D’Estreicher opened his fingers a little. The old woman opened her eyes wide and uttered a low groan.
“Speak!” d’Estreicher commanded. “The Baron entrusted a medal to you. Where have you put it?”
Juliet Assire did not clearly understand what was happening to her. She struggled. Exasperated, he shook her.
“Will you prattle? Hey? Where’s your old sweetheart’s medal? He gave it to you all right. Don’t say he didn’t, you old hag! Your maid’s telling everybody who cares to listen to her. Come, speak up. If you don’t—”
He picked one of the iron firedogs with copper knobs from the hearthstone and brandished it crying:
“One … two … three. … At twenty I’ll crack your skull!”
VIII
On the Iron Wire
The door behind which Dorothy was hiding herself shut badly. Having pushed it to gently, she not only saw but heard everything that took place, except that the face of Juliet Assire remained hidden from her. The ruffian’s threat did not trouble her much, for she knew that he would not put it into execution. In fact d’Estreicher counted up to twenty without the old woman having uttered a word. But her resistance infuriated him to such a degree that, dropping the mass of iron, he seized the hand of Juliet Assire and twisted it violently. Juliet Assire yelled with pain.
“Ah, you’re beginning to understand, are you?” he said. “Perhaps you’ll answer. … Where is the medal?”
She was silent.
He gave her hand another twist.
The old woman fell on her knees and begged for mercy incoherently.
“Speak!” he cried. “Speak! I’ll go on twisting till you speak!”
She stammered several syllables.
“What’s that you say? Speak more distinctly, will you? Do you want me to give it another twist?”
“No … no,” she implored. “It’s there … at the Manor … in the river.”
“In the river? What nonsense! You threw it into the river? You’re laughing at me!”
He held her down with one knee on her chest, their hands clenched round one another. From her post of observation Dorothy watched them, horror-stricken, powerless against these two men, but nevertheless unable to resign herself to inaction.
“Then I’ll twist it, what?” growled the ruffian. “You prefer it to speaking?”
He made a quick movement which drew a cry from Juliet Assire. And all at once she raised herself, showed her face convulsed with terror, moved her lips, and succeeded in stuttering:
“The c—c—cupboard … the cupboard … the flagstones.”
The sentence was never finished, though the mouth continued to move, but a strange thing happened: her frightful face little by little grew calm, assumed an ineffable serenity, became happy, smiling; and of a sudden Juliet Assire burst out laughing. She no longer felt the torture of her twisted wrist and she laughed gently, not jerkily, with an expression of beatitude.
She was mad.
“You’ve no luck,” said his confederate in a mocking tone. “Directly you try to make people speak, they collapse—the Baron, cracked; his sweetheart, mad as a hatter. You’re doing well.”
The exasperated d’Estreicher thrust away the old woman who stumbled and turning fell down behind an armchair quite close to Dorothy, and cried furiously.
“You’re right, my luck’s out. But this time perhaps we’ve found a lode. Before her brain gave she spoke of a cupboard and flagstones. Which? This one or that? They’re both paved with flags?”
He pointed first to the kind of closet in which Dorothy was hiding and then to a cupboard on the other side of the fireplace.
“I’ll begin with this cupboard. You start on that one,” he said. “Or rather, no—come and help me; we’ll go through this one thoroughly first.”
He knelt down near the fireplace, opened the cupboard door, and with the poker got to work on one of the cracks between the flags of its floor which his accomplice tried to raise.
Dorothy lost no time. She knew that they were coming to the closet and that she was lost if she did not fly. The old woman, stretched out close to her, was laughing gently and then grew silent as the men worked on.
Hidden by the armchair, Dorothy slipped noiselessly out of the cupboard, took off the lace cap which covered the hair of Juliet Assire and put it on her own head. Then she took her spectacles, then her shawl, put it round her shoulders, and succeeded in hiding her figure with a big tablecloth of black serge. At that moment Juliet fell silent. On the instant Dorothy took up her even, joyous laughter. She rose, and stooping like an old woman, ambled across the room.
D’Estreicher growled: “What’s the old lunatic up to? Mind she doesn’t get away.”
“How can she get away?” asked his confederate. “You’ve got the key in your pocket.”
“The window.”
“Much too high. Besides she doesn’t want to leave the cottage.”
Dorothy slipped in front of the window, the sill of which, uncommonly high up, was on a level with her eyes. The shutters were not closed. With a slow movement she succeeded in turning the catch. Then she paused. She knew that directly it was opened the window would let in the fresh air and the noises outside, and give the ruffians warning. In a few seconds she calculated and analyzed the movements she would need to make. Sure of herself and relying on her extraordinary agility, she took a look at her enemies; then swiftly, without a single mistake or a second’s hesitation, she threw the window wide, jumped on to the sill, and from it into the garden.
There came two shouts together, then a hubbub of cries. But it took the two men time to understand, to stumble upon the body of the real Juliet and discover it was she, to unlock the door. Dorothy made use of it. Too clever to escape down the garden and through the gate, she ran round the cottage, jumped down a slope, scratched herself among the thorns of a hedge, and came out into the fields.
As she did so pistol-shots rang out. D’Estreicher and his confederate were firing at the shadows.
When Dorothy had rejoined Raoul
