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 lé
secrétaire-general, 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
lé secrétaire-general, 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 lé secrétaire-general,
when Napoleon I fell from power...”
“Oh, M. Nicole, oh, a lesson in French history!”
“Only a sentence, monsieur
lé secrétaire-general, 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 lé secrétaire-general,
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 lé secrétaire-general,
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
lé secrétaire-general, 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
lé secrétaire-general, 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 tomorrow. 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 Sebastiani.”
The Masher’s answer was received the next day:
“Sebastiani, 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, Sebastiani, 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 Sebastiani 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. Sebastiani’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 Sebastiani. On reaching the esplanade, they
both alighted; and a woman the huntsman’s
wife, no doubt opened the gate. Sebastiani
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 Sebastiani’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, Sebastiani?...
And we shall do what’s necessary... Oh,
the brute!”
Sebastiani 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 lé marquis,” declared the
huntsman. “They know what monsieur
lé 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.
Sebastiani, 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 Sebastiani’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...