do you suppose?"
"I suppose somebody took it from you."
"You're right. But do you know who it was?"
"No."
"Raoul's father, George Davernoie."
She started and exclaimed:
"You lie!"
"I do not!" he declared firmly. "You remember your father's last letter
which cousin Octave read to us at Roborey? The Prince of Argonne
related how he heard two men talking under his window and saw a hand
slip through it towards the table and sneak the medal. Well, the man
who had accompanied the other on the expedition and was waiting below,
was George Davernoie. And that rogue, Dorothy, the very next night
robbed his comrade."
Dorothy was shaking with indignation and abhorrence:
"It's a lie! Raoul's father take to such a trade? A thief?"
"Worse than that. For the enterprise had not only robbery for its
aim.... And if the man who poured the poison into the glass and whose
tattooed arm was seen by the Prince of Argonne, does not deny his acts,
he doesn't forget that the poison was provided by the other."
"You lie! You lie! You alone are the culprit! You alone murdered my
father!"
"You don't really believe that. And look: here's a letter from him to
the old Baron, to his father, that is. I found it among the Baron's
papers. Read it:
"'I have at last laid my hand on the indispensable gold piece. On my
next leave I'll bring it to you.'
"And look at the date. A week after the death of the Prince of Argonne!
Do you believe me now, eh? And don't you think that we might come to an
understanding between ourselves, apart from this milksop Raoul?"
This revelation had tried Dorothy sorely. However, she pulled herself
together and putting a good face on it, she asked:
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the gold medal, brought to the Baron, intrusted by him to
his old flame for a while, then hidden I don't know where, belongs to
you. Raoul has no right to it. I'll buy it from you."
"At what price?"
"Any price you like--half the treasure, if you demand it."
Dorothy saw on the instant how she could make the most of the
situation. Here again was a way of gaining some minutes, decisive
minutes perhaps, a painful and costly way, since she risked handing
over to him the key to the treasure. But dare she hesitate?
D'Estreicher was nearly at the end of his patience. He was beside
himself at the notion of the imminent attack with which he was
threatened. Let him get carried away by an access of panic and all
would be lost by his taking flight.
"A partnership between us? Never! A sharing of the treasure which would
make me your ally? A thousand times, no! I detest you. But an agreement
for a few moments? Perhaps."
"Your conditions?" he said. "Be quick! Make the most of my allowing you
to impose conditions!"
"That won't take long. You have a double object--the medal and me. You
must choose between them. Which do you want most?"
"The medal."
"If you let me go free, I'll give it to you."
"Swear to me on your honor that you know where it is."
"I swear it."
"How long have you known?"
"For about five minutes. A little while ago I did not know. A little
fact has just come under my observation which has informed me."
He believed her. It was impossible for him to disbelieve her.
Everything that she said in that fashion, looking you straight in the
face, was the exact truth.
"Speak."
"It's for you to speak first. Swear that as soon as my promise is
fulfilled, I shall be free."
The ruffian blinked. The idea of keeping an oath appeared comic to him;
and Dorothy was quite aware that his oath had no value of any kind.
"I swear it," he said.
Then he repeated: "Speak. I can't quite make out what you are faking;
but it doesn't strike me as being gospel truth. So I don't put much
faith in it; and don't you forget it."
The conflict between them was now at its height; and what gave that
conflict its peculiar character was that both of them saw clearly the
adversary's game. Dorothy had no doubt that Raoul, after an unforeseen
delay, was on his way to the Manor, and d'Estreicher, who had no more
doubt of it than she, knew that all her actions were based on her
expectation of immediate intervention. But there was one trifling fact
which rendered their chances of victory equal. D'Estreicher believed
himself to be in perfect security because his two confederates, glued
to the wicket, were watching the road for the coming of the car; while
the young girl had taken the admirable precaution of instructing Raoul
to abandon the car and take the paths which were out of sight of the
gate. All her hope sprang from this precaution.
She made her explanation quietly, all the while bearing in mind her
keen desire to drag out the interview.
"I've never ceased to believe," she said "--and I'm sure that you are
of the same opinion that the Baron has never, so to speak, quitted the
medal."
"I hunted everywhere," d'Estreicher objected.
"So did I. But I don't mean that he kept it on him. I meant that he
kept it and still keeps it within reach."
"You do?"
"Yes. He has always managed in such a way that he has only to stretch
out his hand to grasp it."
"Impossible. We should have seen it."
"Not at all. Only just now you failed to see anything."
"Just now?"
"Yes. When he was going off, compelled by the bidding of his
instinct--when he was going off on the very day he had fixed before he
fell ill----"
"He was going off without the medal."
"With the medal."
"They searched his bag."
"The bag wasn't the only thing he was taking with him."
"What else was there? Hang it all! You were more than a hundred yards
away from him! You saw nothing."
"I saw that he was holding something besides his bag."
"What?"
"Goliath."
D'Estreicher was silent, struck by that simple word and all it
signified.
"Goliath," Dorothy went on, "Goliath who _never quitted him_, Goliath
always _within reach of his hand_, and whom he was holding, whom he
is holding at this moment. Look at him. His five fingers are clenched
round the dog's collar. Do you understand? _Round its collar!_"
Once more d'Estreicher had no doubt. Dorothy's declaration immediately
appeared to him to meet all the circumstances of the case. Once more
she threw light on the affair. Beyond that light: nothing but darkness
and contradictions.
He recovered all his coolness. His will to act instantly revived; and
at the same time he saw clearly all the precautions to be taken to
minimize the risks of the attempt.
He drew from his pocket a thin piece of rope, with which he bound
Dorothy, and a handkerchief which he tied across her mouth.
"If you've made a mistake, darling, all the worse for you. You'll pay
for it."
And he added in a sarcastic tone:
"Moreover, if you haven't made a mistake, all the worse for you just
the same. I'm not the man to lose my prey."
He hailed his confederates:
"Hi, boys! Is there any one on the road?"
"Not a soul!"
"Keep your eyes open! We'll be off in three minutes. When I whistle,
bucket off to the entrance to the caves. I'll bring the young woman
along."
The threat, terrible as it was, did not effect Dorothy. For her the
whole drama was unfolding itself down below, between d'Estreicher and
the Baron. D'Estreicher ran down from the hillocks, crossed the bridge,
and ran towards the old man who was sitting on a bench on the terrace,
with Goliath's head on his knee.
Dorothy felt her heart beating wildly. Not that she doubted that he
would find the medal. It would be found in the dog's collar--of that
she was sure. But it must be that this supreme effort to snatch a last
delay could not fail.
"If the barrel of a gun doesn't appear above the top of the wall before
a minute is up, d'Estreicher is my master."
And since she would rather kill herself than submit to that
degradation, during that minute her life was at stake.
The respite accorded by circumstances was longer than that.
D'Estreicher, having flung himself on the dog, met with an unexpected
resistance from the Baron. The old man thrust him off furiously, while
the dog barked and dragged himself free from the ruffian's grip. The
struggle was prolonged. Dorothy followed its phases with alternating
fear and hope, backing up Raoul's grandfather with all the force of
her will, cursing the energy and stubbornness of the ruffian. In the
end the old Baron grew tired and appeared all at once to lose interest
in what might happen. One might have thought that Goliath must have
suddenly fallen a victim to the same sense of lassitude. He sat
down at his master's feet and let himself be handled with a kind of
indifference. With trembling fingers d'Estreicher caught hold of the
collar, and ran his fingers along the nail-studded leather under the
dog's thick coat. His fingers found the buckle.
But he got no further. The dramatic surprise came at last. A man's bust
rose above the wall, and a voice cried:
"Hands up!"
At last Dorothy smiled with an indescribable sensation of joy and
deliverance. Her plan, delayed by some obstacle, was a success. Near
Saint-Quentin who had been the first to appear, another figure rose
above the wall, leveled a gun, and cried:
"Hands up!"
Instantly d'Estreicher abandoned his search and looked about him with
an air of panic. Two other shouts rang out:
"Hands up! Hands up!"
From the points chosen by the young girl two more guns were leveled
at him, and the men who aimed, aimed straight at d'Estreicher only.
Nevertheless he hesitated. A bullet sang over his head. His hands went
up. His confederates were already half-way to the hillocks in their
flight. No one paid any attention to them. They ran across the bridge
and disappeared in the direction of an isolated hillock which was
called the Labyrinth.
The big gate flew open. Raoul rushed through it, followed by two men
whom Dorothy did not know, but who must be the detectives dispatched on
his information.
D'Estreicher did not budge; he kept his hands up; and doubtless he
would not have made any resistance, if a false move of the police had
not given him the chance. As they reached him they closed round him,
covering him for two or three seconds from the fire of the servants on
the wall. He took advantage of their error to whip out his revolver
and shoot. Four times it cracked. Three bullets went wide. The fourth
buried itself in Raoul's leg; and he fell to the ground with a groan.
It was a futile outburst of rage and savagery. On the instant the
detectives grappled with d'Estreicher, disarmed him, and reduced him to
impotence.
They handcuffed him; and as they did so his eyes sought Dorothy, who
was almost out of sight, for she had slipped behind a clump of bushes;
and as they sought her they filled with an expression of appalling hate.
* * * * *
It was Saint-Quentin, followed by the captain, who found Dorothy;
and at the sight of her blood-smeared face, they were nearly beside
themselves.
"Silence," she commanded, to cut short their questions. "Yes, I'm
wounded. But it's a mere nothing. Run to the Baron, captain; catch hold
of Goliath, pat him, and take off his collar. In the collar, you will
find behind the metal plate, on which his name is engraved, a pocket,
forming a lining to it and containing the metal we're looking for.
Bring it to me."
The boy hurried off.
"Saint-Quentin," Dorothy continued. "Have the detectives seen me?"
"No."
"You must give every one to understand that I left the Manor some time
ago and that you're to meet me at the market-town, Roche-sur-Yon. I
don't want to be mixed up with the inquiry. They'll examine me; and it
will be a sheer waste of time."
"But Monsieur Davernoie?"
"As soon as you get the chance, tell him. Tell him that I've gone for
reasons which I will explain later, and that I beg him to keep silent
about everything that concerns us. Besides, he is wounded, and his
mind is confused, and nobody will think about me. They're going to
hunt through the hillocks, I expect, to get hold of d'Estreicher's
confederates. They mustn't see me. Cover me with branches."
"That's all right," she said when he had done so, "As soon as it is
getting dark, come, all four of you, and carry me down to the caravan;
and we'll start as soon as it's daylight. Perhaps I shall be out of
sorts for a few days. Rather too much overwork and excitement--nothing
for you to worry about. Do you understand, my boy?"
"Yes, Dorothy."
As she had foreseen, the two detectives, having shut up d'Estreicher at
the Manor, passed at no great distance from her, guided by one of the
farm-servants. She presently heard them calling out and guessed that
they had discovered the entrance to the caves of the Labyrinth, down
which d'Estreicher's confederates had fled.
"Pursuit is useless," murmured Dorothy. "The quarry has too long a
start."
She felt exhausted. But for nothing in the world would she have
yielded to her lassitude before the return of the captain. She asked
Saint-Quentin how the attack had come to be so long delayed.
"An accident, wasn't it?"
"Yes," said he. "The detectives made a mistake about the inn; and the
farm-servants were late getting back from the fête. It was necessary to
collect the whole lot; and the car broke down."
Montfaucon came running up. Dorothy went on:
"Perhaps, Saint-Quentin, there'll be the name of a town, or rather of
a château, on the medal. In that case, find out all you can about the
route and take the caravan there. Did you find it, captain?"
"Yes, mummy."
"Give it to me, pet."
What emotion Dorothy felt when she touched the gold medal so keenly
coveted by them all, which one might reckon the most precious of
talismans, as the guarantee even of success!
It was a medal twice the size of a five-franc piece, and above all
much thicker, less smoothly cut than a modern medal, less delicately
modeled, and of duller gold that did not shine.
On the face was the motto:
_In robore fortuna_,
On the reverse these lines:
_July 12, 1921._
_At noon. Before the clock of the Château of Roche-Périac._
"The twelfth of July," muttered Dorothy. "I have time to faint."
She fainted.