The Eight Strokes of the Clock Part 22

Dalbreque gave his adversary a long look:

"Who are you?"

"A friend of Rose Andree's," said Renine.

The other started and, to some extent dropping his mask, retorted:

"What are your conditions?"

"Rose Andree, whom you have abducted and tormented, is dying in some hole or corner. Where is she?"

A strange thing occurred and impressed Renine. Dalbreque's face, usually so common, was lit up by a smile that made it almost attractive. But this was only a flas.h.i.+ng vision: the man immediately resumed his hard and impa.s.sive expression.

"And suppose I refuse to speak?" he said.

"So much the worse for you. It means your arrest."

"I dare say; but it means the death of Rose Andree. Who will release her?"

"You. You will speak now, or in an hour, or two hours hence at least. You will never have the heart to keep silent and let her die."

Dalbreque shrugged his shoulders. Then, raising his hand, he said:

"I swear on my life that, if they arrest me, not a word will leave my lips."

"What then?"

"Then save me. We will meet this evening at the entrance to the Parc des Landes and say what we have to say."

"Why not at once?"

"I have spoken."

"Will you be there?"

"I shall be there."

Renine reflected. There was something in all this that he failed to grasp.

In any case, the frightful danger that threatened Rose Andree dominated the whole situation; and Renine was not the man to despise this threat and to persist out of vanity in a perilous course. Rose Andree's life came before everything.

He struck several blows on the wall of the next bedroom and called his chauffeur.

"Adolphe, is the car ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Set her going and pull her up in front of the terrace outside the cafe, right against the boxes so as to block the exit. As for you," he continued, addressing Dalbreque, "you're to jump on your machine and, instead of making off along the road, cross the yard. At the end of the yard is a pa.s.sage leading into a lane. There you will be free. But no hesitation and no blundering ... else you'll get yourself nabbed. Good luck to you."

He waited till the car was drawn up in accordance with his instructions and, when he reached it, he began to question his chauffeur, in order to attract the detectives' attention.

One of them, however, having cast a glance through the spindle-trees, caught sight of Dalbreque just as he reached the bottom of the staircase.

He gave the alarm and darted forward, followed by his comrades, but had to run round the car and b.u.mped into the chauffeur, which gave Dalbreque time to mount his bicycle and cross the yard unimpeded. He thus had some seconds' start. Unfortunately for him as he was about to enter the pa.s.sage at the back, a troop of boys and girls appeared, returning from vespers. On hearing the shouts of the detectives, they spread their arms in front of the fugitive, who gave two or three lurches and ended by falling.

Cries of triumph were raised:

"Lay hold of him! Stop him!" roared the detectives as they rushed forward.

Renine, seeing that the game was up, ran after the others and called out:

"Stop him!"

He came up with them just as Dalbreque, after regaining his feet, knocked one of the policemen down and levelled his revolver. Renine s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hands. But the two other detectives, startled, had also produced their weapons. They fired. Dalbreque, hit in the leg and the chest, pitched forward and fell.

"Thank you, sir," said the inspector to Renine introducing himself. "We owe a lot to you."

"It seems to me that you've done for the fellow," said Renine. "Who is he?"

"One Dalbreque, a scoundrel for whom we were looking."

Renine was beside himself. Hortense had joined him by this time; and he growled:

"The silly fools! Now they've killed him!"

"Oh, it isn't possible!"

"We shall see. But, whether he's dead or alive, it's death to Rose Andree.

How are we to trace her? And what chance have we of finding the place--some inaccessible retreat--where the poor thing is dying of misery and starvation?"

The detectives and peasants had moved away, bearing Dalbreque with them on an improvised stretcher. Renine, who had at first followed them, in order to find out what was going to happen, changed his mind and was now standing with his eyes fixed on the ground. The fall of the bicycle had unfastened the parcel which Dalbreque had tied to the handle-bar; and the newspaper had burst, revealing its contents, a tin saucepan, rusty, dented, battered and useless.

"What's the meaning of this?" he muttered. "What was the idea?..."

He picked it up examined it. Then he gave a grin and a click of the tongue and chuckled, slowly:

"Don't move an eyelash, my dear. Let all these people clear off. All this is no business of ours, is it? The troubles of police don't concern us. We are two motorists travelling for our pleasure and collecting old saucepans if we feel so inclined."

He called his chauffeur:

"Adolphe, take us to the Parc des Landes by a roundabout road."

Half an hour later they reached the sunken track and began to scramble down it on foot beside the wooded slopes. The Seine, which was very low at this time of day, was lapping against a little jetty near which lay a worm-eaten, mouldering boat, full of puddles of water.

Renine stepped into the boat and at once began to bale out the puddles with his saucepan. He then drew the boat alongside of the jetty, helped Hortense in and used the one oar which he s.h.i.+pped in a gap in the stern to work her into midstream:

"I believe I'm there!" he said, with a laugh. "The worst that can happen to us is to get our feet wet, for our craft leaks a trifle. But haven't we a saucepan? Oh, blessings on that useful utensil! Almost as soon as I set eyes upon it, I remembered that people use those articles to bale out the bottoms of leaky boats. Why, there was bound to be a boat in the Landes woods! How was it I never thought of that? But of course Dalbreque made use of her to cross the Seine! And, as she made water, he brought a saucepan."

"Then Rose Andree ...?" asked Hortense.