THE PROFILE OF NAPOLEON
Soon as the prefect of police, the chief of the
criminal-investigation department and the examining-magistrates had
left Daubrecq’s house, after a preliminary and entirely fruitless
inquiry, Prasville resumed his personal search.
He was examining the study and the traces of the struggle which had
taken place there, when the portress brought him a visiting-card,
with a few words in pencil scribbled upon it.
“Show the lady in,” he said.
“The lady has some one with her,” said the portress.
“Oh? Well, show the other person in as well.”
Clarisse Mergy entered at once and introduced the gentleman with
her, a gentleman in a black frock-coat, which was too tight for him
and which looked as though it had not been brushed for ages. He was
shy in his manner and seemed greatly embarrassed how to dispose
of his old, rusty top-hat, his gingham umbrella, his one and only
glove and his body generally.
“M. Nicole,” said Clarisse, “a private teacher, who is acting as
tutor to my little Jacques. M. Nicole has been of the greatest
help to me with his advice during the past year. He worked out the
whole story of the crystal stopper. I should like him, as well as
myself--if you see no objection to telling me--to know the details
of this kidnapping business, which alarms me and upsets my plans;
yours too, I expect?”
Prasville had every confidence in Clarisse Mergy. He knew her
relentless hatred of Daubrecq and appreciated the assistance which
she had rendered in the case. He therefore made no difficulties
about telling her what he knew, thanks to certain clues and
especially to the evidence of the portress.
For that matter, the thing was exceedingly simple. Daubrecq, who
had attended the trial of Gilbert and Vaucheray as a witness and
who was seen in court during the speeches, returned home at six
o’clock. The portress affirmed that he came in alone and that there
was nobody in the house at the time. Nevertheless, a few minutes
later, she heard shouts, followed by the sound of a struggle and
two pistol-shots; and from her lodge she saw four masked men
scuttle down the front steps, carrying Daubrecq the deputy, and
hurry toward the gate. They opened the gate. At the same moment,
a motor-car arrived outside the house. The four men bundled
themselves into it; and the motor-car, which had hardly had time to
stop, set off at full speed.
“Were there not always two policemen on duty?” asked Clarisse.
“They were there,” said Prasville, “but at a hundred and fifty
yards’ distance; and Daubrecq was carried off so quickly that they
were unable to interfere, although they hastened up as fast as they
could.”
“And did they discover nothing, find nothing?”
“Nothing, or hardly anything.... Merely this.”
“What is that?”
“A little piece of ivory, which they picked up on the ground. There
was a fifth party in the car; and the portress saw him get down
while the others were hoisting Daubrecq in. As he was stepping
back into the car, he dropped something and picked it up again at
once. But the thing, whatever it was, must have been broken on the
pavement; for this is the bit of ivory which my men found.”
“But how did the four men manage to enter the house?” asked
Clarisse.
“By means of false keys, evidently, while the portress was doing
her shopping, in the course of the afternoon; and they had no
difficulty in secreting themselves, as Daubrecq keeps no other
servants. I have every reason to believe that they hid in the
room next door, which is the dining-room, and afterward attacked
Daubrecq here, in the study. The disturbance of the furniture and
other articles proves how violent the struggle was. We found a
large-bore revolver, belonging to Daubrecq, on the carpet. One of
the bullets had smashed the glass over the mantel-piece, as you
see.”
Clarisse turned to her companion for him to express an opinion. But
M. Nicole, with his eyes obstinately lowered, had not budged from
his chair and sat fumbling at the rim of his hat, as though he had
not yet found a proper place for it.
Prasville gave a smile. It was evident that he did not look upon
Clarisse’s adviser as a man of first-rate intelligence:
“The case is somewhat puzzling, monsieur,” he said, “is it not?”
“Yes . . . yes,” M. Nicole confessed, “most puzzling.”
“Then you have no little theory of your own upon the matter?”
“Well, monsieur le secrétaire;-général, I’m thinking that Daubrecq
has many enemies.”
“Ah, capital!”
“And that several of those enemies, who are interested in his
disappearance, must have banded themselves against him.”
“Capital, capital!” said Prasville, with satirical approval.
“Capital! Everything is becoming clear as daylight. It only remains
for you to furnish us with a little suggestion that will enable us
to turn our search in the right direction.”
“Don’t you think, monsieur le secrétaire;-général, that this broken
bit of ivory which was picked up on the ground....”
“No, M. Nicole, no. That bit of ivory belongs to something which we
do not know and which its owner will at once make it his business
to conceal. In order to trace the owner, we should at least be able
to define the nature of the thing itself.”
M. Nicole reflected and then began:
“Monsieur le secrétaire;-général, when Napoleon I fell from
power....”
“Oh, M. Nicole, oh, a lesson in French history!”
“Only a sentence, monsieur le secrétaire;-général, just one
sentence which I will ask your leave to complete. When Napoleon
I fell from power, the Restoration placed a certain number of
officers on half-pay. These officers were suspected by the
authorities and kept under observation by the police. They remained
faithful to the emperor’s memory; and they contrived to reproduce
the features of their idol on all sorts of objects of everyday use;
snuff-boxes, rings, breast-pins, pen-knives and so on.”
“Well?”
“Well, this bit comes from a walking-stick, or rather a sort of
loaded cane, or life-preserver, the knob of which is formed of
a piece of carved ivory. When you look at the knob in a certain
way, you end by seeing that the outline represents the profile
of the Little Corporal. What you have in your hand, monsieur le
secrétaire;-général, is a bit of the ivory knob at the top of a
half-pay officer’s life-preserver.”
“Yes,” said Prasville, examining the exhibit, “yes, I can make out
a profile . . . but I don’t see the inference....”
“The inference is very simple. Among Daubrecq’s victims, among
those whose names are inscribed on the famous list, is the
descendant of a Corsican family in Napoleon’s service, which
derived its wealth and title from the emperor and was afterward
ruined under the Restoration. It is ten to one that this
descendant, who was the leader of the Bonapartist party a few years
ago, was the fifth person hiding in the motor-car. Need I state his
name?”
“The Marquis d’Albufex?” said Prasville.
“The Marquis d’Albufex,” said M. Nicole.
M. Nicole, who no longer seemed in the least worried with his hat,
his glove and his umbrella, rose and said to Prasville:
“Monsieur le secrétaire;-général, I might have kept my discovery
to myself, and not told you of it until after the final victory,
that is, after bringing you the list of the Twenty-seven. But
matters are urgent. Daubrecq’s disappearance, contrary to what
his kidnappers expect, may hasten on the catastrophe which you
wish to avert. We must therefore act with all speed. Monsieur
le secrétaire;-général, I ask for your immediate and practical
assistance.”
“In what way can I help you?” asked Prasville, who was beginning to
be impressed by his quaint visitor.
“By giving me, to-morrow, those particulars about the Marquis
d’Albufex which it would take me personally several days to
collect.”
Prasville seemed to hesitate and turned his head toward Mme. Mergy.
Clarisse said:
“I beg of you to accept M. Nicole’s services. He is an invaluable
and devoted ally. I will answer for him as I would for myself.”
“What particulars do you require, monsieur?” asked Prasville.
“Everything that concerns the Marquis d’Albufex: the position
of his family, the way in which he spends his time, his family
connections, the properties which he owns in Paris and in the
country.”
Prasville objected:
“After all, whether it’s the marquis or another, Daubrecq’s
kidnapper is working on our behalf, seeing that, by capturing the
list, he disarms Daubrecq.”
“And who says, monsieur le secrétaire;-général, that he is not
working on his own behalf?”
“That is not possible, as his name is on the list.”
“And suppose he erases it? Suppose you then find yourself dealing
with a second blackmailer, even more grasping and more powerful
than the first and one who, as a political adversary, is in a
better position than Daubrecq to maintain the contest?”
The secretary-general was struck by the argument. After a moment’s
thought, he said:
“Come and see me in my office at four o’clock to-morrow. I will
give you the particulars. What is your address, in case I should
want you?”
“M. Nicole, 25, Place de Clichy. I am staying at a friend’s flat,
which he has lent me during his absence.”
The interview was at an end. M. Nicole thanked the
secretary-general, with a very low bow, and walked out, accompanied
by Mme. Mergy:
“That’s an excellent piece of work,” he said, outside, rubbing his
hands. “I can march into the police-office whenever I like, and set
the whole lot to work.”
Mme. Mergy, who was less hopefully inclined, said:
“Alas, will you be in time? What terrifies me is the thought that
the list may be destroyed.”
“Goodness gracious me, by whom? By Daubrecq?”
“No, but by the marquis, when he gets hold of it.”
“He hasn’t got it yet! Daubrecq will resist long enough, at any
rate, for us to reach him. Just think! Prasville is at my orders!”
“Suppose he discovers who you are? The least inquiry will prove
that there is no such person as M. Nicole.”
“But it will not prove that M. Nicole is the same person as Arsène
Lupin. Besides, make yourself easy. Prasville is not only beneath
contempt as a detective: he has but one aim in life, which is to
destroy his old enemy, Daubrecq. To achieve that aim, all means are
equally good; and he will not waste time in verifying the identity
of a M. Nicole who promises him Daubrecq. Not to mention that I
was brought by you and that, when all is said, my little gifts did
dazzle him to some extent. So let us go ahead boldly.”
Clarisse always recovered confidence in Lupin’s presence. The
future seemed less appalling to her; and she admitted, she forced
herself to admit, that the chances of saving Gilbert were not
lessened by that hideous death-sentence. But he could not prevail
upon her to return to Brittany. She wanted to fight by his side.
She wanted to be there and share all his hopes and all his
disappointments.
The next day the inquiries of the police confirmed what Prasville
and Lupin already knew. The Marquis d’Albufex had been very deeply
involved in the business of the canal, so deeply that Prince
Napoleon was obliged to remove him from the management of his
political campaign in France; and he kept up his very extravagant
style of living only by dint of constant loans and makeshifts. On
the other hand, in so far as concerned the kidnapping of Daubrecq,
it was ascertained that, contrary to his usual custom, the marquis
had not appeared in his club between six and seven that evening and
had not dined at home. He did not come back until midnight; and
then he came on foot.
M. Nicole’s accusation, therefore, was receiving an early proof.
Unfortunately--and Lupin was no more successful in his own
attempts--it was impossible to obtain the least clue as to the
motor-car, the chauffeur and the four people who had entered
Daubrecq’s house. Were they associates of the marquis, compromised
in the canal affair like himself? Were they men in his pay? Nobody
knew.
The whole search, consequently, had to be concentrated upon the
marquis and the country-seats and houses which he might possess at
a certain distance from Paris, a distance which, allowing for the
average speed of a motor-car and the inevitable stoppages, could be
put at sixty to ninety miles.
Now d’Albufex, having sold everything that he ever had, possessed
neither country-houses nor landed estates.
They turned their attention to the marquis’ relations and intimate
friends. Was he able on this side to dispose of some safe retreat
in which to imprison Daubrecq?
The result was equally fruitless.
And the days passed. And what days for Clarisse Mergy! Each of them
brought Gilbert nearer to the terrible day of reckoning. Each of
them meant twenty-four hours less from the date which Clarisse had
instinctively fixed in her mind. And she said to Lupin, who was
racked with the same anxiety:
“Fifty-five days more.... Fifty days more.... What can one do in so
few days?... Oh, I beg of you.... I beg of you....”
What could they do indeed? Lupin, who would not leave the task of
watching the marquis to any one but himself, practically lived
without sleeping. But the marquis had resumed his regular life;
and, doubtless suspecting something, did not risk going away.
Once alone, he went down to the Duc de Montmaur’s, in the daytime.
The duke kept a pack of boar-hounds, with which he hunted the
Forest of Durlaine. D’Albufex maintained no relations with him
outside the hunt.
“It is hardly likely,” said Prasville, “that the Duc de Montmaur,
an exceedingly wealthy man, who is interested only in his estates
and his hunting and takes no part in politics, should lend himself
to the illegal detention of Daubrecq the deputy in his chateau.”
Lupin agreed; but, as he did not wish to leave anything to chance,
the next week, seeing d’Albufex go out one morning in riding-dress,
he followed him to the Gare du Nord and took the same train.
He got out at Aumale, where d’Albufex found a carriage at the
station which took him to the Chateau de Montmaur.
Lupin lunched quietly, hired a bicycle and came in view of the
house at the moment when the guests were going into the park,
in motor-cars or mounted. The Marquis d’Albufex was one of the
horsemen.
Thrice, in the course of the day, Lupin saw him cantering along.
And he found him, in the evening, at the station, where d’Albufex
rode up, followed by a huntsman.
The proof, therefore, was conclusive; and there was nothing
suspicious on that side. Why did Lupin, nevertheless, resolve not
to be satisfied with appearances? And why, next day, did he send
the Masher to find out things in the neighbourhood of Montmaur? It
was an additional precaution, based upon no logical reason, but
agreeing with his methodical and careful manner of acting.
Two days later he received from the Masher, among other information
of less importance, a list of the house-party at Montmaur and of
all the servants and keepers.
One name struck him, among those of the huntsmen. He at once wired:
“Inquire about huntsman Sébastiani.”
The Masher’s answer was received the next day:
“Sébastiani, a Corsican, was recommended to the Duc de
Montmaur by the Marquis d’Albufex. He lives at two or three
miles from the house, in a hunting-lodge built among the
ruins of the feudal stronghold which was the cradle of the
Montmaur family.”
“That’s it,” said Lupin to Clarisse Mergy, showing her the Masher’s
letter. “That name, Sébastiani, at once reminded me that d’Albufex
is of Corsican descent. There was a connection....”
“Then what do you intend to do?”
“If Daubrecq is imprisoned in those ruins, I intend to enter into
communication with him.”
“He will distrust you.”
“No. Lately, acting on the information of the police, I ended by
discovering the two old ladies who carried off your little Jacques
at Saint-Germain and who brought him, the same evening, to Neuilly.
They are two old maids, cousins of Daubrecq, who makes them a
small monthly allowance. I have been to call on those Demoiselles
Rousselot; remember the name and the address: 134 bis, Rue du Bac.
I inspired them with confidence, promised them to find their cousin
and benefactor; and the elder sister, Euphrasie Rousselot, gave me
a letter in which she begs Daubrecq to trust M. Nicole entirely. So
you see, I have taken every precaution. I shall leave to-night.”
“We, you mean,” said Clarisse.
“You!”
“Can I go on living like this, in feverish inaction?” And she
whispered, “I am no longer counting the days, the thirty-eight or
forty days that remain to us: I am counting the hours.”
Lupin felt that her resolution was too strong for him to try to
combat it. They both started at five o’clock in the morning, by
motor-car. The Growler went with them.
So as not to arouse suspicion, Lupin chose a large town as his
headquarters. At Amiens, where he installed Clarisse, he was only
eighteen miles from Montmaur.
At eight o’clock he met the Masher not far from the old fortress,
which was known in the neighbourhood by the name of Mortepierre,
and he examined the locality under his guidance.
On the confines of the forest, the little river Ligier, which
has dug itself a deep valley at this spot, forms a loop which is
overhung by the enormous cliff of Mortepierre.
“Nothing to be done on this side,” said Lupin. “The cliff is steep,
over two hundred feet high, and the river hugs it all round.”
Not far away they found a bridge that led to the foot of a path
which wound, through the oaks and pines, up to a little esplanade,
where stood a massive, iron-bound gate, studded with nails and
flanked on either side by a large tower.
“Is this where Sébastiani the huntsman lives?” asked Lupin.
“Yes,” said the Masher, “with his wife, in a lodge standing in the
midst of the ruins. I also learnt that he has three tall sons and
that all the four were supposed to be away for a holiday on the day
when Daubrecq was carried off.”
“Oho!” said Lupin. “The coincidence is worth remembering. It seems
likely enough that the business was done by those chaps and their
father.”
Toward the end of the afternoon Lupin availed himself of a breach
to the right of the towers to scale the curtain. From there he was
able to see the huntsman’s lodge and the few remains of the old
fortress: here, a bit of wall, suggesting the mantel of a chimney;
further away, a water-tank; on this side, the arches of a chapel;
on the other, a heap of fallen stones.
A patrol-path edged the cliff in front; and, at one of the ends
of this patrol-path, there were the remains of a formidable
donjon-keep razed almost level with the ground.
Lupin returned to Clarisse Mergy in the evening. And from that
time he went backward and forward between Amiens and Mortepierre,
leaving the Growler and the Masher permanently on the watch.
And six days passed. Sébastiani’s habits seemed to be subject
solely to the duties of his post. He used to go up to the Chateau
de Montmaur, walk about in the forest, note the tracks of the game
and go his rounds at night.
But, on the seventh day, learning that there was to be a meet and
that a carriage had been sent to Aumale Station in the morning,
Lupin took up his post in a cluster of box and laurels which
surrounded the little esplanade in front of the gate.
At two o’clock he heard the pack give tongue. They approached,
accompanied by hunting-cries, and then drew farther away. He
heard them again, about the middle of the afternoon, not quite so
distinctly; and that was all. But suddenly, amid the silence, the
sound of galloping horses reached his ears; and, a few minutes
later, he saw two riders climbing the river-path.
He recognized the Marquis d’Albufex and Sébastiani. On reaching the
esplanade, they both alighted; and a woman--the huntsman’s wife, no
doubt--opened the gate. Sébastiani fastened the horses’ bridles to
rings fixed on a post at a few yards from Lupin and ran to join the
marquis. The gate closed behind them.
Lupin did not hesitate; and, though it was still broad daylight,
relying upon the solitude of the place, he hoisted himself to the
hollow of the breach. Passing his head through cautiously, he saw
the two men and Sébastiani’s wife hurrying toward the ruins of the
keep.
The huntsman drew aside a hanging screen of ivy and revealed the
entrance to a stairway, which he went down, as did d’Albufex,
leaving his wife on guard on the terrace.
There was no question of going in after them; and Lupin returned to
his hiding-place. He did not wait long before the gate opened again.
The Marquis d’Albufex seemed in a great rage. He was striking the
leg of his boot with his whip and mumbling angry words which Lupin
was able to distinguish when the distance became less great:
“Ah, the hound!... I’ll make him speak.... I’ll come back to-night
. . . to-night, at ten o’clock, do you hear, Sébastiani?... And we
shall do what’s necessary.... Oh, the brute!”
Sébastiani unfastened the horses. D’Albufex turned to the woman:
“See that your sons keep a good watch.... If any one attempts to
deliver him, so much the worse for him. The trapdoor is there. Can
I rely upon them?”
“As thoroughly as on myself, monsieur le marquis,” declared the
huntsman. “They know what monsieur le marquis has done for me and
what he means to do for them. They will shrink at nothing.”
“Let us mount and get back to the hounds,” said d’Albufex.
So things were going as Lupin had supposed. During these runs,
d’Albufex, taking a line of his own, would push off to Mortepierre,
without anybody’s suspecting his trick. Sébastiani, who was devoted
to him body and soul, for reasons connected with the past into
which it was not worth while to inquire, accompanied him; and
together they went to see the captive, who was closely watched by
the huntsman’s wife and his three sons.
“That’s where we stand,” said Lupin to Clarisse Mergy, when he
joined her at a neighbouring inn. “This evening the marquis
will put Daubrecq to the question--a little brutally, but
indispensably--as I intended to do myself.”
“And Daubrecq will give up his secret,” said Clarisse, already
quite upset.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then....”
“I am hesitating between two plans,” said Lupin, who seemed very
calm. “Either to prevent the interview....”
“How?”
“By forestalling d’Albufex. At nine o’clock, the Growler, the
Masher and I climb the ramparts, burst into the fortress, attack
the keep, disarm the garrison . . . and the thing’s done: Daubrecq
is ours.”
“Unless Sébastiani’s sons fling him through the trapdoor to which
the marquis alluded....”
“For that reason,” said Lupin, “I intend to risk that violent
measure only as a last resort and in case my other plan should not
be practicable.”
“What is the other plan?”
“To witness the interview. If Daubrecq does not speak, it will
give us the time to prepare to carry him off under more favourable
conditions. If he speaks, if they compel him to reveal the place
where the list of the Twenty-seven is hidden, I shall know the
truth at the same time as d’Albufex, and I swear to God that I
shall turn it to account before he does.”
“Yes, yes,” said Clarisse. “But how do you propose to be present?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lupin confessed. “It depends on certain
particulars which the Masher is to bring me and on some which I
shall find out for myself.”
He left the inn and did not return until an hour later as night was
falling. The Masher joined him.
“Have you the little book?” asked Lupin.
“Yes, governor. It was what I saw at the Aumale newspaper-shop. I
got it for ten sous.”
“Give it me.”
The Masher handed him an old, soiled, torn pamphlet, entitled,
on the cover, _A Visit to Mortepierre, 1824, with plans and
illustrations_.
Lupin at once looked for the plan of the donjon-keep.
“That’s it,” he said. “Above the ground were three stories, which
have been razed, and below the ground, dug out of the rock, two
stories, one of which was blocked up by the rubbish, while the
other.... There, that’s where our friend Daubrecq lies. The name is
significant: the torture-chamber.... Poor, dear friend!... Between
the staircase and the torture-chamber, two doors. Between those two
doors, a recess in which the three brothers obviously sit, gun in
hand.”
“So it is impossible for you to get in that way without being seen.”
“Impossible . . . unless I come from above, by the story that has
fallen in, and look for a means of entrance through the ceiling....
But that is very risky....”
He continued to turn the pages of the book. Clarisse asked:
“Is there no window to the room?”
“Yes,” he said. “From below, from the river--I have just been
there--you can see a little opening, which is also marked on the
plan. But it is fifty yards up, sheer; and even then the rock
overhangs the water. So that again is out of the question.”
He glanced through a few pages of the book. The title of one
chapter struck him: _The Lovers’ Towers_. He read the opening lines:
“In the old days, the donjon was known to the people of the
neighbourhood as the Lovers’ Tower, in memory of a fatal
tragedy that marked it in the Middle Ages. The Comte de
Mortepierre, having received proofs of his wife’s faithlessness,
imprisoned her in the torture-chamber, where she spent twenty
years. One night, her lover, the Sire de Tancarville, with
reckless courage, set up a ladder in the river and then
clambered up the face of the cliff till he came to the window
of the room. After filing the bars, he succeeded in releasing
the woman he loved and bringing her down with him by means of a
rope. They both reached the top of the ladder, which was watched
by his friends, when a shot was fired from the patrol-path and
hit the man in the shoulder. The two lovers were hurled into
space....”
There was a pause, after he had read this, a long pause during
which each of them drew a mental picture of the tragic escape.
So, three or four centuries earlier, a man, risking his life, had
attempted that surprising feat and would have succeeded but for the
vigilance of some sentry who heard the noise. A man had ventured! A
man had dared! A man done it!
Lupin raised his eyes to Clarisse. She was looking at him . . .
with such a desperate, such a beseeching look! The look of a mother
who demanded the impossible and who would have sacrificed anything
to save her son.
“Masher,” he said, “get a strong rope, but very slender, so that I
can roll it round my waist, and very long: fifty or sixty yards.
You, Growler, go and look for three or four ladders and fasten them
end to end.”
“Why, what are you thinking of, governor?” cried the two
accomplices. “What, you mean to.... But it’s madness!”
“Madness? Why? What another has done I can do.”
“But it’s a hundred chances to one that you break your neck.”
“Well, you see, Masher, there’s one chance that I don’t.”
“But, governor....”
“That’s enough, my friends. Meet me in an hour on the river-bank.”
* * * * *
The preparations took long in the making. It was difficult to find
the material for a fifty-foot ladder that would reach the first
ledge of the cliff; and it required an endless effort and care to
join the different sections.
At last, a little after nine o’clock, it was set up in the middle
of the river and held in position by a boat, the bows of which were
wedged between two of the rungs, while the stern was rammed into
the bank.
The road through the river-valley was little used, and nobody came
to interrupt the work. The night was dark, the sky heavy with
moveless clouds.
Lupin gave the Masher and the Growler their final instructions and
said, with a laugh:
“I can’t tell you how amused I am at the thought of seeing
Daubrecq’s face when they proceed to take his scalp or slice his
skin into ribbons. Upon my word, it’s worth the journey.”
Clarisse also had taken a seat in the boat. He said to her:
“Until we meet again. And, above all, don’t stir. Whatever happens,
not a movement, not a cry.”
“Can anything happen?” she asked.
“Why, remember the Sire de Tancarville! It was at the very moment
when he was achieving his object, with his true love in his arms,
that an accident betrayed him. But be easy: I shall be all right.”
She made no reply. She seized his hand and grasped it warmly
between her own.
He put his foot on the ladder and made sure that it did not sway
too much. Then he went up.
He soon reached the top rung.
This was where the dangerous ascent began, a difficult ascent at
the start, because of the excessive steepness, and developing,
mid-way, into an absolute escalade.
Fortunately, here and there were little hollows, in which his feet
found a resting-place, and projecting stones, to which his hands
clung. But twice those stones gave way and he slipped; and twice
he firmly believed that all was lost. Finding a deeper hollow, he
took a rest. He was worn out, felt quite ready to throw up the
enterprise, asked himself if it was really worth while for him to
expose himself to such danger:
“I say!” he thought. “Seems to me you’re showing the white feather,
Lupin, old boy. Throw up the enterprise? Then Daubrecq will babble
his secret, the marquis will possess himself of the list, Lupin
will return empty-handed, and Gilbert....”
The long rope which he had fastened round his waist caused him
needless inconvenience and fatigue. He fixed one of the ends to the
strap of his trousers and let the rope uncoil all the way down the
ascent, so that he could use it, on returning, as a hand-rail.
Then he once more clutched at the rough surface of the cliff and
continued the climb, with bruised nails and bleeding fingers. At
every moment he expected the inevitable fall. And what discouraged
him most was to hear the murmur of voices rising from the boat,
murmur so distinct that it seemed as though he were not increasing
the distance between his companions and himself.
And he remembered the Sire de Tancarville, alone, he too, amid the
darkness, who must have shivered at the noise of the stones which
he loosened and sent bounding down the cliff. How the least sound
reverberated through the silence! If one of Daubrecq’s guards
was peering into the gloom from the Lovers’ Tower, it meant a
shot . . . and death.
And he climbed . . . he climbed.... He had climbed so long that he
ended by imagining that the goal was passed. Beyond a doubt, he
had slanted unawares to the right or left and he would finish at
the patrol-path. What a stupid upshot! And what other upshot could
there be to an attempt which the swift force of events had not
allowed him to study and prepare?
Madly, he redoubled his efforts, raised himself by a number of
yards, slipped, recovered the lost ground, clutched a bunch of
roots that came loose in his hand, slipped once more and was
abandoning the game in despair when, suddenly, stiffening himself
and contracting his whole frame, his muscles and his will, he
stopped still: a sound of voices seemed to issue from the very rock
which he was grasping.
He listened. It came from the right. Turning his head, he thought
that he saw a ray of light penetrating the darkness of space. By
what effort of energy, by what imperceptible movements he succeeded
in dragging himself to the spot he was never able exactly to
realize. But suddenly he found himself on the ledge of a fairly
wide opening, at least three yards deep, which dug into the wall of
the cliff like a passage, while its other end, much narrower, was
closed by three bars.
Lupin crawled along. His head reached the bars. And he saw....