The Secret of Sarek, Maurice Leblanc [the ebook reader .txt] 📗

though intending to intervene at some given moment. But in whose favor would he intervene? Was it his plan to save François?

Véronique no longer breathed; her eyes were enormously dilated; she hung between life and death.

The point of the dagger touched the neck and must have pricked the flesh, but only very slightly, for it was still held back by François’ resistance.

Vorski bent lower. He stood over the fighters and did not take his eyes from the deadly point. Suddenly he took a penknife from his pocket, opened it and waited. A few more seconds elapsed. The dagger continued to descend. Then quickly he gashed Raynold’s shoulder with the blade of his knife.

The boy uttered a cry of pain. His grip at once became relaxed; and, at the same time, François, set free, his right arm released, half rose, resumed the offensive and, without seeing Vorski or understanding what had happened, in an instinctive impulse of his whole being escaped from death and revolting against his adversary, struck him full in the face. Raynold in his turn fell like a log.

All this had certainly lasted no longer than ten seconds. But the incident was so unexpected and took Véronique so greatly aback that, not realizing, not knowing that she ought to rejoice, believing rather that she was mistaken and that the real François was dead, murdered by Vorski, the poor thing sank into a huddled heap and lost consciousness.

A long, long time elapsed. Then, gradually, Véronique became aware of certain sensations. She heard the clock strike four; and she said:

“It’s two hours since François died. For it was he who died.”

She had not a doubt that the duel had ended in this way. Vorski would never have allowed François to be the victor and his other son to be killed. And so it was against her own child that she had sent up wishes and for the monster that she had prayed!

“François is dead,” she repeated. “Vorski has killed him.”

The door opened and she heard Vorski’s voice. He entered, with an unsteady gait:

“A thousand pardons, dear lady, but I think Vorski must have fallen asleep. It’s your father’s fault, Véronique! He had hidden away in his cellar some confounded Saumur which Conrad and Otto discovered and which has fuddled me a bit! But don’t cry; we shall make up for lost time.⁠ ⁠… Besides everything must be settled by midnight. So⁠ ⁠…”

He had come nearer; and he now exclaimed:

“What! Did that rascal of a Vorski leave you tied up? What a brute that Vorski is! And how uncomfortable you must be!⁠ ⁠… Hang it all, how pale you are! I say, look here, you’re not dead, are you? That would be a nasty trick to play us!”

He took Véronique’s hand, which she promptly snatched away.

“Capital! We still loathe our little Vorski! Then that’s all right and there’s plenty of reserve strength. You’ll hold out to the end, Véronique.”

He listened:

“What is it? Who’s calling me? Is it you, Otto? Come up.⁠ ⁠… Well, Otto, what news? I’ve been asleep, you know. That damned Saumur wine!⁠ ⁠…”

Otto, one of the two accomplices, entered the room at a run. He was the one whose paunch bulged so oddly.

“What news?” he exclaimed. “Why, this: I’ve seen someone on the island!”

Vorski began to laugh:

“You’re drunk, Otto. That damned Saumur wine⁠ ⁠…”

“I’m not drunk. I saw⁠ ⁠… and so did Conrad⁠ ⁠…”

“Oho,” said Vorski, more seriously, “if Conrad was with you! Well, what did you see?”

“A white figure, which hid when we came along.”

“Where?”

“Between the village and the heath, in a little wood of chestnut trees.”

“On the other side of the island then?”

“Yes.”

“All right. We’ll take our precautions.”

“How? There may be several of them.”

“I don’t care if there are ten of them; it would make no difference. Where’s Conrad?”

“By the footbridge which we put in the place of the bridge that was burnt down. He’s keeping watch from there.”

“Conrad is a clever one. When the bridge was burnt, we were kept on the other side; if the footbridge is burnt, it’ll produce the same hindrance. Véronique, I really believe they’re coming to rescue you. It’s the miracle you expected, the assistance you hoped for. But it’s too late, my beauty.”

He untied the bonds that fastened her to the balcony, carried her to the sofa and loosened the gag slightly:

“Sleep, my wench,” he said. “Get what rest you can. You’re only halfway to Golgotha yet; and the last bit of the ascent will be the hardest.”

He went away jesting; and Véronique heard the two men exchange a few sentences which proved to her that Otto and Conrad were only supers who knew nothing of the business in hand:

“Who’s this wretched woman whom you’re persecuting?” asked Otto.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Still, Conrad and I would like to know something about it.”

“Lord, why?”

“Oh, just because!”

“Conrad and you are a pair of fools,” replied Vorski. “When I took you into my service and helped you to escape with me, I told you all I could of my plans. You accepted my conditions. It was your lookout. You’ve got to see this thing through now.”

“And if we don’t?”

“If you don’t, beware of the consequences. I don’t like shirkers.⁠ ⁠…”

More hours passed. Nothing, it seemed to Véronique, could any longer save her from the end for which she craved with all her heart. She no longer hoped for the intervention of which Otto had spoken. In reality she was not thinking at all. Her son was dead; and she had no other wish than to join him without delay, even at the cost of the most dreadful suffering. What did that suffering matter to her? There are limits to the strength of those who are tortured; and she was so near to reaching those limits that her agony would not last long.

She began to pray. Once more the memory of the past forced itself on her mind; and the fault which she had committed seemed to her the cause of all the misfortunes heaped upon her.

And, while praying, exhausted, harassed, in a