The Captain slept on.
Towards noon the crowd began to flock in from all the neighboring villages. After the meal Saint-Quentin, Castor, and Pollux took a siesta beside the caravan. Dorothy again went off. She went down into the ravine, examined the slab over the excavation, went up out of it again, moved among the groups of peasants and strolled about the gardens, round the château, and everywhere else that one was allowed to go.
“Well, how’s your search getting on?” said Saint-Quentin when she returned to the caravan.
She appeared thoughtful, and slowly she explained:
“The château, which has been empty for a long while, belongs to the family of Chagny-Roborey, of which the last representative, Count Octave, a man about forty, married, twelve years ago, a very rich woman. After the war the Count and Countess restored and modernized the château. Yesterday evening they had a housewarming to which they invited a large party of guests who went away at the end of the evening. Today they’re having a kind of popular housewarming for the villagers.”
“And as regards this name of Roborey, have you learned anything?”
“Nothing. I’m still quite ignorant why my father uttered it.”
“So that we can get away directly after the performance,” said Saint-Quentin who was very eager to depart.
“I don’t know. … We’ll see. … I’ve found out some rather queer things.”
“Have they anything to do with your father?”
“No,” she said with some hesitation. “Nothing to do with him. Nevertheless I should like to look more closely into the matter. When there is darkness anywhere, there’s no knowing what it may hide. … I should like. …”
She remained silent for a long time. At last she went on in a serious tone, looking straight into Saint-Quentin’s face:
“Listen: you have confidence in me, haven’t you? You know that I’m quite sensible at bottom … and very prudent. You know that I have a certain amount of intuition … and good eyes that see a little more than most people see. … Well, I’ve got a strong feeling that I ought to remain here.”
“Because of the name of Roborey?”
“Because of that, and for other reasons, which will compel me perhaps, according to circumstances, to undertake unexpected enterprises … dangerous ones. At that moment, Saint-Quentin, you must follow me—boldly.”
“Go on, Dorothy. Tell me what it is exactly.”
“Nothing. … Nothing definite at present. … One word, however. The man who was aiming at you this morning, the man in the blouse, is here.”
“Never! He’s here, do you say? You’ve seen him? With the policemen?”
She smiled.
“Not yet. But that may happen. Where have you put those earrings?”
“At the bottom of the basket, in a little cardboard box with a rubber ring round it.”
“Good. As soon as the performance is over, stick them in that clump of rhododendrons between the gates and the coach-house.”
“Have they found out that they’ve disappeared?”
“Not yet,” said Dorothy. “From the things you told me I believe that the little safe is in the boudoir of the Countess. I heard some of the maids talking; and nothing was said about any robbery. They’d have been full of it.” She added: “Look! there are some of the people from the château in front of the shooting-gallery. Is it that pretty fair lady with the grand air?”
“Yes. I recognize her.”
“An extremely kindhearted woman, according to what the maids said, and generous, always ready to listen to the unfortunate. The people about her are very fond of her … much fonder of her than they are of her husband, who, it appears, is not at all easy to get on with.”
“Which of them is he? There are three men there.”
“The biggest … the man in the gray suit … with his stomach sticking out with importance. Look; he has taken a rifle. The two on either side of the Countess are distant relations. The tall one with the grizzled beard which runs up to his tortoiseshell spectacles, has been at the château a month. The other more sallow one, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters, arrived yesterday.”
“But they look as if they knew you, both of them.”
“Yes. We’ve already spoken to one another. The bearded nobleman was even quite attentive.”
Saint-Quentin made an indignant movement. She checked him at once.
“Keep calm, Saint-Quentin. And let’s go closer to them. The battle begins.”
The crowd was thronging round the back of the tent to watch the exploits of the owner of the château, whose skill was well known. The dozen bullets which he fired made a ring round the center of the target; and there was a burst of applause.
“No, no!” he protested modestly. “It’s bad. Not a single bull’s-eye.”
“Want of practice,” said a voice near him.
Dorothy had slipped into the front ranks of the throng; and she had said it in the quiet tone of a connoisseur. The spectators laughed. The bearded gentleman presented her to the Count and Countess.
“Mademoiselle Dorothy, the directress of the circus.”
“Is it as circus directress that mademoiselle judges a target or as an expert?” said the Count jocosely.
“As an expert.”
“Ah, mademoiselle also shoots?”
“Now and then.”
“Jaguars?”
“No. Pipe-bowls.”
“And mademoiselle does not miss her aim?”
“Never.”
“Provided, of course, that she has a first-class weapon?”
“Oh, no. A good shot can use any kind of weapon that comes to hand … even an old-fashioned contraption like this.”
She gripped the butt of an old pistol, provided herself with six cartridges, and aimed at the cardboard target cut out by the Count.
The first shot was a bull’s-eye. The second cut the black circle. The third was a bull’s-eye.
The Count was amazed.
“It’s marvelous. … She doesn’t even take the trouble to aim. What do you say to that, d’Estreicher?”
The bearded nobleman, as Dorothy called him, cried enthusiastically:
“Unheard of! Marvelous! You could make a fortune, Mademoiselle!”
Without answering, with the three remaining bullets she broke two pipe-bowls and shattered an empty eggshell that was dancing on the top of
