THE KIDNAPING OF MONTFAUCON
For a minute or two extreme confusion reigned in the room. Errington
and Webster struggled furiously with the old lock. Almost past use, it
worked badly from the inside. Exasperated and maddened at having let
the enemy escape, they got in one another's way and their efforts only
ended in their jamming it.
Marco Dario raged at them.
"Get on! Get on! What are you messing about like that for?... It's
d'Estreicher, isn't it, mademoiselle? The man you spoke of? He murdered
his confederate?... He stole the medal from you? Holy Virgin, hurry up,
you two!"
Dorothy tried to reason with them:
"Wait, I implore you. Think. We must work together.... It's madness to
act at random!"
But they did not listen to her; and, when the door did open, they
rushed down the staircase, while she called out to them:
"I implore you.... They're below.... They're watching you."
Then a whistle, strident and prolonged, rent the air. It came from
without.
She ran to the window. Nothing was to be seen from it, and in despair
she asked herself:
"What does that mean? He isn't calling his confederates. They're with
him now. Then, why that signal?"
She was about to go down in her turn when she found herself caught
by her petticoat. From the beginning of the scene, in front of
d'Estreicher and his leveled revolvers, Maître Delarue had sunk down in
the darkest corner, and now he was imploring her, almost on his knees:
"You aren't going to abandon me--with the corpse?... And then that
scoundrel might come back!... His confederates!"
She pulled him to his feet.
"No time to lose.... We must go to the help of our friends...."
"Go to their help? Stout young fellows like them?" he cried indignantly.
Dorothy drew him along by the hand as one leads a child. They went,
anyhow, half-way down the staircase. Maître Delarue was sniveling,
Dorothy muttering:
"Why that signal? To whom was it given? And what are they to do?"
An idea little by little took hold of her. She thought of the four
children who had remained at the inn, of Saint-Quentin, of Montfaucon.
And this idea so tormented her that three parts of the way down the
staircase she stopped at the hole which pierced the wall, which she had
noticed as they came up. After all what could an old man and a young
girl do to help three young men?
"What is it?" stammered the notary. "Can one hear the f-f-f-fight?"
"One can't hear anything," she said bending down.
She squeezed herself into the narrow passage and crawled to the
opening. Then, having looked more carefully than she had done in the
afternoon, she perceived on her right, on the cornice, a good-sized
bundle, thrust down into a crack, screened in front by wild plants. It
was a rope-ladder. One of its ends was fastened to a hook driven into
the wall.
"Excellent," she said. "It's evident that on occasions d'Estreicher
uses this exit. In the event of danger it's an easy way to safety,
since this side of the tower is opposite the entrance in the interior."
The way to safety was less easy for Maître Delarue, who began by
groaning.
"Never in my life! Get down that way?"
"Nonsense!" she said. "It isn't thirty-five feet--only two stories."
"As well commit suicide."
"Do you prefer a knife stuck in you? Remember that d'Estreicher has
only one aim--the codicil. And you have it."
Terrified, Maître Delarue made up his mind to it, on condition that
Dorothy descended first to make sure that the ladder was in a good
state and that no rungs were missing.
Dorothy did not bother about rungs. She gripped the ladder between
her legs and slid from the top to bottom. Then catching hold of the
two ropes she kept them as stiff as she could. The operation was
nevertheless painful and lengthy; and Maître Delarue expended so much
courage on it that he nearly fainted at the lower rungs. The sweat
trickled down his face and over his hands in great drops.
With a few words Dorothy restored his courage.
"You can hear them.... Don't you hear them?"
Maître Delarue could hear nothing. But he set out at a run, breathless
from the start, mumbling:
"They're after us!... In a minute they'll attack us!"
A side-path led them through thick brushwood to the main path, which
connected the keep with the clearing in which the solitary oak stood.
No one behind them.
More confident, Maître Delarue threatened:
"The blackguards! At the first house I send a messenger to the nearest
police station.... Then I mobilize the peasants--with guns, forks and
anything handy. And you, what's your plan?"
"I haven't one."
"What? No plan? You?"
"No," she said. "I've acted rather at random, I'm afraid."
"Ah, you see clearly----"
"I'm not afraid for myself."
"For whom?"
"For my children."
Maître Delarue exclaimed:
"Gracious! You've got children?"
"I left them at the inn."
"But how many have you?"
"Four."
The notary was flabbergasted.
"Four children! Then you're married?"
"No," admitted Dorothy, not perceiving the good man's mistake. "But I
wish to secure their safety. Fortunately Saint-Quentin is not an idiot."
"Saint-Quentin?"
"Yes, the eldest of the urchins ... an artful lad, cunning as a monkey."
Maître Delarue gave up trying to understand. Besides, nothing was of
any importance to him but the prospect of being overtaken before he had
passed that narrow, devilish causeway.
"Let's run! Let's run!" he said, for all that his shortness of breath
compelled him to go slower every minute. "And then catch hold,
mademoiselle! Here's the second envelope! There's no reason why I
should carry such a dangerous paper on me; and after all it's no
business of mine."
She took the envelope and put it in her purse just as they came into
the court of the clock. Maître Delarue who could move only with great
difficulty, uttered a cry of joy on perceiving his donkey in the act of
browsing in the most peaceful fashion in the world, at some distance
from the motor-cycle and the two horses.
"You'll excuse me, mademoiselle."
He scrambled on to his mount. The donkey began by backing; and it threw
the good man into such a state of exasperation that he belabored its
head and belly with thumps and kicks. The donkey suddenly gave in and
went off like an arrow.
Dorothy called out to him:
"Look out, Maître Delarue! The confederates have been warned!"
The notary heard the words, on the instant leaned back in the saddle,
and tugged desperately at the reins. But nothing could stop the brute.
When Dorothy got clear of the ruins of the outer wall, she saw him a
long way off, still going hard.
Then she began to run again, in a growing disquiet: d'Estreicher's
whistle had been meant for confederates posted on the mainland at the
entrance to the peninsula the access to which they were guarding. She
said to herself:
"In any case if I don't get through, Maître Delarue will; and it is
clear that Saint-Quentin will be warned and be on his guard."
The sea, very blue and very calm, had ebbed to right and left, forming
two bays on the other side of which rose the cliff of the coast. The
path down the gorge was distinguishable by the dark cutting she saw in
the mass of trees which covered the plateau. Here and there it rose to
some height. Twice she caught sight of the flying notary.
But as in her turn she reached the line of the trees, a report rang out
ahead, and a little smoke rose in the air above what must have been the
steepest point in the path.
There came cries and shouts for help; then silence. Dorothy doubled
her speed in order to help Maître Delarue; undoubtedly he had been
attacked. But after running for some minutes at such a pace that no
sound could have reached her ears, she had barely time to spring out of
the path to get out of the way of the furiously galloping donkey whose
rider was crouching forward on its back with his arms knotted round its
neck. Maître Delarue, since his head was glued to the further side of
its neck, did not even see her.
More anxious than ever, since it was clear that Saint-Quentin and his
comrades would not be warned if she did not succeed in getting through
the path down the gorge and over the causeway, she started to run
again. Then she caught sight of the figures of two men on one of the
high points of the path in front, coming towards her. They were the
confederates. They had barred the road to Maître Delarue and were now
acting after the manner of beaters.
She flung herself into the bushes, dropped into a hollow full of dead
leaves, and covered herself with them.
The confederates passed her in silence. She heard the dull noise
of their hobnailed boots, which went further and further off in
the direction of the ruins; and when she raised herself, they had
disappeared.
Forthwith, having no further obstacle before her, Dorothy made her
way down the path, so correctly described by the board as bad going,
and came to the causeway which joined the peninsula to the mainland,
observed that the Baron Davernoie and his old flame were no longer on
the edge of the water, mounted the slope, and hurried towards the inn.
A little way from it she called out:
"Saint-Quentin!... Saint-Quentin."
Getting no answer, her forebodings re-doubled. She passed in front of
the house and saw no one. She crossed the orchard, went to the barn,
and jerked open the caravan door. There once more--no one. Nothing but
the children's bags and the usual things.
"Saint-Quentin!... Saint-Quentin!" she cried again.
She returned to the house and this time she entered.
The little room which formed the café and in which stood the zinc
counter, was empty. Over-turned benches and chairs lay about the floor.
On a table stood three glasses, half full, and a bottle.
Dorothy called out:
"Madame Amoureux!"
She thought she heard a groan and went to the counter. Behind it,
doubled up, her legs and arms bound, the landlady was lying with a
handkerchief covering her mouth.
"Hurt?" asked Dorothy when she had freed her from the gag.
"No ... no ..."
"And the children?" said the young girl in a shaky voice.
"They're all right."
"Where are they?"
"Down on the beach, I think."
"All of them?"
"All but one, the smallest."
"Montfaucon."
"Yes."
"Good heavens! What has become of him?"
"They've carried him off."
"Who?"
"Two men--two men who came in and asked for a drink. The little boy
was playing near us. The others must have been amusing themselves at
the bottom of the orchards behind the barns. We couldn't hear them.
And then of a sudden one of the men, with whom I was drinking a glass
of wine, seized me by the throat while the second caught hold of the
little boy.
"'Not a word,' said they. 'If you speak, we'll squeeze your throttle.
Where are the other nippers?'
"It occurred to me to say that they were down on the beach fishing
among the rocks.
"'It's true, that, is it, old 'un?' said they. 'If you're lying, you're
taking a great risk. Swear it.'
"'I swear it.'
"'And you too, nipper, answer. Where are your brothers and sisters?'
"I was terribly afraid, madam. The little boy was crying. But all the
same he said, and well he knew it wasn't true:
"'They're playing down below--among the rocks.'
"Then they tied me up and said:
"'You stay there. We're coming back. And if we don't find you here,
look out, mother.'
"And off they went, taking the little boy with them. One of them had
rolled him up in his jacket."
Dorothy, very pale, was considering. She asked:
"And Saint-Quentin?"
"He came in about half an hour afterwards to look for Montfaucon. He
ended by finding me. I told him the story: 'Ah,' said he, the tears
in his eyes. 'Whatever will mummy say?' He wanted to cut my ropes. I
refused. I was afraid the men would come back. Then he took down an
old broken gun from above the chimney-piece, a chassepot which dates
from the time of my dead father, without any cartridges, and went off
with the two others."
"But where was he going?" said Dorothy.
"Goodness, I don't know. I gathered they were going along the seashore."
"And how long ago is that?"
"A good hour at least."
"A good hour," murmured Dorothy.
This time the landlady did not refuse to have her bonds untied. As
soon as she was free she said to Dorothy who wished to dispatch her to
Périac in search of help:
"To Périac? Six miles! But, my poor lady, I haven't the strength. The
best thing you can do is to get there yourself as fast as your legs
will carry you."
Dorothy did not even consider this counsel. She was in a hurry to
return to the ruins and there join battle with the enemy. She set off
again at a run.
So the attack she had foreseen had indeed developed; but an hour
earlier--that is to say before the signal was given--and the two men
were forthwith posted on the path to the causeway with the mission to
establish a barrage, then at the whistle to fall back on the scene of
operations.
Only too well did Dorothy understand the motive of this kidnaping. In
the battle they were fighting it was not only a matter of stealing
the diamonds; there was another victory for which d'Estreicher was
striving with quite as much intensity and ruthlessness. Now Montfaucon,
in his hands, was the pledge of victory. Cost what it might, whatever
happened, admitting even that the luck turned against him, Dorothy must
surrender at discretion and bend the knee. To save Montfaucon from
certain death it was beyond doubt that she would not recoil from any
act, from any trial.
"Oh, the monster!" she murmured. "He is not mistaken. He holds me by
what I hold dearest!"
Several times she noticed, across the path, groups of small pebbles
arranged in circles, or cut-off twigs, which were to her so much
information furnished by Saint-Quentin. From them she learnt that the
children instead of keeping straight along the path to the gorge,
had turned off to the left and gone round the marsh to the seashore
so betaking themselves to the shelter of the rocks. But she paid no
attention to this maneuver, for she could only think of the danger
which threatened Montfaucon and had no other aim than to get to his
kidnapers.
She took her way to the peninsula, mounted the gorge, where she met
no one, and reached the plateau. As she did so she heard the sound of
a second report. Some one had fired in the ruins. At whom? At Maître
Delarue? At one of the three young men?
"Ah," she said to herself anxiously. "Perhaps I ought never to have
left them, those three friends of mine. All four of us together, we
could have defended ourselves. Instead of that, we are far from one
another, helpless."
What astonished her when she had crossed the outer wall, was the
infinite silence into which she seemed to herself to enter. The field
of battle was not large--a couple of miles long, at the most, and
a few hundred yards across; and yet in this restricted space, in
which perhaps nine or ten men were pitted against her, not a sound.
Not a mutter of human speech. Nothing but the twittering of birds or
the rustling of leaves, which fell gently, cautiously, as if things
themselves were conspiring not to break the silence.
"It's terrible," murmured Dorothy. "What is the meaning of it? Am I to
believe that all is over? Or rather that nothing has begun, that the
adversaries are watching one another before coming to blows--on the one
side Errington, Webster, and Dario, on the other d'Estreicher and his
confederates?"
She advanced quickly into the court of the clock. There she saw still,
near the two tied-up horses, the donkey, eating the leaves of a shrub,
his bridle dragging on the ground, his saddle quite straight on his
back, his coat shining with sweat.
What has become of Maître Delarue? Had he been able to rejoin the group
of the foreigners? Had his mount thrown him and delivered him into the
power of the enemy?
Thus at every moment questions presented themselves which it was
impossible to answer. The shadow was thickening.
Dorothy was not timid. During the war, in the ambulances in the first
line, she had grown used more quickly than many men to the bursting
of shells; and the hour of bombardment did not shake her nerves. But
mistress of her nerves as she was, on the other hand, she was more
susceptible than a man of less courage to the influence of everything
unknown, of everything that is unseen and unheard. Her extreme
sensitiveness gave her a keen sense of danger; and at that moment she
had the deepest impression of danger.
She went on however. An invincible force drove her on till she should
find her friends and Montfaucon should be freed. She hurried to the
avenue of great trees, crossed the clearing of the old solitary oak,
and mounted the rising ground on which rose Cocquesin tower.
More and more the solitude and the silence troubled her. The profound
silence. A solitude so abnormal that Dorothy reached the point of
believing herself to be no longer alone. Some one was watching. Men
were following her as she went. It seemed to her that she was exposed
to all menaces, that the barrels of guns were leveled at her, that she
was about to fall into the trap which her enemy had laid.
The impression was so strong that Dorothy, who knew her nature and the
correctness of her presentiments, reckoned it a certainty resting on
irrefutable proofs. She even knew where the ambush was awaiting her.
They had guessed that her instinct, her calculations, that all the
circumstances of the drama, would bring her back to the tower; and
there they were awaiting her.
She stopped at the entrance of the vault. On the opposite side, above
the steps which descended into the immense nave of the donjon, her
enemies must be posted. Let her make a few more steps and they would
capture her.
She stood quite still. She no longer doubted that Maître Delarue
had been taken, and that, yielding to threats, he had disclosed the
fact that the second envelope was in her hands, that second envelope
without which the diamonds of the Marquis de Beaugreval would never be
discovered.
A minute or two passed. No single indication allowed her to believe in
the actual presence of the enemies she imagined. But the mere logic of
the events demanded that they should be there. She must then act as if
they were there.
By one of those imperceptible movements which seemed to have no object,
without letting anything in her attitude awake the suspicion in her
invisible enemies that she was accomplishing a definite action, she
managed to open her purse and extract the envelope. She crumpled it up
and reduced it to a tiny ball.
Then, letting her arm hang down, she went some steps into the vault.
Behind her, violently, with a loud crash, something fell down. It was
the old feudal portcullis, which fell from above, came grating down
its grooves, and blocked the entrance with its heavy trellis-work of
massive wood.