“But Monsieur Davernoie?”
“As soon as you get the chance, tell him. Tell him that I’ve gone for reasons which I will explain later, and that I beg him to keep silent about everything that concerns us. Besides, he is wounded, and his mind is confused, and nobody will think about me. They’re going to hunt through the hillocks, I expect, to get hold of d’Estreicher’s confederates. They mustn’t see me. Cover me with branches.”
“That’s all right,” she said when he had done so, “As soon as it is getting dark, come, all four of you, and carry me down to the caravan; and we’ll start as soon as it’s daylight. Perhaps I shall be out of sorts for a few days. Rather too much overwork and excitement—nothing for you to worry about. Do you understand, my boy?”
“Yes, Dorothy.”
As she had foreseen, the two detectives, having shut up d’Estreicher at the Manor, passed at no great distance from her, guided by one of the farm-servants. She presently heard them calling out and guessed that they had discovered the entrance to the caves of the Labyrinth, down which d’Estreicher’s confederates had fled.
“Pursuit is useless,” murmured Dorothy. “The quarry has too long a start.”
She felt exhausted. But for nothing in the world would she have yielded to her lassitude before the return of the captain. She asked Saint-Quentin how the attack had come to be so long delayed.
“An accident, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said he. “The detectives made a mistake about the inn; and the farm-servants were late getting back from the fête. It was necessary to collect the whole lot; and the car broke down.”
Montfaucon came running up. Dorothy went on:
“Perhaps, Saint-Quentin, there’ll be the name of a town, or rather of a château, on the medal. In that case, find out all you can about the route and take the caravan there. Did you find it, captain?”
“Yes, mummy.”
“Give it to me, pet.”
What emotion Dorothy felt when she touched the gold medal so keenly coveted by them all, which one might reckon the most precious of talismans, as the guarantee even of success!
It was a medal twice the size of a five-franc piece, and above all much thicker, less smoothly cut than a modern medal, less delicately modeled, and of duller gold that did not shine.
On the face was the motto:
In robore fortuna,
On the reverse these lines:
July 12, 1921.
At noon. Before the clock of the Château of Roche-Périac.
“The twelfth of July,” muttered Dorothy. “I have time to faint.”
She fainted.
X
Towards the Golden Fleece
It was not till nearly three days afterwards that Dorothy got the better of the physical torpor, aggravated by fever, which had overwhelmed her. The four boys gave a performance on the outskirts of Nantes. Montfaucon took the place of the directress in the leading role. It was a less taking spectacle; but in it the captain displayed such an animated comicality that the takings were good.
Saint-Quentin insisted that Dorothy should take another two days’ rest. What need was there to hurry? The village of Roche-Périac was at the most sixty-five miles from Nantes so that there was no need for them to set out till six days before the time appointed.
She allowed herself to be ordered about by him, for she was still suffering from a profound lassitude as a result of so many ups and downs and such violent emotions. She thought a great deal about Raoul Davernoie, but in a spirit of angry revolt against the feeling of tenderness towards the young man with which those weeks of intimacy had inspired her. However little he might be connected with the drama in which the Prince of Argonne had met his death, he was none the less the son of the man who had assisted d’Estreicher in the perpetration of the crime. How could she forget that? How could she forgive it?
The quiet pleasantness of the journey soothed the young girl. Her ardent and happy nature got the better of painful memories and past fatigues. The nearer she drew to her goal, the more fully her strength of mind and body came back to her, her joy in life, her childlike gayety, and her resolve to bring the enterprise to a successful end.
“Saint-Quentin,” she said, “we are advancing to the capture of the Golden Fleece. Are you bearing in mind the solemn importance of the days that are passing? Four days yet … three days … two days; and the Golden Fleece is ours. Baron de Saint-Quentin, in a fortnight you will be dressed like a dandy.”
“And you like a princess,” replied Saint-Quentin, to whom this prospect of fortune, promising a less close intimacy with his great friend, did not seem to give any great pleasure.
She was strongly of the opinion that other trials awaited her, that there would still be obstacles to surmount and perhaps enemies to fight. But for the time being there was a respite and a truce. The first part of the drama was finished. Other adventures were about to begin. Curious and of a daring spirit, she smiled at the mysterious future which opened before her.
On the fourth day they crossed the Vilaine, the right bank of which they were henceforth to follow, along the top of the slopes which run down to the river. It was a somewhat barren country, sparsely inhabited, over which they moved slowly under a scorching sun which overwhelmed One-eyed Magpie.
At last, next day, the 11th of July, they saw on a signpost:
Roche-Périac 12½ Miles
“We shall sleep there tonight,” declared Dorothy.
It was a painful stage of the journey. … The heat was suffocating. On the way they picked up a tramp who lay groaning on the dusty grass. A woman and a clubfooted child were walking a hundred yards ahead of them without One-eyed Magpie being able to catch them up.
Dorothy and the four boys took it in turn to sit with the tramp in
