The Teeth of the Tiger, Maurice Leblanc [top 10 inspirational books TXT] 📗

dotted line, in red pencil, starts zigzagging toward the main building. The commencement of this line is marked by a little red cross which stands for the room in which we are, or, to be more correct, the alcove. You will see here something like the design of a chimney, or, rather, a cupboard⁠—a cupboard recessed behind the bed and probably hidden by the curtains.”

“But, in that case, Weber,” said M. Desmalions, “this dotted line must represent a passage leading from this lodge to the main building. Look, there is also a little red cross at the other end of the line.”

“Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, there is another cross. We shall discover later for certain what position it marks. But, meanwhile, and acting on a mere guess, I have posted some men in a small room on the second floor where the last secret meeting between Don Luis, Florence Levasseur, and Gaston Sauverand was held yesterday. And, meanwhile, at any rate, we hold one end of the line and, through that very fact, we know Don Luis Perenna’s retreat.”

There was a pause, after which the deputy chief resumed in a more and more solemn voice:

“Monsieur le Préfet, yesterday I suffered a cruel outrage at the hands of that man. It was witnessed by our subordinates. The servants must be aware of it. The public will know of it before long. This man has brought about the escape of Florence Levasseur. He tried to bring about the escape of Gaston Sauverand. He is a ruffian of the most dangerous type. Monsieur le Préfet, I am sure that you will not refuse me leave to dig him out of his hole. Otherwise⁠—otherwise, Monsieur le Préfet, I shall feel obliged to hand in my resignation.”

“With good reasons to back it up!” said the Prefect, laughing. “There’s no doubt about it; you can’t stomach the trick of the iron curtain. Well, go ahead! It’s Don Luis’s own lookout; he’s brought it on himself. Mazeroux, ring me up at the office as soon as the telephone is put right. And both of you meet me at the Fauvilles’ house this evening. Don’t forget it’s the night for the fourth letter.”

“There won’t be any fourth letter, Monsieur le Préfet,” said Weber.

“Why not?”

“Because between this and then Don Luis will be under lock and key.”

“Oh, so you accuse Don Luis also of⁠—”

Don Luis did not wait to hear more. He softly retreated to the cupboard, took hold of the panel and pushed it back without a sound.

So his hiding-place was known!

“By Jingo,” he growled, “this is a bit awkward! I’m in a nice plight!”

He had run halfway along the underground passage, with the intention of reaching the other exit. But he stopped.

“It’s not worth while, as the exit’s watched. Well, let’s see; am I to let myself be collared? Wait a bit, let’s see⁠—”

Already there came from the alcove below a noise of blows striking on the panel, the hollow sound of which had probably attracted the deputy chief’s attention. And, as Weber was not compelled to take the same precautions as Don Luis, and seemed to be breaking down the panel without delaying to look for the mechanism, the danger was close at hand.

“Oh, hang it all!” muttered Don Luis. “This is too silly. What shall I do? Have a dash at them? Ah, if I had all my strength!”

But he was exhausted by want of food. His legs shook beneath him and his brain seemed to lack its usual clearness.

The increasing violence of the blows in the alcove drove him, in spite of all, toward the upper exit; and, as he climbed the ladder, he moved his electric lantern over the stones of the wall and the wood of the trapdoor. He even tried to lift the door with his shoulder. But he again heard a sound of footsteps above his head. The men were still there.

Then, consumed with fury and helpless, he awaited the deputy’s coming.

A crash came from below; its echo spread through the tunnel, followed by a tumult of voices.

“That’s it,” he said to himself. “The handcuffs, the lockup, the cell! Good Lord, what luck⁠—and what nonsense! And Marie Fauville, who’s sure to do away with herself. And Florence⁠—Florence⁠—”

Before extinguishing his lantern, he cast its light around him for the last time.

At a couple of yards’ distance from the ladder, about three quarters of the way up and set a little way back, there was a big stone missing from the inner wall, leaving a space just large enough to crouch in.

Although the recess did not form much of a hiding-place, it was just possible that they might omit to inspect it. Besides, Don Luis had no choice. At all events, after putting out the light, he leaned toward the edge of the hole, reached it, and managed to scramble in by bending himself in two.

Weber, Mazeroux, and their men were coming along. Don Luis propped himself against the back of his hiding-hole to avoid as far as possible the glare of the lanterns, of which he was beginning to see the gleams. And an amazing thing happened: the stone against which he was pushing toppled over slowly, as though moving on a pivot, and he fell backward into a second cavity situated behind it.

He quickly drew his legs after him and the stone swung back as slowly as before, not, however, without sending down a quantity of small stones, crumbling from the wall and half covering his legs.

“Well, well!” he chuckled. “Can Providence be siding with virtue and righteousness?”

He heard Mazeroux’s voice saying:

“Nobody! And here’s the end of the passage. Unless he ran away as we came⁠—look, through the trapdoor at the top of this ladder.”

Weber replied:

“Considering the slope by which we’ve come, it’s certain that the trapdoor is on a level with the second floor. Well, the other little cross ought to mark the boudoir on the second floor, next to Don Luis’s bedroom. That’s what I supposed, and why