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

when our bulls have gored some poor old cab-horse that is only fit for the knacker’s yard, they go back to the body, from time to time, turn it over, gore it again, keep on killing it and killing it. You’re like them, Vorski. You’re seeing red. In order to defend yourself against the living enemy, you fall desperately on the enemy who is no longer alive; and it is death itself that you are trying to kill. What a silly beast you’re making of yourself!”

Vorski raised his head. A man was standing in front of him, leaning against one of the uprights of the dolmen. The man was of the average height, with a slender, well-built figure, and seemed to be still young, notwithstanding his hair, which was turning grey at the temples. He wore a blue-serge jacket with brass buttons and a yachting-cap with a black peak.

“Don’t trouble to rack your brains,” he said. “You don’t know me. Let me introduce myself: Don Luis Perenna, grandee of Spain, a noble of many countries and Prince of Sarek. Yes, don’t be surprised: I’ve taken the title of Prince of Sarek, having a certain right to it.”

Vorski looked at him without understanding. The man continued:

“You don’t seem very familiar with the Spanish nobility. Still, just test your memory: I am the gentleman who was to come to the rescue of the d’Hergemont family and the people of Sarek, the one whom your son François was expecting with such simple faith.⁠ ⁠… Well, are you there?⁠ ⁠… Look, your companion, the trusty Otto, he seems to remember!⁠ ⁠… But perhaps my other name will convey more to you? It is well and favourably known. Lupin.⁠ ⁠… Arsène Lupin.⁠ ⁠…”

Vorski watched him with increasing terror and with a misgiving which became more accentuated at each word and movement of this new adversary. Though he recognized neither the man nor the man’s voice, he felt himself dominated by a will of which he had already felt the power and lashed by the same sort of implacable irony. But was it possible?

“Everything is possible,” Don Luis Perenna went on, “including even what you think. But I repeat, what a silly beast you’re making of yourself! Here are you playing the bold highwayman, the dashing adventurer; and you’re frightened the moment you set eyes on one of your crimes! As long as it was just a matter of happy-go-lucky killing, you went straight ahead. But the first little jolt throws you off the track. Vorski kills; but whom has he killed? He has no idea. Is Véronique d’Hergemont dead or alive? Is she fastened to the oak on which you crucified her? Or is she lying here, on the sacrificial table? Did you kill her up there or down here? You can’t tell. You never even thought, before you stabbed, of looking to see what you were stabbing. The great thing for you is to slash away with all your might, to intoxicate yourself with the sight and smell of blood and to turn live flesh into a hideous pulp. But look, can’t you, you idiot? When a man kills, he’s not afraid of killing and he doesn’t hide the face of his victim. Look, you idiot!”

He himself stopped over the corpse and unwrapped the veil around the head.

Vorski had closed his eyes. Kneeling, with his chest pressed against the dead woman’s legs, he remained without moving and kept his eyes obstinately shut.

“Are you there now?” chuckled Don Luis. “If you daren’t look, it’s because you’ve guessed or because you’re on the point of guessing, you wretch: am I right? Your idiot brain is working it out: am I right? There were two women in the Isle of Sarek and two only, Véronique and the other⁠ ⁠… the other whose name was Elfride, I understand: am I right? Elfride and Véronique, your two wives, one the mother of Raynold, the other the mother of François. So, if it’s not François’ mother whom you tied on the cross and whom you’ve just stabbed, then it’s Raynold’s mother. If the woman lying here, with her wrists bruised by the torture, is not Véronique, then she’s Elfride. There’s no mistake possible: Elfride, your wife and your accomplice; Elfride, your willing and subservient tool. And you know it so well that you would rather take my word for it than risk a glance and see the livid face of that dead woman, of your obedient accomplice tortured by yourself. You miserable poltroon!”

Vorski had hidden his head in his folded arms. He was not weeping. Vorski could not weep. Nevertheless, his shoulders were jerking convulsively; and his whole attitude expressed the wildest despair.

This lasted for some time. Then the shaking of the shoulders ceased. Still Vorski did not stir.

“Upon my word, you move me to pity, you poor old buffer!” said Don Luis. “Were you so fond of your Elfride as all that? She had become a habit, what? A mascot? Well, what can I say? People as a rule aren’t such fools as you! They know what they’re doing. They look before they leap! Hang it all, they stop to think! Whereas you go floundering about in crime like a newborn babe struggling in the water! No wonder you sink and go to the bottom.⁠ ⁠… The ancient Druid, for instance: is he dead or alive? Did Conrad stick a dagger into his back, or was I playing the part of that diabolical personage? In short, are there an ancient Druid and a Spanish grandee, or are the two individuals one and the same? This is all a sealed book to you, my poor fellow. And yet you’ll want an explanation. Shall I help you?”

If Vorski had acted without thinking, it was easy to see, when he raised his head, that on this occasion he had taken time to reflect; that he knew very well the desperate resolve which circumstances called upon him to take. He was certainly ready for an explanation, as Don Luis suggested,