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

anger escaped all three of them: the whole of the top of the staircase and half the room was buried under a heap of stones and sand, with the trunk of the dead oak fallen in the middle. Not a chance of escape remained.

Vorski gave way to a fit of despair and collapsed on the stairs:

“We’re tricked. It’s that old brute who has played us this trick⁠ ⁠… which shows that he’s not alone.”

He bewailed his fate, raving, lacking the strength to continue the unequal struggle. But Conrad grew angry:

“I say, Vorski, this isn’t like you, you know.”

“There’s nothing to be done against that fellow.”

“Nothing to be done! In the first place, there’s this, as I’ve told you twenty times: wring his neck. Oh, why did I restrain myself?”

“You couldn’t even have laid a hand on him. Did any of our bullets touch him?”

“Our bullets⁠ ⁠… our bullets,” muttered Conrad. “All this strikes me as mighty queer. Hand me your lighter. I have another revolver, which comes from the Priory: and I loaded it myself yesterday morning. I’ll soon see.”

He examined the weapon and was not long in discovering that the seven cartridges which he had put in the cylinder had been replaced by seven cartridges from which the bullets had been extracted and which could therefore fire nothing except blank shots.

“That explains it,” he said, “and your ancient Druid is no more of a wizard than I am. If our revolvers had been really loaded, we’d have shot him down like a dog.”

But the explanation only increased Vorski’s alarm:

“And how did he unload them? At what moment did he manage to take our revolvers from our pockets and put them back after drawing the charges? I did not leave go of mine for an instant.”

“No more did I,” Conrad admitted.

“And I defy anyone to touch it without my knowing. So what then? Doesn’t it prove that that demon has a special power? After all, we must look at things as they are. He’s a man who possesses secrets of his own⁠ ⁠… and who has means at his disposal, means which⁠ ⁠…”

Conrad shrugged his shoulders:

“Vorski, this business has shattered you. You were within reach of the goal and yet you let go at the first obstacle. You’re turned into a dishcloth. Well, I don’t bow my head like you. Tricked? Why so? If he comes after us, there are three of us.”

“He won’t come. He’ll leave us here shut up in a burrow with no way out of it.”

“Then, if he doesn’t come, I’ll go back there, I will! I’ve got my knife; that’s enough for me.”

“You’re wrong, Conrad.”

“How am I wrong? I’m a match for any man, especially for that old blighter; and he’s only got a sleeping woman to help him.”

“Conrad, he’s not a man and she’s not a woman. Be careful.”

“I’m careful and I’m going.”

“You’re going, you’re going; but what’s your plan?”

“I’ve no plan. Or rather, if I have, it’s to out that beggar.”

“All the same, mind what you’re doing. Don’t go for him bullheaded; try to take him by surprise.”

“Well, of course!” said Conrad, moving away. “I’m not ass enough to risk his attacks. Be easy, I’ve got the bounder!”

Conrad’s daring comforted Vorski.

“After all,” he said, when his accomplice was gone, “he’s right. If that old Druid didn’t come after us, it’s because he’s got other ideas in his head. He certainly doesn’t expect us to return on the offensive; and Conrad can very well take him by surprise. What do you say, Otto?”

Otto shared his opinion:

“He has only to bide his time,” he replied.

Fifteen minutes passed. Vorski gradually recovered his assurance. He had yielded to the reaction, after an excess of hope followed by disappointment too great for him to bear and also because of the weariness and depression produced by his drinking-bout. But the fighting spirit stimulated him once more; and he was anxious to have done with his adversary.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “if Conrad had finished him off by now.”

By this time he had acquired an exaggerated confidence which proved his unbalanced state of mind; and he wanted to go back again at once.

“Come along, Otto, it’s the last trip. An old beggar to get rid of; and the thing’s done. You’ve got your dagger? Besides, it won’t be wanted. My two hands will do the trick.”

“And suppose that blasted Druid has friends?”

“We’ll see.”

He once more went towards the crypts, moving cautiously and watching the opening of the passages which led from one to the other. No sound reached their ears. The light in the third crypt showed them the way.

“Conrad must have succeeded,” Vorski observed. “If not, he would have shirked the fight and come back to us.”

Otto agreed.

“It’s a good sign, of course, that we don’t see him. The ancient Druid must have had a bad time of it. Conrad is a scorcher.”

They entered the third crypt. Things were in the places where they had left them: the sceptre on the block and the pommel, which Vorski had unfastened, a little way off, on the ground. But, when he cast his eyes towards the shadowy recess where the ancient Druid was sleeping when they first arrived, he was astounded to see the old fellow, not exactly at the same place, but between the recess and the exit to the passage.

“Hang it, what’s he doing?” he stammered, at once upset by that unexpected presence. “One would think he was asleep!”

The ancient Druid, in fact, appeared to be asleep. Only, why on earth was he sleeping in that attitude, flat on his stomach, with his arms stretched out on either side and his face to the floor? No man on his guard, or at least aware that he was in some sort of danger, would expose himself in this way to the enemy’s attack. Moreover⁠—Vorski’s eyes were gradually growing accustomed to the half-darkness of the end crypt⁠—moreover the white robe was marked with stains which looked red, which undoubtedly were red. What did it