“Everything that mademoiselle says is the exact truth. They have dug at both spots … and the word fortuna, which I saw at once, and which I had never seen before, gives the reason for their digging. … They have searched … and perhaps they have found.”
“No,” the young girl asserted calmly.
“Why do you say no? What do you know about it?”
She hesitated. Her eyes met the eyes of d’Estreicher. He knew now, doubtless, that he was unmasked, and he began to understand what the young girl was driving at. But would she dare to go to extremities and join battle? And then what were the reasons for this unforeseen struggle?
With an air of challenge he repeated the Countess’s question:
“Yes; why do you say that they have found nothing?”
Boldly Dorothy accepted the challenge.
“Because the digging has gone on. There is in the ravine, under the walls of the château, among the stones which have fallen from the cliff, an ancient slab, which certainly comes from some demolished structure. The word fortuna is to be deciphered on the base of it also. Let someone move that slab and they will discover a perfectly fresh excavation, and the tracks of feet muddled up by the hand.”
III
Extra-Lucid
This last blow redoubled the uneasiness of Count and Countess; and they took counsel in a low voice for a moment with their cousins d’Estreicher and Raoul Davernoie.
Saint-Quentin on hearing Dorothy reveal the events in the ravine and the hiding-place of the man in the blouse had fallen back among the cushions of the great easy chair on which he was sitting. She was going mad! To set them on the trail of the man in the blouse was to set them on their own trail, his and Dorothy’s. What madness!
She, however, in the midst of all this excitement and anxiety remained wholly calm. She appeared to be following a quite definite course with her goal clearly in view, while the others, without her guidance, stumbled in a panic.
“Mademoiselle,” said the Countess, “your revelations have upset us considerably. They show how extraordinarily acute you are; and I cannot thank you enough for having given us this warning.”
“You have treated me so kindly, madame,” she replied, “that I am only too delighted to have been of use to you.”
“Of immense use to us,” agreed the Countess. “And I beg you to make the service complete.”
“How?”
“By telling us what you know.”
“I don’t know any more.”
“But perhaps you could learn more?”
“In what way?”
The Countess smiled:
“By means of that skill in divination of which you were telling us a little while ago.”
“And in which you do not believe, madame.”
“But in which I’m quite ready to believe now.”
Dorothy bowed.
“I’m quite willing. … But these are experiments which are not always successful.”
“Let’s try.”
“Right. We’ll try. But I must ask you not to expect too much.”
She took a handkerchief from Saint-Quentin’s pocket and bandaged her eyes with it.
“Astral vision, on condition of being blind,” she said. “The less I see the more I see.”
And she added gravely:
“Put your questions, madame. I will answer them to the best of my ability.”
“Remaining in a state of wakefulness all the time?”
“Yes.”
She rested her two elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. The Countess at once said:
“Who has been digging? Who has been making excavations under the fountain and under the sundial?”
A minute passed slowly. They had the impression she was concentrating and withdrawing from all contact with the world around her. At last she said in measured tones which bore no resemblance to the accents of a pythoness or a somnambulist.
“I see nothing on the esplanade. In that quarter the excavations must already be several days old, and all traces are obliterated. But in the ravine—”
“In the ravine?” said the Countess.
“The slab is standing on end and a man is digging a hole with a mattock.”
“A man? What man? Describe him.”
“He is wearing a very long blouse.”
“But his face? …”
“His face is encircled by a muffler which passes under a cap with turned-down brim. … You cannot even see his eyes. When he has finished digging he lets the slab fall back into its place and carries away the mattock.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. He has found nothing.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Absolutely sure.”
“And which way does he go?”
“He goes back up the ravine. … He comes to the iron gates of the château.”
“But they’re locked.”
“He has the key. He enters. … It is early in the morning. … No one is up. … He directs his steps to the orangerie. … There’s a small room there.”
“Yes. The gardener keeps his implements in it.”
“The man sets the mattock in a corner, takes off his blouse and hangs it on a nail in the wall.”
“But he can’t be the gardener!” exclaimed the Countess. “His face? Can you see his face?”
“No … no. … It remains covered up.”
“But his clothes?”
“His clothes? … I can’t make them out. … He goes out. … He disappears.”
The young girl broke off as if her attention were fixed on someone whose outline was blurred and lost in the shadow like a phantom.
“I do not see him any longer,” she said. “I can see nothing any longer. … Do I? … Ah yes, the steps of the château. … The door is shut quietly. … And then … then the staircase. … A long corridor dimly lighted by small windows. … However I can distinguish some prints … galloping horses … sportsmen in red coats. … Ah! The man! … The man is there, on his knees, before a door. … He turns the handle of the door. … It opens.”
“It must be one of the servants,” said the Countess in a hollow voice. “And it must be a room on the first floor, since there are prints on the passage walls. What is the room like?”
“The shutters are closed. The man has
