The Crystal Stopper, Maurice Leblanc [i can read books TXT] 📗

The marquis was silent. One of the sons handed him a flask of brandy. He poured out half a glass and drank it down at a draught:

“Tomorrow?” he said. “No. Here and now. One little effort more. At the stage which he has reached, it won’t be difficult.” And, taking the huntsman aside, “Did you hear what he said? What did he mean by that word, ‘Marie’? He repeated it twice.”

“Yes, twice,” said the huntsman. “Perhaps he entrusted the document to a person called Marie.”

“Not he!” protested d’Albufex. “He never entrusts anything to anybody. It means something different.”

“But what, monsieur le marquis?”

“We’ll soon find out, I’ll answer for it.”

At that moment, Daubrecq drew a long breath and stirred on his couch.

D’Albufex, who had now recovered all his composure and who did not take his eyes off the enemy, went up to him and said:

“You see, Daubrecq, it’s madness to resist⁠ ⁠… Once you’re beaten, there’s nothing for it but to submit to your conqueror, instead of allowing yourself to be tortured like an idiot⁠ ⁠… Come, be sensible.”

He turned to Sébastiani:

“Tighten the rope⁠ ⁠… let him feel it a little that will wake him up⁠ ⁠… He’s shamming death⁠ ⁠…” Sébastiani took hold of the stick again and turned until the cord touched the swollen flesh. Daubrecq gave a start.

“That’ll do, Sébastiani,” said the marquis. “Our friend seems favourably disposed and understands the need for coming to terms. That’s so, Daubrecq, is it not? You prefer to have done with it? And you’re quite right!”

The two men were leaning over the sufferer, Sébastiani with his hand on the stick, d’Albufex holding the lamp so as to throw the light on Daubrecq’s face: “His lips are moving⁠ ⁠… he’s going to speak. Loosen the rope a little, Sébastiani: I don’t want our friend to be hurt⁠ ⁠… No, tighten it: I believe our friend is hesitating⁠ ⁠… One turn more⁠ ⁠… stop!⁠ ⁠… That’s done it! Oh, my dear Daubrecq, if you can’t speak plainer than that, it’s no use! What? What did you say?”

Arsène Lupin muttered an oath. Daubrecq was speaking and he, Lupin, could not hear a word of what he said! In vain, he pricked up his ears, suppressed the beating of his heart and the throbbing of his temples: not a sound reached him.

“Confound it!” he thought. “I never expected this. What am I to do?”

He was within an ace of covering Daubrecq with his revolver and putting a bullet into him which would cut short any explanation. But he reflected that he himself would then be none the wiser and that it was better to trust to events in the hope of making the most of them.

Meanwhile the confession continued beneath him, indistinctly, interrupted by silences and mingled with moans. D’Albufex clung to his prey:

“Go on!⁠ ⁠… Finish, can’t you?⁠ ⁠…”

And he punctuated the sentences with exclamations of approval:

“Good!⁠ ⁠… Capital!⁠ ⁠… Oh, how funny!⁠ ⁠… And no one suspected?⁠ ⁠… Not even Prasville?⁠ ⁠… What an ass!⁠ ⁠… Loosen a bit, Sébastiani: don’t you see that our friend is out of breath?⁠ ⁠… Keep calm, Daubrecq⁠ ⁠… don’t tire yourself⁠ ⁠… And so, my dear fellow, you were saying⁠ ⁠…”

That was the last. There was a long whispering to which d’Albufex listened without further interruption and of which Arsène Lupin could not catch the least syllable. Then the marquis drew himself up and exclaimed, joyfully:

“That’s it!⁠ ⁠… Thank you, Daubrecq. And, believe me, I shall never forget what you have just done. If ever you’re in need, you have only to knock at my door and there will always be a crust of bread for you in the kitchen and a glass of water from the filter. Sébastiani, look after monsieur le député as if he were one of your sons. And, first of all, release him from his bonds. It’s a heartless thing to truss one’s fellow-man like that, like a chicken on the spit!”

“Shall we give him something to drink?” suggested the huntsman.

“Yes, that’s it, give him a drink.”

Sébastiani and his sons undid the leather straps, rubbed the bruised wrists, dressed them with an ointment and bandaged them. Then Daubrecq swallowed a few drops of brandy.

“Feeling better?” said the marquis. “Pooh, it’s nothing much! In a few hours, it won’t show; and you’ll be able to boast of having been tortured, as in the good old days of the Inquisition. You lucky dog!”

He took out his watch. “Enough said! Sébastiani, let your sons watch him in turns. You, take me to the station for the last train.”

“Then are we to leave him like that, monsieur le marquis, free to move as he pleases?”

“Why not? You don’t imagine that we are going to keep him here to the day of his death? No, Daubrecq, sleep quietly. I shall go to your place tomorrow afternoon; and, if the document is where you told me, a telegram shall be sent off at once and you shall be set free. You haven’t told me a lie, I suppose?”

He went back to Daubrecq and, stooping over him again:

“No humbug, eh? That would be very silly of you. I should lose a day, that’s all. Whereas you would lose all the days that remain to you to live. But no, the hiding-place is too good. A fellow doesn’t invent a thing like that for fun. Come on, Sébastiani. You shall have the telegram tomorrow.”

“And suppose they don’t let you into the house, monsieur le marquis?”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“The house in the Square Lamartine is occupied by Prasville’s men.”

“Don’t worry, Sébastiani. I shall get in. If they don’t open the door, there’s always the window. And, if the window won’t open, I shall arrange with one of Prasville’s men. It’s a question of money, that’s all. And, thank goodness, I shan’t be short of that, henceforth! Good night, Daubrecq.”

He went out, accompanied by Sébastiani, and the heavy door closed after them.

Lupin at once effected his retreat, in accordance with a plan which he had worked out during this scene.

The plan was simple enough: to scramble, by