“I saw that he was holding something besides his bag.”
“What?”
“Goliath.”
D’Estreicher was silent, struck by that simple word and all it signified.
“Goliath,” Dorothy went on, “Goliath who never quitted him, Goliath always within reach of his hand, and whom he was holding, whom he is holding at this moment. Look at him. His five fingers are clenched round the dog’s collar. Do you understand? Round its collar!”
Once more d’Estreicher had no doubt. Dorothy’s declaration immediately appeared to him to meet all the circumstances of the case. Once more she threw light on the affair. Beyond that light: nothing but darkness and contradictions.
He recovered all his coolness. His will to act instantly revived; and at the same time he saw clearly all the precautions to be taken to minimize the risks of the attempt.
He drew from his pocket a thin piece of rope, with which he bound Dorothy, and a handkerchief which he tied across her mouth.
“If you’ve made a mistake, darling, all the worse for you. You’ll pay for it.”
And he added in a sarcastic tone:
“Moreover, if you haven’t made a mistake, all the worse for you just the same. I’m not the man to lose my prey.”
He hailed his confederates:
“Hi, boys! Is there anyone on the road?”
“Not a soul!”
“Keep your eyes open! We’ll be off in three minutes. When I whistle, bucket off to the entrance to the caves. I’ll bring the young woman along.”
The threat, terrible as it was, did not effect Dorothy. For her the whole drama was unfolding itself down below, between d’Estreicher and the Baron. D’Estreicher ran down from the hillocks, crossed the bridge, and ran towards the old man who was sitting on a bench on the terrace, with Goliath’s head on his knee.
Dorothy felt her heart beating wildly. Not that she doubted that he would find the medal. It would be found in the dog’s collar—of that she was sure. But it must be that this supreme effort to snatch a last delay could not fail.
“If the barrel of a gun doesn’t appear above the top of the wall before a minute is up, d’Estreicher is my master.”
And since she would rather kill herself than submit to that degradation, during that minute her life was at stake.
The respite accorded by circumstances was longer than that. D’Estreicher, having flung himself on the dog, met with an unexpected resistance from the Baron. The old man thrust him off furiously, while the dog barked and dragged himself free from the ruffian’s grip. The struggle was prolonged. Dorothy followed its phases with alternating fear and hope, backing up Raoul’s grandfather with all the force of her will, cursing the energy and stubbornness of the ruffian. In the end the old Baron grew tired and appeared all at once to lose interest in what might happen. One might have thought that Goliath must have suddenly fallen a victim to the same sense of lassitude. He sat down at his master’s feet and let himself be handled with a kind of indifference. With trembling fingers d’Estreicher caught hold of the collar, and ran his fingers along the nail-studded leather under the dog’s thick coat. His fingers found the buckle.
But he got no further. The dramatic surprise came at last. A man’s bust rose above the wall, and a voice cried:
“Hands up!”
At last Dorothy smiled with an indescribable sensation of joy and deliverance. Her plan, delayed by some obstacle, was a success. Near Saint-Quentin who had been the first to appear, another figure rose above the wall, leveled a gun, and cried:
“Hands up!”
Instantly d’Estreicher abandoned his search and looked about him with an air of panic. Two other shouts rang out:
“Hands up! Hands up!”
From the points chosen by the young girl two more guns were leveled at him, and the men who aimed, aimed straight at d’Estreicher only. Nevertheless he hesitated. A bullet sang over his head. His hands went up. His confederates were already halfway to the hillocks in their flight. No one paid any attention to them. They ran across the bridge and disappeared in the direction of an isolated hillock which was called the Labyrinth.
The big gate flew open. Raoul rushed through it, followed by two men whom Dorothy did not know, but who must be the detectives dispatched on his information.
D’Estreicher did not budge; he kept his hands up; and doubtless he would not have made any resistance, if a false move of the police had not given him the chance. As they reached him they closed round him, covering him for two or three seconds from the fire of the servants on the wall. He took advantage of their error to whip out his revolver and shoot. Four times it cracked. Three bullets went wide. The fourth buried itself in Raoul’s leg; and he fell to the ground with a groan.
It was a futile outburst of rage and savagery. On the instant the detectives grappled with d’Estreicher, disarmed him, and reduced him to impotence.
They handcuffed him; and as they did so his eyes sought Dorothy, who was almost out of sight, for she had slipped behind a clump of bushes; and as they sought her they filled with an expression of appalling hate.
It was Saint-Quentin, followed by the captain, who found Dorothy; and at the sight of her blood-smeared face, they were nearly beside themselves.
“Silence,” she commanded, to cut short their questions. “Yes, I’m wounded. But it’s a mere nothing. Run to the Baron, captain; catch hold of Goliath, pat him, and take off his collar. In the collar, you will find behind the metal plate, on which his name is engraved, a pocket, forming a lining to it and containing the metal we’re looking for. Bring it to me.”
The boy hurried off.
“Saint-Quentin,” Dorothy continued. “Have the detectives seen me?”
“No.”
“You must give everyone to understand that I left the Manor some time ago and that you’re to meet me at the market-town, Roche-sur-Yon. I don’t want to be mixed up with the inquiry. They’ll
