CHAPTER TWENTY
FLORENCE'S SECRET
It was time for the second act of the tragedy. Don Luis Perenna's deathwas to be followed by that of Florence. Like some monstrous butcher, thecripple passed from one to the other with no more compassion than if hewere dealing with the oxen in a slaughter-house.
Still weak in his limbs, he dragged himself to where the girl lay,took a cigarette from a gun-metal case, and, with a final touch ofcruelty, said:
"When this cigarette is quite burnt out, Florence, it will be your turn.Keep your eyes on it. It represents the last minutes of your life reducedto ashes. Keep your eyes on it, Florence, and think.
"I want you to understand this: all the owners of the estate, and oldLangernault in particular, have always considered that the heap of rocksand stones overhanging your head was bound to fall to pieces sooner orlater. And I myself, for years, with untiring patience, believing in afavourable opportunity, have amused myself by making it crumble awaystill more, by undermining it with the rain water, in short, by workingat it in such a way that, upon my word, I can't make out how the thingkeeps standing at all. Or, rather, I do understand.
"The few strokes with the pickaxe which I gave it just now were merelyintended for a warning. But I have only to give one more stroke in theright place, and knock out a little brick wedged in between two lumps ofstone, for the whole thing to tumble to the ground like a house of cards.
"A little brick, Florence," he chuckled, "a tiny little brick whichchance placed there, between two blocks of stone, and has kept inposition until now. Out comes the brick, down come the blocks, andthere's your catastrophe!"
He took breath and continued:
"After that? After that, Florence, this: either the smash will takeplace in such a way that your body will not even be in sight, if any oneshould dream of coming here to look for you, or else it will be partlyvisible, in which case I shall at once cut and destroy the cords withwhich you are tied.
"What will the law think then? Simply that Florence Levasseur, a fugitivefrom justice, hid herself in a grotto which fell upon her and crushedher. That's all. A few prayers for the rash creature's soul, and notanother word.
"As for me--as for me, when my work is done and my sweetheart dead--Ishall pack my traps, carefully remove all the traces of my coming, smoothevery inch of the trampled grass, jump into my motor car, sham death fora little while, and then put in a sensational claim for the hundredmillions."
He gave a little chuckle, took two or three puffs at his cigarette, andadded, calmly:
"I shall claim the hundred millions and I shall get them. That's theprettiest part of it. I shall claim them because I'm entitled to them;and I explained to you just now before Master Lupin came interfering,how, from the moment that you were dead, I had the most undeniable legalright to them. And I shall get them, because it is physically impossibleto bring up the least sort of proof against me."
He moved closer.
"There's not a charge that can hurt me. Suspicions, yes, moralpresumptions, clues, anything you like, but not a scrap of materialevidence. Nobody knows me. One person has seen me as a tall man, anotheras a short man. My very name is unknown. All my murders have beencommitted anonymously. All my murders are more like suicides, or can beexplained as suicides.
"I tell you the law is powerless. With Lupin dead, and Florence Levasseurdead, there's no one to bear witness against me. Even if they arrestedme, they would have to discharge me in the end for lack of evidence. Ishall be branded, execrated, hated, and cursed; my name will stink inpeople's nostrils, as if I were the greatest of malefactors. But I shallpossess the hundred millions; and with that, pretty one, I shall possessthe friendship of all decent men!
"I tell you again, with Lupin and you gone, it's all over. There'snothing left, nothing but some papers and a few little things which Ihave been weak enough to keep until now, in this pocket-book here, andwhich would be enough and more than enough to cost me my head, if I didnot intend to burn them in a few minutes and send the ashes to the bottomof the well.
"So you see, Florence, all my measures are taken. You need not hopefor compassion from me, nor for help from anywhere else, since no oneknows where I have brought you, and Arsene Lupin is no longer alive.Under these conditions, Florence, make your choice. The ending is inyour own hands: either you die, absolutely and irrevocably, or youaccept my love."
There was a moment of silence, then:
"Answer me yes or no. A movement of your head will decide your fate. Ifit's no, you die. If it's yes, I shall release you. We will go from hereand, later, when your innocence is proved--and I'll see to that--youshall become my wife. Is the answer yes, Florence?"
He put the question to her with real anxiety and with a restrainedpassion that set his voice trembling. His knees dragged over theflagstones. He begged and threatened, hungering to be entreated and, atthe same time, almost eager for a refusal, so great was his naturalmurderous impulse.
"Is it yes, Florence? A nod, the least little nod, and I shall believeyou implicitly, for you never lie and your promise is sacred. Is it yes,Florence? Oh, Florence, answer me! It is madness to hesitate. Your lifedepends on a fresh outburst of my anger. Answer me! Here, look, mycigarette is out. I'm throwing it away, Florence. A sign of your head: isthe answer yes or no?"
He bent over her and shook her by the shoulders, as if to force her tomake the sign which he asked for. But suddenly seized with a sort offrenzy, he rose to his feet and exclaimed:
"She's crying! She's crying! She dares to weep! But, wretched girl, doyou think that I don't know what you're crying for? I know your secret,pretty one, and I know that your tears do not come from any fear ofdying. You? Why, you fear nothing! No, it's something else! Shall I tellyou your secret? Oh, I can't, I can't--though the words scorch my lips.Oh, cursed woman, you've brought it on yourself! You yourself want todie, Florence, as you're crying--you yourself want to die--"
While he was speaking he hastened to get to work and prepare the horribletragedy. The leather pocket-book which he had mentioned as containing thepapers was lying on the ground; he put it in his pocket. Then, stilltrembling, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the nearest bush.Next, he took up the pickaxe and climbed the lower stones, stamping withrage and shouting:
"It's you who have asked to die, Florence! Nothing can prevent it now.I can't even see your head, if you make a sign. It's too late! Youasked for it and you've got it! Ah, you're crying! You dare to cry!What madness!"
He was standing almost above the grotto, on the right. His anger made himdraw himself to his full height. He looked horrible, hideous, atrocious.His eyes filled with blood as he inserted the bar of the pickaxe betweenthe two blocks of granite, at the spot where the brick was wedged in.Then, standing on one side, in a place of safety, he struck the brick,struck it again. At the third stroke the brick flew out.
What happened was so sudden, the pyramid of stones and rubbish camecrashing with such violence into the hollow of the grotto and in front ofthe grotto, that the cripple himself, in spite of his precautions, wasdragged down by the avalanche and thrown upon the grass. It was not aserious fall, however, and he picked himself up at once, stammering:
"Florence! Florence!"
Though he had so carefully prepared the catastrophe, and brought it aboutwith such determination, its results seemed suddenly to stagger him. Hehunted for the girl with terrified eyes. He stooped down and crawledround the chaos shrouded in clouds of dust. He looked through theinterstices. He saw nothing.
Florence was buried under the ruins, dead, invisible, as he hadanticipated.
"Dead!" he said, with staring eyes and a look of stupor on his face."Dead! Florence is dead!"
Once again he lapsed into a state of absolute prostration, whichgradually slackened his legs, brought him to the ground and paralyzedhim. His two efforts, following so close upon each other and ending indisasters of which he had been the immediate witness, seemed to haverobbed him of all his remaini
ng energy.
With no hatred in him, since Arsene Lupin no longer lived, with no love,since Florence was no more, he looked like a man who has lost his lastmotive for existence.
Twice his lips uttered the name of Florence. Was he regretting hisfriend? Having reached the last of that appalling series of crimes, washe imagining the several stages, each marked with a corpse? Was somethinglike a conscience making itself felt deep down in that brute? Or was itnot rather the sort of physical torpor that numbs the sated beast ofprey, glutted with flesh, drunk with blood, a torpor that is almostvoluptuousness?
Nevertheless, he once more repeated Florence's name, and tears rolleddown his cheeks.
He lay long in this condition, gloomy and motionless; and when, afteragain taking a few sips of his medicine, he went back to his work, hedid so mechanically, with none of that gayety which had made him hopon his legs and set about his murder as though he were going to apleasure party.
He began by returning to the bush from which Lupin had seen him emerge.Behind this bush, between two trees, was a shelter containing tools andarms, spades, rakes, guns, and rolls of wire and rope.
Making several journeys, he carried them to the well, intending to throwthem down it before he went away. He next examined every particle of thelittle mound up which he had climbed, in order to make sure that he wasnot leaving the least trace of his passage.
He made a similar examination of those parts of the lawn on which he hadstepped, except the path leading to the well, the inspection of which hekept for the last. He brushed up the trodden grass and carefully smoothedthe trampled earth.
He was obviously anxious and seemed to be thinking of other things, whileat the same time mechanically doing those things which a murderer knowsby force of habit that it is wise to do.
One little incident seemed to wake him up. A wounded swallow fell to theground close by where he stood. He stooped, caught it, and crushed it inhis hands, kneading it like a scrap of crumpled paper. And his eyes shonewith a savage delight as he gazed at the blood that trickled from thepoor bird and reddened his hands.
But, when he flung the shapeless little body into a furze bush, he saw onthe spikes in the bush a hair, a long, fair hair; and all his depressionreturned at the memory of Florence.
He knelt in front of the ruined grotto. Then, breaking two sticksof wood, he placed the pieces in the form of a cross under one ofthe stones.
As he was bending over, a little looking-glass slipped from his waistcoatpocket and, striking a pebble, broke. This sign of ill luck made a greatimpression on him, He cast a suspicious look around him and, shiveringwith nervousness, as though he felt threatened by the invisible powers,he muttered:
"I'm afraid--I'm afraid. Let's go away--"
His watch now marked half-past four. He took his jacket from the shrub onwhich he had hung it, slipped his arms into the sleeves, and put his handin the right-hand outside pocket, where he had placed the pocket-bookcontaining his papers:
"Hullo!" he said, in great surprise. "I was sure I had--"
He felt in the left outside pocket, then in the handkerchief-pocket,then, with feverish excitement, in both the inside pockets. Thepocket-book was not there. And, to his extreme amazement, all theother things which he was absolutely certain that he had left in thepockets of his jacket were gone: his cigarette-case, his box ofmatches, his notebook.
He was flabbergasted. His features became distorted. He splutteredincomprehensible words, while the most terrible thought took hold of hismind so forcibly as to become a reality: there was some one within theprecincts of the Old Castle.
There was some one within the precincts of the Old Castle! And this someone was now hiding near the ruins, in the ruins perhaps! And this someone had seen him! And this some one had witnessed the death of ArseneLupin and the death of Florence Levasseur! And this some one, takingadvantage of his heedlessness and knowing from his words that the papersexisted, had searched his jacket and rifled the pockets!
His eyes expressed the alarm of a man accustomed to work in the darknessunperceived, and who suddenly becomes aware that another's eyes havesurprised him at his hateful task and that he is being watched in everymovement for the first time in his life.
Whence did that look come that troubled him as the daylight troubles abird of the night? Was it an intruder hiding there by accident, or anenemy bent upon his destruction? Was it an accomplice of Arsene Lupin, afriend of Florence, one of the police? And was this adversary satisfiedwith his stolen booty, or was he preparing to attack him?
The cripple dared not stir. He was there, exposed to assault, on openground, with nothing to protect him against the blows that might comebefore he even knew where the adversary was.
At last, however, the imminence of the danger gave him back some of hisstrength. Still motionless, he inspected his surroundings with anattention so keen that it seemed as if no detail could escape him. Hewould have sighted the most indistinct shape among the stones of theruined pile, or in the bushes, or behind the tall laurel screen.
Seeing nobody, he came along, supporting himself on his crutch. He walkedwithout the least sound of his feet or of the crutch, which probably hada rubber shoe at the end of it. His raised right hand held a revolver.His finger was on the trigger. The least effort of his will, or even lessthan that, a spontaneous injunction of his instinct, was enough to put abullet into the enemy.
He turned to the left. On this side, between the extreme end of thelaurels and the first fallen rocks, there was a little brick path whichwas more likely the top of a buried wall. The cripple followed this path,by which the enemy might have reached the shrub on which the jacket hungwithout leaving any traces.
The last branches of the laurels were in his way, and he pushed themaside. There was a tangled mass of bushes. To avoid this, he skirted thefoot of the mound, after which he took a few more steps, going round ahuge rock. And then, suddenly, he started back and almost lost hisbalance, while his crutch fell to the ground and his revolver slippedfrom his hand.
What he had seen, what he saw, was certainly the most terrifying sightthat he could possibly have beheld. Opposite him, at ten paces distance,with his hands in his pockets, his feet crossed, and one shoulderresting lightly against the rocky wall, stood not a man: it was not aman, and could not be a man, for this man, as the cripple knew, wasdead, had died the death from which there is no recovery. It wastherefore a ghost; and this apparition from the tomb raised thecripple's terror to its highest pitch.
He shivered, seized with a fresh attack of fever and weakness. Hisdilated pupils stared at the extraordinary phenomenon. His whole being,filled with demoniacal superstition and dread, crumpled up under thevision to which each second lent an added horror.
Incapable of flight, incapable of defence, he dropped upon his knees.And he could not take his eyes from that dead man, whom hardly an hourbefore he had buried in the depths of a well, under a shroud of ironand granite.
Arsene Lupin's ghost!
A man you take aim at, you fire at, you kill. But a ghost! A thing whichno longer exists and which nevertheless disposes of all the supernaturalpowers! What was the use of struggling against the infernal machinationsof that which is no more? What was the use of picking up the fallenrevolver and levelling it at the intangible spirit of Arsene Lupin?
And he saw an incomprehensible thing occur: the ghost took its hands outof its pockets. One of them held a cigarette-case; and the cripplerecognized the same gun-metal case for which he had hunted in vain. Therewas therefore not a doubt left that the creature who had ransacked thejacket was the very same who now opened the case, picked out a cigaretteand struck a match taken from a box which also belonged to the cripple!
O miracle! A real flame came from the match! O incomparable marvel!Clouds of smoke rose from the cigarette, real smoke, of which the crippleat once knew the particular smell!
He hid his head in his hands. He refused to see more. Whether ghostor optical illusion, an emanation from another wo
rld, or an imageborn of his remorse and proceeding from himself, it should torturehis eyes no longer.
But he heard the sound of a step approaching him, growing more and moredistinct as it came closer! He felt a strange presence moving near him!An arm was stretched out! A hand fell on his shoulder! That hand clutchedhis flesh with an irresistible grip! And he heard words spoken by a voicewhich, beyond mistake, was the human and living voice of Arsene Lupin!
"Why, my dear sir, what a state we're getting ourselves into! Of course,I understand that my sudden return seems an unusual and even aninconvenient proceeding, but still it does not do to be so uncontrollablyimpressed. Men have seen much more extraordinary things than that, suchas Joshua staying the sun, and more sensational disasters, such as theLisbon earthquake of 1755.
"The wise man reduces events to their proper proportions and judges them,not by their action upon his own destiny, but by the way in which theyinfluence the fortunes of the world. Now confess that your little mishapis purely individual and does not affect the equilibrium of the solarsystem. You know what Marcus Aurelius says, on page 84, of Charpentier'sedition--"
The cripple had plucked up courage to raise his head; and the real stateof things now became so obviously apparent that he could no longer getaway from the undeniable fact: Arsene Lupin was not dead! Arsene Lupinwhom he had hurled into the bowels of the earth and crushed as surely asan insect is crushed with a hammer; Arsene Lupin was not dead!
How to explain so astounding a mystery the cripple did not even stop towonder. One thing alone mattered: Arsene Lupin was not dead. Arsene Lupinlooked and spoke as a living man does. Arsene Lupin was not dead. Hebreathed, he smiled, he talked, he lived!
And it was so certainly life that the scoundrel saw before him that,obeying a sudden impulse of his nature and of his hatred for life, heflattened himself to his full length, reached his revolver, seized it,and fired.
He fired; but it was too late. Don Luis had caused the weapon to swervewith a kick of his boot. Another kick sent it flying out of thecripple's hand.
The villain ground his teeth with fury and at once began hurriedly tofumble in his pockets.
"Is this what you're looking for, sir?" asked Don Luis, holding up ahypodermic syringe filled with a yellow fluid. "Excuse me, but I wasafraid lest you should prick yourself by mistake. That would have been afatal prick, would it not? And I should never have forgiven myself."
The cripple was disarmed. He hesitated for a moment, surprised that theenemy did not attack him more violently, and sought to profit by thedelay. His small, blinking eyes wandered around him, looking forsomething to throw. But an idea seemed to strike him and to restore hisconfidence little by little; and, in a new and really unexpected fit ofdelight, he indulged in one of his loudest chuckles:
"And what about Florence?" he shouted. "Don't forget Florence! For I'vegot you there! I can miss you with my revolver and you can steal mypoison; but I have another means of hitting you, right in the heart. Youcan't live without Florence, can you? Florence's death means your ownsentence, doesn't it? If Florence is dead, you'll put the rope round yourown neck, won't you, won't you, won't you?"
"Yes. If Florence were to die, I could not survive her!"
"She is dead!" cried the scoundrel, with a renewed burst of merriment,hopping about on his knees. "She's dead, quite, quite dead! What am Isaying? She's more than dead! A dead person retains the appearance of alive one for a time; but this is much better: there's no corpse here,Lupin; just a mess of flesh and bone!
"The whole scaffolding of rocks has come down on top of her! You canpicture it, eh? What a sight! Come, quick, it's your turn to kick thebucket. Would you like a length of rope? Ha, ha, ha! It's enough to makeone die with laughing. Didn't I say that you'd meet at the gates of hell?Quick, your sweetheart's waiting for you. Do you hesitate? Where's yourold French politeness? You can't keep a lady waiting, you know. Hurry up,Lupin! Florence is dead!"
He said this with real enjoyment, as though the mere word of deathappeared to him delicious.
Don Luis had not moved a muscle. He simply nodded his head and said:
"What a pity!"
The cripple seemed petrified. All his joyous contortions, all histriumphal pantomime, stopped short. He blurted out:
"Eh? What did you say?"
"I say," declared Don Luis, preserving his calm and courteous demeanourand refraining from echoing the cripple's familiarity, "I say, my dearsir, that you have done very wrong. I never met a finer nature nor onemore worthy of esteem than that of Mlle. Levasseur. The incomparablebeauty of her face and figure, her youth, her charm, all these deserved abetter treatment. It would indeed be a matter for regret if such amasterpiece of womankind had ceased to be."
The cripple remained astounded. Don Luis's serene manner dismayed him. Hesaid, in a blank voice:
"I tell you, she has ceased to be. Haven't you seen the grotto? Florenceno longer exists!"
"I refuse to believe it," said Don Luis quietly. "If that were so,everything would look different. The sky would be clouded; the birdswould not be singing; and nature would wear her mourning garb. But thebirds are singing, the sky is blue, everything is as it should be: thehonest man is alive; and the rascal is crawling at his feet. How couldFlorence be dead?"
A long silence followed upon these words. The two enemies, at three pacesdistance, looked into each other's eyes: Don Luis still as cool as ever,the cripple a prey to the maddest anguish. The monster understood.Obscure as the truth was, it shone forth before him with all the light ofa blinding certainty: Florence also was alive! Humanly and physicallyspeaking, the thing was not possible; but the resurrection of Don Luiswas likewise an impossibility; and yet Don Luis was alive, with not ascratch on his face, with not a speck of dust on his clothes.
The monster felt himself lost. The man who held him in the hollow of hisimplacable hand was one of those men whose power knows no bounds. He wasone of those men who escape from the jaws of death and who triumphantlysnatch from death those of whom they have taken charge.
The monster retreated, dragging himself slowly backward on his kneesalong the little brick path.
He retreated. He passed by the confused heap of stones that covered theplace where the grotto had been, and did not turn his eyes in thatdirection, as if he were definitely convinced that Florence had comeforth safe and sound from the appalling sepulchre.
He retreated. Don Luis, who no longer had his eyes fixed on him, was busyunwinding a coil of rope which he had picked up, and seemed to pay nofurther attention to him.
He retreated.
And suddenly, after a glance at his enemy, he spun round, drew himself upon his slack legs with an effort, and started running toward the well.
He was twenty paces from it. He covered one half, three quarters of thedistance. Already the mouth opened before him. He put out his arms, withthe movement of a man about to dive, and shot forward.
His rush was stopped. He rolled over on the ground, dragged backviolently, with his arms fixed so firmly to his body that he wasunable to stir.
It was Don Luis, who had never wholly lost sight of him, who had made aslip-knot to his rope and who had lassoed the cripple at the moment whenhe was going to fling himself down the abyss. The cripple struggled for afew moments. But the slip-knot bit into his flesh. He ceased moving.Everything was over.
Then Don Luis Perenna, holding the other end of the lasso, came up to himand bound him hand and foot with what remained of the rope. The operationwas carefully performed. Don Luis repeated it time after time, using thecoils of rope which the cripple had brought to the well and gagging himwith a handkerchief. And, while applying himself to his work, heexplained, with affected politeness:
"You see, sir, people always come to grief through excessiveself-confidence. They never imagine that their adversaries can haveresources which they themselves do not possess. For instance, when yougot me to fall into your trap, how could you have supposed, my dear sir,that a man like myself, a man li
ke Arsene Lupin, hanging on the brim of awell, with his arms resting on the brim and his feet against the innerwall, would allow himself to drop down it like the first silly fool thatcomes along?
"Look here: you were fifteen or twenty yards away; and do you think thatI had not the strength to leap out nor the courage to face the bullets ofyour revolver, when it was a question of saving Florence Levasseur's lifeand my own? Why, my poor sir, the tiniest effort would have been enough,believe me!
"My reason for not making the effort was that I had something better todo, something infinitely better. I will tell you why, that is, if youcare to know. Do you?
"Well, then, at the very first moment, my knees and feet, propped againstthe inner wall, had smashed in a thick layer of plaster which closed upan old excavation in the well; and this I at once perceived. It was astroke of luck, wasn't it? And it changed the whole situation. My planwas settled at once. While I went on acting my little part of thegentleman about to tumble down an abyss, putting on the most scared face,the most staring eyes, the most hideous grin, I enlarged that excavation,taking care to throw the chunks of plaster in front of me in such a waythat their fall made no noise. When the moment came, at the very secondwhen my swooning features vanished before your eyes, I simply jumped intomy retreat, thanks to a rather plucky little wriggle of the loins.
"I was saved, because the retreat was dug out on the side where you weremoving and because, being dark itself, it cast no light. All that I nowhad to do was to wait.
"I listened quietly to your threatening speeches. I let the things youflung down the well go past me. And, when I thought you had gone back toFlorence, I was preparing to leave my refuge, to return to the light ofday, and to fall upon you from behind, when--"
Don Luis turned the cripple over, as though he were a parcel which he wastying up with string, and continued:
"Have you ever been to Tancarville, the old feudal castle in Normandy, onthe banks of the Seine? Haven't you? Well, you must know that, outsidethe ruins of the keep, there is an old well which, like many other wellsof the period, possesses the peculiarity of having two openings, one atthe top, facing the sky, and the other a little lower down, hollowed outsideways in the wall and leading to one of the rooms of the keep.
"At Tancarville this second opening is nowadays closed with a grating.Here it was walled up with a layer of small stones and plaster. And itwas just the recollection of Tancarville that made me stay, all the moreas there was no hurry, since you had had the kindness to inform me thatFlorence would not join me in the next world until four o'clock. Itherefore inspected my refuge and soon realized that, as I had alreadyfelt by intuition, it was the foundation of a building which was nowdemolished and which had the garden laid out on its ruins.
"Well, I went on, groping my way and following the direction which, aboveground, would have taken me to the grotto. My presentiments were notdeceived. A gleam of daylight made its way at the top of a staircase ofwhich I had struck the bottom step. I went up it and heard the sound ofyour voice."
Don Luis turned the cripple over and over and was pretty rough about it.Then he resumed:
"I wish to impress upon you, my dear sir, that the upshot would have beenexactly similar if I had attacked you directly and from the start in theopen air. But, having said this, I confess that chance favoured me tosome purpose. It has often failed me, in the course of our struggle, butthis time I had no cause to complain.
"I felt myself in such luck that I never doubted for a second that,having found the entrance to the subterranean passage, I should also findthe way out. As a matter of fact, I had only to pull gently at the slightobstacle of a few stacked bricks which hid the opening in order to makemy exit amid the remains of the castle keep.
"Guided by the sound of your voice, I slipped through the stones and thusreached the back of the grotto in which Florence lay. Amusing, wasn't it?
"You can imagine what fun it was to hear you make your little speeches:'Answer me, yes or no, Florence. A movement of your head will decide yourfate. If it's yes, I shall release you. If it's no, you die. Answer me,Florence! A sign of your head: is the answer yes or no?' And the end,above all, was delicious, when you scrambled to the top of the grotto andstarted roaring from up there: 'It's you who have asked to die, Florence.You asked for it and you've got it!'
"Just think what a joke it was: at that moment there was no one in thegrotto! Not a soul! With one effort, I had drawn Florence toward me andput her under shelter. And all that you were able to crush with youravalanche of rocks was one or two spiders, perhaps, and a few fliesdozing on the flagstones.
"The trick was done and the farce was nearly finished. Act first: ArseneLupin saved. Act second: Florence Levasseur saved. Act third and last:the monster vanquished ... absolutely and with a vengeance!"
Don Luis stood up and contemplated his work with a satisfied eye.
"You look like a sausage, my son!" he cried, yielding at last to hissarcastic nature and his habit of treating his enemies familiarly. "Aregular sausage! A bit on the thin side, perhaps: a saveloy for poorpeople! But there, you don't much care what you look like, I suppose?Besides, you're rather like that at all times; and, in any case, you'rejust the thing for the little display of indoor gymnastics which I havein mind for you. You'll see: it's an idea of my own, a really originalidea. Don't be impatient: we shan't be long."
He took one of the guns which the cripple had brought to the well andtied to the middle of the gun the end of a twelve or fifteen yards'length of rope, fastening the other end to the cords with which thecripple was bound, just behind his back. He next took his captive roundthe body and held him over the well:
"Shut your eyes, if you feel at all giddy. And don't be frightened. I'llbe very careful. Ready?"
He put the cripple down the yawning hole and next took hold of the ropewhich he had just fastened. Then, little by little, inch by inch,cautiously, so that it should not knock against the sides of the well,the bundle was let down at arm's length.
When it reached a depth of twelve yards or so, the gun stopped itsfurther descent and there it remained, slung in the dark and in the exactcentre of the narrow circumference.
Don Luis set light to a number of pieces of paper, which went whirlingdown, shedding their sinister gleams upon the walls. Then, unable toresist the craving for a last speech, he leaned over, as the scoundrelhad done, and grinned:
"I selected the place with care, so that you shouldn't catch cold. I'mbound to look after you, you see. I promised Florence that I wouldn'tkill you; and I promised the French Government to hand you over alive assoon as possible. Only, as I didn't know what to do with you untilto-morrow morning, I've hung you up in the air.
"It's a pretty trick, isn't it? And you ought to appreciate it, for it'sso like your own way of doing things. Just think: the gun is resting onits two ends, with hardly an inch to spare. So, if you start wriggling,or moving, or even breathing too hard, either the barrel or the buttend'll give way; and down you go! As for me, I've nothing to do with it!
"If you die, it'll be a pretty little case of suicide. All you've got todo, old chap, is to keep quiet. And the beauty of my little contrivanceis that it will give you a foretaste of the few nights that will precedeyour last hour, when they cut off your head. From this moment forward youare alone with your conscience, face to face with what you perhaps callyour soul, without anything to disturb your silent soliloquy. It's niceand thoughtful of me, isn't it? ...
"Well, I'll leave you. And remember: not a movement, not a sigh, not awink, not a throb of the heart! And, above all, no larks! If you startlarking, you're in the soup. Meditate: that's the best thing you can do.Meditate and wait. Good-bye, for the present!"
And Don Luis, satisfied with his homily, went off, muttering:
"That's all right. I won't go so far as Eugene Sue, who says that greatcriminals should have their eyes put out. But, all the same, a littlecorporal punishment, nicely seasoned with fear, is right and proper andgood for the
health and morals."
Don Luis walked away and, taking the brick path round the ruins, turneddown a little road, which ran along the outer wall to a clump of firtrees, where he had brought Florence for shelter.
She was waiting for him, still aching from the horrible suffering whichshe had endured, but already in full possession of her pluck, mistress ofherself, and apparently rid of all anxiety as to the issue of the fightbetween Don Luis and the cripple.
"It's finished," he said, simply. "To-morrow I will hand him over tothe police."
She shuddered. But she did not speak; and he observed her in silence.
It was the first time that they were alone together since they had beenseparated by so many tragedies, and next hurled against each other likesworn enemies. Don Luis was so greatly excited that, in the end, he couldutter only insignificant sentences, having no connection with thethoughts that came rushing through his mind.
"We shall find the motor car if we follow this wall and then strike offto the left.... Do you think you can manage to walk so far? ... Whenwe're in the car, we'll go to Alencon. There's a quiet hotel close to thechief square. You can wait there until things take a more favourable turnfor you--and that won't be long, as the criminal is caught."
"Let's go," she said.
He dared not offer to help her. For that matter, she stepped out firmlyand her graceful body swung from her hips with the same even rhythm asusual. Don Luis once again felt all his old admiration and all his ardentlove for her. And yet that had never seemed more remote than at thismoment when he had saved her life by untold miracles of energy.
She had not vouchsafed him a word of thanks nor yet one of those milderglances which reward an effort made; and she remained the same as on thefirst day, the mysterious creature whose secret soul he had neverunderstood, and upon whom not even the storm of terrible events had castthe faintest light.
What were her thoughts? What were her wishes? What aim was she pursuing?These were obscure problems which he could no longer hope to solve.Henceforth each of them must go his own way in life and each of themcould only remember the other with feelings of anger and spite.
"No!" he said to himself, as she took her place in the limousine. "No!The separation shall not take place like that. The words that have to bespoken between us shall be spoken; and, whether she wishes or not, I willtear the veil that hides her."
* * * * *
The journey did not take long. At Alencon Don Luis entered Florence inthe visitors' book under the first name that occurred to him and left herto herself. An hour later he came and knocked at her door.
This time again he had not the courage at once to ask her the questionwhich he had made up his mind to put to her. Besides, there were otherpoints which he wished to clear up.
"Florence," he said, "before I hand over that man, I should like to knowwhat he was to you."
"A friend, an unhappy friend, for whom I felt pity," she declared. "Ifind it difficult to-day to understand my compassion for such a monster.But, some years ago, when I first met him, I became attached to himbecause of his wretchedness, his physical weakness, and all the symptomsof death which he bore upon him even then. He had the opportunity ofdoing me a few services; and, though he led a hidden life, which worriedme in certain respects, he gradually and without my knowing it acquired aconsiderable influence over me.
"I believed in his insight, in his will, in his absolute devotion; and,when the Mornington case started, it was he, as I now realize, who guidedmy actions and, later, those of Gaston Sauverand. It was he who compelledme to practise lying and deceit, persuading me that he was working forMarie Fauville's safety. It was he who inspired us with such suspicion ofyourself and who taught us to be so silent, where he and his affairs wereconcerned, that Gaston Sauverand did not even dare mention him in hisinterview with you.
"I don't know how I can have been so blind. But it was so. Nothing openedmy eyes. Nothing made me suspect for a moment that harmless, ailingcreature, who spent half his life in hospitals or nursing-homes, whounderwent every possible sort of operation, and who, if he did sometimesspeak to me of his love, must have known that he could not hope to--"
Florence did not finish her sentence. Her eyes had encountered Don Luis'seyes; and she received a deep impression that he was not listening towhat she said. He was looking at her; and that was all. The words sheuttered passed unheard.
To Don Luis any explanation concerning the tragedy itself matterednothing, so long as he was not enlightened on the one point thatinterested him, on Florence's private thoughts about himself, thoughts ofaversion, of contempt. Outside that, anything that she could say was vainand tedious.
He went up to her and, in a low voice, said:
"Florence, you know what I feel for you, do you not?"
She blushed, taken aback, as though the question was the very last thatshe expected to hear. Nevertheless, she did not lower her eyes, and sheanswered frankly:
"Yes, I know."
"But, perhaps," he continued, more eagerly, "you do not know how deeply Ifeel it? Perhaps you do not know that my life has no other aim but you?"
"I know that also," she said.
"Then, if you know it," he said, "I must conclude that it was just thatwhich caused your hostility to me. From the beginning I tried to be yourfriend and I tried only to defend you. And yet from the beginning I feltthat for you I was the object of an aversion that was both instinctiveand deliberate. Never did I see in your eyes anything but coldness,dislike, contempt, and even repulsion.
"At moments of danger, when your life or your liberty was at stake, yourisked committing any imprudence rather than accept my assistance. I wasthe enemy, the man to be distrusted, the man capable of every infamy, theman to be avoided, and to be thought of only with a sort of dread. Isn'tthat hatred? Is there anything but hatred to explain such an attitude?"
Florence did not answer at once. She seemed to be putting off the momentat which to speak the words that rose to her lips. Her face, thin anddrawn with weariness and pain, was gentler than usual.
"Yes," she said, "there are other things than hatred to explain thatattitude."
Don Luis was dumfounded. He did not quite understand the meaning of thereply; but Florence's tone of voice disconcerted him beyond measure, andhe also saw that Florence's eyes no longer wore their usual scornfulexpression and that they were filled with smiling charm. And it was thefirst time that Florence had smiled in his presence.
"Speak, speak, I entreat you!" he stammered.
"I mean to say that there is another feeling which explains coldness,mistrust, fear, and hostility. It is not always those whom we detest thatwe avoid with the greatest fear; and, if we avoid them, it is oftenbecause we are afraid of ourselves, because we are ashamed, because werebel and want to resist and want to forget and cannot--"
She stopped; and, when he wildly stretched out his arms to her, as ifbeseeching her to say more and still more, she nodded her head, thustelling him that she need not go on speaking for him to read to thevery bottom of her soul and discover the secret of love which she kepthidden there.
Don Luis staggered on his feet. He was intoxicated with happiness, almostsuffered physical pain from that unexpected happiness. After the horribleminutes through which he had passed amid the impressive surroundings ofthe Old Castle, it appeared to him madness to admit that suchextraordinary bliss could suddenly blossom forth in the commonplacesetting of that room at a hotel.
He could have longed for space around him, forest, mountains, moonlight,a radiant sunset, all the beauty and all the poetry of the earth. Withone rush, he had reached the very acme of happiness. Florence's very lifecame before him, from the instant of their meeting to the tragic momentwhen the cripple, bending over her and seeing her eyes filled with tears,had shouted:
"She's crying! She's crying! What madness! But I know your secret,Florence! And you're crying! Florence, Florence, you yourself want todie!"
It was a
secret of love, a passionate impulse which, from the first day,had driven her all trembling toward Don Luis. Then it had bewildered her,filled her with fear, appeared to her as a betrayal of Marie andSauverand and, by turns urging her toward and drawing her away from theman whom she loved and whom she admired for his heroism and loyalty,rending her with remorse and overwhelming her as though it were a crime,had ended by delivering her, feeble and disabled, to the diabolicalinfluence of the villain who coveted her.
Don Luis did not know what to do, did not know in what words to expresshis rapture. His lips trembled. His eyes filled with tears. His natureprompted him to take her in his arms, to kiss her as a child kisses, fullon the lips, with a full heart. But a feeling of intense respectparalyzed his yearning. And, overcome with emotion, he fell at Florence'sfeet, stammering words of love and adoration.