ANGUISH
Had Veronique been alone, she would have yielded to one of those moods
of despondency which her nature, brave though it was, could not escape
in the face of the unrelenting animosity of fate. But in the presence of
Stephane, who she felt to be the weaker and who was certainly exhausted
by his captivity, she had the strength to restrain herself and announce,
as though mentioning quite an ordinary incident:
"The ladder has swung out of our reach."
Stephane looked at her in dismay:
"Then . . . then we are lost!"
"Why should we be lost?" she asked, with a smile.
"There is no longer any hope of getting away."
"What do you mean? Of course there is. What about Francois?"
"Francois?"
"Certainly. In an hour at most, Francois will have made his escape; and,
when he sees the ladder and the way I came, he will call to us. We shall
hear him easily. We have only to be patient."
"To be patient!" he said, in terror. "To wait for an hour! But they are
sure to be here in less than that. They keep a constant watch."
"Well, we will manage somehow."
He pointed to the wicket in the door:
"Do you see that wicket?" he said. "They open it each time. They will
see us through the grating."
"There's a shutter to it. Let's close it."
"They will come in."
"Then we won't close it and we'll keep up our confidence, Stephane."
"I'm frightened for you, not for myself."
"You mustn't be frightened either for me or for yourself . . . . If the
worst comes to the worst, we are able to defend ourselves," she added,
showing him a revolver which she had taken from her father's rack of
arms and carried on her ever since.
"Ah," he said, "what I fear is that we shall not even be called upon to
defend ourselves! They have other means."
"What means?"
He did not answer. He had flung a quick glance at the floor; and
Veronique for a moment examined its curious structure.
All around, following the circumference of the walls, was the granite
itself, rugged and uneven. But outlined in the granite was a large
square. They could see, on each of the four sides, the deep crevice that
divided it from the rest. The timbers of which it consisted were worn
and grooved, full of cracks and gashes, but nevertheless massive and
powerful. The fourth side almost skirted the edge of the precipice, from
which it was divided by eight inches at most.
"A trap-door?" she asked, with a shudder.
"No, not that," he said. "It would be too heavy."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. Very likely it is nothing but a remnant of some past
contrivance which no longer works. Still . . ."
"Still what?"
"Last night . . . or rather this morning there was a creaking sound down
below there. It seemed to suggest attempts, but they stopped at once
. . . it's such a long time since! . . . No, the thing no longer works
and they can't make use of it."
"Who's _they_?"
Without waiting for his answer, she continued:
"Listen, Stephane, we have a few minutes before us, perhaps fewer than
we think. Francois will be free at any moment now and will come to our
rescue. Let us make the most of the interval and tell each other the
things which both of us ought to know. Let us discuss matters quietly.
We are threatened with no immediate danger; and the time will be well
employed."
Veronique was pretending a sense of security which she did not feel.
That Francois would make his escape she refused to doubt; but who could
tell that the boy would go to the window and notice the hook of the
hanging ladder? On failing to see his mother, would he not rather think
of following the underground tunnel and running to the Priory?
However, she mastered herself, feeling the need of the explanation for
which she had asked, and, sitting down on a granite projection which
formed a sort of bench, she at once began to tell Stephane the events
which she had witnessed and in which she had played a leading part, from
the moment when her investigations led her to the deserted cabin
containing Maguennoc's dead body.
Stephane listened to the terrifying narrative without attempting to
interrupt her but with an alarm marked by his gestures of abhorrence and
the despairing expression of his face. M. d'Hergemont's death in
particular seemed to crush him, as did Honorine's. He had been greatly
attached to both of them.
"There, Stephane," said Veronique, when she had described the anguish
which she suffered after the execution of the sisters Archignat, the
discovery of the underground passage and her interview with Francois.
"That is all that I need absolutely tell you. I thought that you ought
to know what I have kept from Francois, so that we may fight our enemies
together."
He shook his head:
"Which enemies?" he said. "I, too, in spite of your explanations, am
asking the very question which you asked me. I have a feeling that we
are flung into the midst of a great tragedy which has continued for
years, for centuries, and in which we have begun to play our parts only
at the moment of the crisis, at the moment of the terrific cataclysm
prepared by generations of men. I may be wrong. Perhaps there is nothing
more than a disconnected series of sinister, weird and horrible
coincidences amid which we are tossed from side to side, without being
able to appeal to any other reasons than the whim of chance. In reality
I know no more than you do. I am surrounded by the same obscurity,
stricken by the same sorrows and the same losses. It's all just
insanity, extravagant convulsions, unprecedent shocks, the crimes of
savages, the fury of the barbaric ages."
Veronique agreed:
"Yes, of the barbaric ages; and that is what baffles me most and
impresses me so much! What is the connection between the present and the
past, between our persecutors of to-day and the men who lived in these
caves in days of old and whose actions are prolonged into our own time,
in a manner so impossible to understand? To what do they all refer,
those legends of which I know nothing except from Honorine's delirium
and the distress of the sisters Archignat?"
They spoke low, with their ears always on the alert. Stephane listened
for sounds in the corridor, Veronique concentrated her attention on the
cliff, in the hope of hearing Francois' signal.
"They are very complicated legends," said Stephane, "very obscure
traditions in which we must abandon any attempt to distinguish between
what is superstition and what might be truth. Out of this jumble of old
wives' tales, the very most that we can disentangle is two sets of
ideas, those referring to the prophecy of the thirty coffins and those
relating to the existence of a treasure, or rather of a miraculous
stone."
"Then they take as a prophecy," said Veronique, "the words which I read
on Maguennoc's drawing and again on the Fairies' Dolmen?"
"Yes, a prophecy which dates back to an indeterminate period and which
for centuries has governed the whole history and the whole life of
Sarek. The belief has always prevailed that a day would come when,
within a space of twelve months, the thirty principal reefs which
surround the island and which are called the thirty coffins would
receive their thirty victims, who were to die a violent death, and that
those thirty victims would include four women who were to die crucified.
It is an established and undisputed tradition, handed down from father
to son: and everybody believes in it. It is expressed in the line and
part of a line inscribed on the Fairies' Dolmen: 'Four women crucified,'
and 'For thirty coffins victims thirty times!'"
"Very well; but people have gone on living all the same, normally and
peaceably. Why did the outburst of terror suddenly take place this
year?"
"Maguennoc was largely responsible. Maguennoc was a fantastic and rather
mysterious person, a mixture of the wizard and the bone-setter, the
healer and the charlatan, who had studied the stars in their courses and
whom people liked to consult about the most remote events of the past as
well as the future. Now Maguennoc announced not long ago that 1917 would
be the fateful year."
"Why?"
"Intuition perhaps, presentiment, divination, or subconscious knowledge:
you can choose any explanation that you please. As for Maguennoc, who
did not despise the practices of the most antiquated magic, _he_ would
tell you that he knew it from the flight of a bird or the entrails of a
fowl. However, his prophecy was based on something more serious. He
pretended, quoting evidence collected in his childhood among the old
people of Sarek, that, at the beginning of the last century, the first
line of the inscription on the Fairies' Dolmen was not yet obliterated
and that it formed this, which would rhyme with 'Four women shall be
crucified on tree:' 'In Sarek's isle, in year fourteen and three.' The
year fourteen and three is the year seventeen; and the prediction became
more impressive for Maguennoc and his friends of late years, because the
total number was divided into two numbers and the war broke out in 1914.
From that day, Maguennoc grew more and more important and more and more
sure of the truth of his previsions. For that matter, he also grew more
and more anxious; and he even announced that his death, followed by the
death of M. d'Hergemont, would give the signal for the catastrophe. Then
the year 1917 arrived and produced a genuine terror in the island. The
events were close at hand."
"And still," said Veronique, "and still it was all absurd."
"Absurd, yes; but it all acquired a curiously disturbing significance on
the day when Maguennoc was able to compare the scraps of prophecy
engraved on the dolmen with the complete prophecy."
"Then he succeeded in doing so?"
"Yes. He discovered under the abbey ruins, in a heap of stones which had
formed a sort of protecting chamber round it, an old worn and tattered
missal, which had a few of its pages in good condition, however, and one
in particular, the one which you saw, or rather of which you saw a copy
in the deserted cabin."
"A copy made by my father?"
"By your father, as were all those in the cupboard in his study. M.
d'Hergemont, you must remember, was fond of drawing, of painting
water-colours. He copied the illuminated page, but of the prophecy that
accompanied the drawing he reproduced only the words inscribed on the
Fairies' Dolmen."
"How do you account for the resemblance between the crucified woman and
myself?"
"I never saw the original, which Maguennoc gave to M. d'Hergemont and
which your father kept jealously in his room. But M. d'Hergemont
maintained that the resemblance was there. In any case, he accentuated
it in his drawing, in spite of himself, remembering all that you had
suffered . . . and through his fault, he said."
"Perhaps," murmured Veronique, "he was also thinking of the other
prophecy that was once made to Vorski: 'You will perish by the hand of a
friend and your wife will be crucified.' So I suppose the strange
coincidence struck him . . . and even made him write the initials of my
maiden name, 'V. d'H.', at the top." And she added, "And all this
happened in accordance with the wording of the inscription . . . ."
They were both silent. How could they do other than think of that
inscription, of the words written ages ago on the pages of the missal
and on the stone of the dolmen? If destiny had as yet provided only
twenty-seven victims for the thirty coffins of Sarek, were the last
three not there, ready to complete the sacrifice, all three imprisoned,
all three captive and in the power of the sacrificial murderers? And if,
at the top of the knoll, near the Grand Oak, there were as yet but three
crosses, would the fourth not soon be prepared, to receive a fourth
victim?
"Francois is a very long time," said Veronique, presently.
She went to the edge and looked over. The ladder had not moved and was
still out of reach.
"The others will soon be coming to my door," said Stephane. "I am
surprised that they haven't been yet."
But they did not wish to confess their mutual anxiety; and Veronique put
a further question, in a calm voice:
"And the treasure? The God-Stone?"
"That riddle is hardly less obscure," said Stephane, "and also depends
entirely on the last line of the inscription: 'The God-Stone which gives
life or death.' What is this God-Stone? Tradition says that it is a
miraculous stone; and, according to M. d'Hergemont, this belief dates
back to the remotest periods. People at Sarek have always had faith in
the existence of a stone capable of working wonders. In the middle ages
they used to bring puny and deformed children and lay them on the stone
for days and nights together, after which the children got up strong and
healthy. Barren women resorted to this remedy with good results, as did
old men, wounded men and all sorts of degenerates. Only it came about
that the place of pilgrimage underwent changes, the stone, still
according to tradition, having been moved and even, according to some,
having disappeared. In the eighteenth century, people venerated the
Fairies' Dolmen and used still sometimes to expose scrofulous children
there."
"But," said Veronique, "the stone also had harmful properties, for it
gave death as well as life?"
"Yes, if you touched it without the knowledge of those whose business it
was to guard it and keep it sacred. But in this respect the mystery
becomes still more complicated, for there is the question also of a
precious stone, a sort of fantastic gem which shoots out flames, burns
those who wear it and makes them suffer the tortures of the damned."
"That's what happened to Maguennoc, by Honorine's account," said
Veronique.
"Yes," replied Stephane, "but here we are entering upon the present. So
far I have been speaking of the fabled past, the two legends, the
prophecy and the God-Stone. Maguennoc's adventure opens up the period of
the present day, which for that matter is hardly less obscure than the
ancient period. What happened to Maguennoc? We shall probably never
know. He had been keeping in the background for a week, gloomy and doing
no work, when suddenly he burst into M. d'Hergemont's study roaring,
'I've touched it! I'm done for! I've touched it! . . . I took it in my
hand . . . . It burnt me like fire, but I wanted to keep it . . . . Oh,
it's been gnawing into my bones for days! It's hell, it's hell!' And he
showed us the palm of his hand. It was all burnt, as though eaten up
with cancer. We tried to dress it for him, but he seemed quite mad and
kept rambling on, 'I'm the first victim . . . . the fire will go to my
heart . . . . And after me the others' turn will come . . . .' That same
evening, he cut off his hand with a hatchet. And a week later, after
infecting the whole island with terror, he went away."
"Where did he go to?"
"To the village of Le Faouet, on a pilgrimage to the Chapel of St.
Barbe, near the place where you found his dead body."
"Who killed him, do you think?"
"Undoubtedly one of the creatures who used to correspond by means of
signs written along the road, one of the creatures who live hidden in
the cells and who are pursuing some purpose which I don't understand."
"Those who attacked you and Francois, therefore?"
"Yes; and immediately afterwards, having stolen and put on our clothes,
played the parts of Francois and myself."
"With what object?"
"To enter the Priory more easily and then, if their attempt failed, to
balk enquiry."
"But haven't you seen them since they have kept you here?"
"I have seen only a woman, or rather caught a glimpse of her. She comes
at night. She brings me food and drink, unties my hands, loosens the
fastenings round my legs a little and comes back two hours after."
"Has she spoken to you?"
"Once only, on the first night, in a low voice, to tell me that, if I
called out or uttered a sound or tried to escape, Francois would pay the
penalty."
"But, when they attacked you, couldn't you then make out . . . ?"
"No, I saw no more than Francois did."
"And the attack was quite unexpected?"
"Yes, quite. M. d'Hergemont had that morning received two important
letters on the subject of the investigation which he was making into all
these facts. One of the letters, written by an old Breton nobleman
well-known for his royalist leanings, was accompanied by a curious
document which he had found among his great-grandfather's papers, a plan
of some underground cells which the Chouans used to occupy in Sarek. It
was evidently the same Druid dwellings of which the legends tell us. The
plan showed the entrance on the Black Heath and marked two stories, each
ending in a torture-chamber. Francois and I went out exploring together;
and we were attacked on our way back."
"And you have made no discovery since?"
"No, none at all."
"But Francois spoke of a rescue which he was expecting, some one who had
promised his assistance."
"Oh, a piece of boyish nonsense, an idea of Francois', which, as it
happened, was connected with the second letter which M. d'Hergemont
received that morning!"
"And what was it about?"
Stephane did not reply at once. Something made him think that they were
being spied on through the door. But, on going to the wicket, he saw no
one in the passage outside.
"Ah," he said, "if we are to be rescued, the sooner it happens the
better. _They_ may come at any moment now."
"Is any help really possible?" asked Veronique.
"Well," Stephane answered, "we must not attach too much importance to
it, but it's rather curious all the same. You know, Sarek has often been
visited by officers or inspectors with a view to exploring the rocks and
beaches around the island, which were quite capable of concealing a
submarine base. Last time, the special delegate sent from Paris, a
wounded officer, Captain Patrice Belval,[2] became friendly with M.
d'Hergemont, who told him the legend of Sarek and the apprehension which
we were beginning to feel in spite of everything; it was the day after
Maguennoc went away. The story interested Captain Belval so much that he
promised to speak of it to one of his friends in Paris, a Spanish or
Portuguese nobleman, Don Luis Perenna,[2] an extraordinary person, it
would seem, capable of solving the most complicated mysteries and of
succeeding in the most reckless enterprises. A few days after Captain
Belval's departure, M. d'Hergemont received from Don Luis Perenna the
letter of which I spoke to you and of which he read us only the
beginning. 'Sir,' it said, 'I look upon the Maguennoc incident as more
than a little serious; and I beg you, at the least fresh alarm, to
telegraph to Patrice Belval. If I can rely upon certain indications, you
are standing on the brink of an abyss. But, even if you were at the
bottom of that abyss, you would have nothing to fear, if only I hear
from you in time. From that moment, I make myself responsible, whatever
happens, even though everything may seem lost and though everything may
be lost. As for the riddle of the God-Stone, it is simply childish and I
am astonished that, with the very ample data which you gave Belval, it
should for an instant be regarded as impossible of explanation. I will
tell you in a few words what has puzzled so many generations of mankind
. . . .'"
[Footnote 2: See _The Golden Triangle_, by Maurice Leblanc.]
"Well?" said Veronique, eager to know more.
"As I said, M. d'Hergemont did not tell us the end of the letter. He
read it in front of us, saying, with an air of amazement, 'Can that be
it? . . . Why, of course, of course it is . . . . How wonderful!' And,
when we asked him, he said, 'I'll tell you all about it this evening,
when you come back from the Black Heath. Meanwhile you may like to know
that this most extraordinary man--it's the only word for him--discloses
to me, without more ado or further particulars, the secret of the
God-Stone and the exact spot where it is to be found. And he does it so
logically as to leave no room for doubt.'"
"And in the evening?"
"In the evening, Francois and I were carried off and M. d'Hergemont was
murdered."
Veronique paused to think:
"I should not be surprised," she said, "if they wanted to steal that
important letter from him. For, after all, the theft of the God-Stone
seems to me the only motive that can explain all the machinations of
which we are the victims."
"I think so too: but M. d'Hergemont, on Don Luis Perenna's
recommendation, tore up the letter before our eyes."
"So, after all, Don Luis Perenna has not been informed?"
"No."
"Yet Francois . . ."
"Francois does not know of his grandfather's death and does not suspect
that M. d'Hergemont never heard of our disappearance and therefore never
sent a message to Don Luis Perenna. If he had done so, Don Luis, to
Francois' mind, must be on his way. Besides, Francois has another
reason for expecting something . . . ."
"A serious reason?"
"No. Francois is still very much of a child. He has read a lot of books
of adventure, which have worked upon his imagination. Now Captain Belval
told him such fantastic stories about his friend Perenna and painted
Perenna in such strange colours that Francois firmly believes Perenna to
be none other than Arsene Lupin. Hence his absolute confidence and his
certainty that, in case of danger, the miraculous intervention will take
place at the very minute when it becomes necessary."
Veronique could not help smiling:
"He is a child, of course; but children sometimes have intuitions which
we have to take into account. Besides, it keeps up his courage and his
spirits. How could he have endured this ordeal, at his age, if he had
not had that hope?"
Her anguish returned. In a very low voice, she said:
"No matter where the rescue comes from, so long as it comes in time and
so long as my son is not the victim of those dreadful creatures!"
They were silent for a long time. The enemy, present, though invisible,
oppressed them with his formidable weight. He was everywhere; he was
master of the island, master of the subterranean dwellings, master of
the heaths and woods, master of the sea around them, master of the
dolmens and the coffins. He linked together the monstrous ages of the
past and the no less monstrous hours of the present. He was continuing
history according to the ancient rites and striking blows which had
been foretold a thousand times.
"But why? With what object? What does it all mean?" asked Veronique, in
a disheartened tone. "What connection can there be between the people of
to-day and those of long ago? What is the explanation of the work
resumed by such barbarous methods?"
And, after a further pause, she said, for in her heart of hearts, behind
every question and reply and every insoluble problem, the obsession
never ceased to torment her:
"Ah, if Francois were here! If we were all three fighting together! What
has happened to him? What keeps him in his cell? Some obstacle which he
did not foresee?"
It was Stephane's turn to comfort her:
"An obstacle? Why should you suppose so? There is no obstacle. But it's
a long job . . . ."
"Yes, yes, you are right; a long, difficult job. Oh, I'm sure that he
won't lose heart! He has such high spirits! And such confidence! 'A
mother and son who have been brought together cannot be parted again,'
he said. 'They may still persecute us, but separate us, never! We shall
win in the end.' He was speaking truly, wasn't he, Stephane? I've not
found my son again, have I, only to lose him? No, no, it would be too
unjust and it would be impossible . . ."
Stephane looked at her, surprised to hear her interrupt herself.
Veronique was listening to something.
"What is it?" asked Stephane.
"I hear sounds," she said.
He also listened:
"Yes, yes, you're right."
"Perhaps it's Francois," she said. "Perhaps it's up there."
She moved to rise. He held her back:
"No, it's the sound of footsteps in the passage."
"In that case . . . in that case . . . ?" said Veronique.
They exchanged distraught glances, forming no decision, not knowing what
to do.
The sound came nearer. The enemy could not be suspecting anything, for
the steps were those of one who is not afraid of being heard.
Stephane said, slowly:
"They must not see me standing up. I will go back to my place. You must
fasten me again as best you can."
They remained hesitating, as though cherishing the absurd hope that the
danger would pass of its own accord. Then, suddenly, releasing herself
from the sort of stupor that seemed to paralyse her, Veronique made up
her mind:
"Quick! . . . Here they come! . . . Lie down!"
He obeyed. In a few seconds, she had replaced the cords on and around
him as she had found them, but without tying them.
"Turn your face to the rock," she said. "Hide your hands. Your hands
might betray you."
"And you?"
"I shall be all right."
She stooped and stretched herself at full length against the door, in
which the spy-hole, barred with strips of iron, projected inwardly in
such a way as to hide her from sight.
At the same moment, the enemy stopped outside. Notwithstanding the
thickness of the door, Veronique heard the rustle of a dress.
And, above her, some one looked in.
It was a terrible moment. The least indication would give the alarm.
"Oh, why does she stay?" thought Veronique. "Is there anything to betray
my presence? My clothes? . . ."
She thought that it was more likely Stephane, whose attitude did not
appear natural and whose bonds did not wear their usual aspect.
Suddenly there was a movement outside, followed by a whistle and a
second whistle.
Then from the far end of the passage came another sound of steps, which
increased in the solemn silence and stopped, like the first, behind the
door. Words were spoken. Those outside seemed to be concerting measures.
Veronique managed to reach her pocket. She took out her revolver and put
her finger on the trigger. If any one entered, she would stand up and
fire shot after shot, without hesitating. Would not the least hesitation
have meant Francois' death?