The boat touched the bank. Dorothy sprang lightly ashore and cried without fear of being heard:
“Raoul, today’s the 27th of June. In a few weeks you will be rich; and I too. And d’Estreicher will be hanged high and dry as I predicted to his face.”
That very evening Dorothy slipped out of the Manor and furtively made her way to a lane which ran between very tall hedges. After an hour’s walking she came to a little garden at the bottom of which a light was shining.
Her private investigations had brought to her knowledge the name of an old lady, Juliet Assire, whom the gossip of the countryside declared to be one of the old flames of the Baron. Before his attack, the Baron paid her a visit, for all that she was deaf, in poor health, and rather feeble-witted. Moreover, thanks to the lack of discretion of the maid who looked after her and whom Saint-Quentin had questioned, Dorothy had learnt that Juliet Assire was the possessor of a medal of the kind they were searching for at the Manor.
Dorothy had formed the plan of taking advantage of the maid’s weekly evening out to knock at the door and question Juliet Assire. But Fortune decided otherwise. The door was not locked, and when she stepped over the threshold of the low and comfortable sitting-room, she perceived the old lady asleep in the lamplight, her head bent over the canvas which she was engaged in embroidering.
“Suppose I look for it?” thought Dorothy. “What’s the use of asking her questions she won’t answer?”
She looked round her, examined the prints hanging on the wall, the clock under its glass case, the candlesticks.
Further on an inner staircase led up to the bedrooms. She was moving towards it when the door creaked. On the instant she was certain that d’Estreicher was about to appear. Had he followed her? … Had he by any chance brought her there by a combination of machinations? She was frightened and thought only of flight. … The staircase? The rooms on the first floor. … She hadn’t the time! Near her was a glass door. … Doubtless it led to the kitchen. … And from there to the back door through which she could escape.
She went through it and at once found out her mistake. She was in a dark closet, a cupboard rather, against the boards of which she had to flatten herself before she could get the door shut. She found herself a prisoner.
At that moment the door of the room opened, very quietly. Two men came cautiously into it; and immediately one of them whispered:
“The old woman’s asleep.”
Through the glass, which was covered by a torn curtain, Dorothy easily recognized d’Estreicher, in spite of his turned-up coat-collar and the flaps of his cap, which were tied under his chin. His confederate in like manner had hidden half his face in a muffler.
“That damsel does make you play the fool,” he said.
“Play the fool? Not a bit of it!” growled d’Estreicher. “I’m keeping an eye on her, that’s all.”
“Rot! You’re always shadowing her. You’re losing your head about her. … You’ll go on doing it till the day she helps you to lose it for good.”
“I don’t say, no. She nearly succeeded in doing it at Roberey. But I need her.”
“What for?”
“For the medal. She’s the only person capable of laying her hands on it.”
“Not here—in any case. We’ve already searched the house twice.”
“Badly, without a doubt, since she is coming to it. At least when we caught sight of her she was certainly coming in this direction. The chatter of the maid has sent her here; and she has chosen the night when the old woman would be alone.”
“You are stuck on your little pet.”
“I’m stuck on her,” growled d’Estreicher. “Only let me lay my hands on her, and I swear the little devil won’t forget it in a hurry!”
Dorothy shivered. There was in the accents of this man a hate and at the same time a violence of desire which terrified her.
He was silent, posted behind the door, listening for her coming.
Several minutes passed. Juliet Assire still slept, her hand hanging lower and lower over her work.
At last d’Estreicher muttered:
“She isn’t coming. She must have turned off somewhere.”
“Ah well, let’s clear out,” said his accomplice.
“No.”
“Have you got an idea?”
“A determination—to find the medal.”
“But since we’ve already searched the house twice—”
“We went about it the wrong way. We must change our methods. … All the worse for the old woman!”
He banged the table at the risk of waking Juliet Assire.
“After all, it’s too silly! The maid distinctly said: ‘There’s a medal in the house, the kind of thing they’re looking for at the Manor.’ Then let’s make use of the opportunity, what? What failed in the case of the Baron may succeed today.”
“What? You’d—”
“Make her speak—yes. As I tried to make the Baron speak. Only, she’s a woman, she is.”
D’Estreicher had taken off his cap. His evil face wore an expression of savage cruelty. He went to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he came back to the armchair in which the good lady was sleeping, gazed at her a moment and of a sudden fell upon her, gripping her throat, and thrust her backwards against the back of the chair.
His confederate chuckled:
“You needn’t give yourself all that trouble. If you squeeze too hard, you’ll
