“Did you hear?”
“Yes, a shot.”
At that moment they were on the point of turning into the Rue Raynouard. The height of the houses prevented them from perceiving the exact spot from which the shot had been fired, but it came approximately from the Essarès house or the immediate precincts. Patrice was filled with alarm:
“Can it be Ya-Bon?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Don Luis, “and, as Ya-Bon wouldn’t fire, someone must have fired a shot at him. … Oh, by Jove, if my poor Ya-Bon were to be killed … !”
“And suppose it was at her, at Coralie?” whispered Patrice.
Don Luis began to laugh:
“Oh, my dear captain, I’m almost sorry that I ever mixed myself up in this business! You were much cleverer before I came and a good deal clearer-sighted. Why the devil should Siméon attack your Coralie, considering that she’s already in his power?”
They hurried their steps. As they passed the Essarès house they saw that everything was quiet and they went on until they came to the lane, down which they turned.
Patrice had the key, but the little door which opened on to the garden of the lodge was bolted inside.
“Aha!” said Don Luis. “That shows that we’re warm. Meet me on the quay, captain. I shall run down to Berthou’s Wharf to have a look round.”
During the past few minutes a pale dawn had begun to mingle with the shades of night. The embankment was still deserted, however.
Don Luis observed nothing in particular at Berthou’s Wharf; but, when he returned to the quay above, Patrice showed him a ladder lying right at the end of the pavement which skirted the garden of the lodge; and Don Luis recognized the ladder as the one whose absence he had noticed from the recess in the yard. With that quick vision which was one of his greatest assets, he at once furnished the explanation:
“As Siméon had the key of the garden, it was obviously Ya-Bon who used the ladder to make his way in. Therefore he saw Siméon take refuge there on returning from his visit to old Vacherot and after coming to fetch Coralie. Now the question is, did Siméon succeed in fetching Little Mother Coralie, or did he run away before fetching her? That I can’t say. But, in any case …”
Bending low down, he examined the pavement and continued:
“In any case, what is certain is that Ya-Bon knows the hiding-place where the bags of gold are stacked and that it is there most likely that your Coralie was and perhaps still is, worse luck, if the enemy, giving his first thought to his personal safety, has not had time to remove her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look here, captain, Ya-Bon always carries a piece of chalk in his pocket. As he doesn’t know how to write, except just the letters forming my name, he has drawn these two straight lines which, with the line of the wall, make a triangle … the golden triangle.”
Don Luis drew himself up:
“The clue is rather meager. But Ya-Bon looks upon me as a wizard. He never doubted that I should manage to find this spot and that those three lines would be enough for me. Poor Ya-Bon!”
“But,” objected Patrice, “all this, according to you, took place before our return to Paris, between twelve and one o’clock, therefore.”
“Yes.”
“Then what about the shot which we have just heard, four or five hours later?”
“As to that I’m not so positive. We may assume that Siméon squatted somewhere in the dark. Possibly at the first break of day, feeling easier and hearing nothing of Ya-Bon, he risked taking a step or two. Then Ya-Bon, keeping watch in silence, would have leaped upon him.”
“So you think …”
“I think that there was a struggle, that Ya-Bon was wounded and that Siméon …”
“That Siméon escaped?”
“Or else was killed. However, we shall know all about it in a few minutes.”
He set the ladder against the railing at the top of the wall. Patrice climbed over with Don Luis’ assistance. Then, stepping over the railing in his turn, Don Luis drew up the ladder, threw it into the garden and made a careful examination. Finally, they turned their steps, through the tall grasses and bushy shrubs, towards the lodge.
The daylight was increasing rapidly and the outlines of everything were becoming clearer. The two men walked round the lodge, Don Luis leading the way. When he came in sight of the yard, on the street side, he turned and said: “I was right.”
And he ran forward.
Outside the hall-door lay the bodies of the two adversaries, clutching each other in a confused heap. Ya-Bon had a horrible wound in the head, from which the blood was flowing all over his face. With his right hand he held Siméon by the throat.
Don Luis at once perceived that Ya-Bon was dead and Siméon Diodokis alive.
XVII
Siméon Gives Battle
It took them some time to loosen Ya-Bon’s grip. Even in death the Senegalese did not let go his prey; and his fingers, hard as iron and armed with nails piercing as a tiger’s claws, dug into the neck of the enemy, who lay gurgling, deprived of consciousness and strength.
Don Luis caught sight of Siméon’s revolver on the cobbles of the yard:
“It was lucky for you, you old ruffian,” he said, in a low voice, “that Ya-Bon did not have time to squeeze the breath out of you before you fired that shot. But I wouldn’t chortle overmuch, if I were you. He might perhaps have spared you, whereas, now that Ya-Bon’s dead, you can write to your family and book your seat below. De profundis, Diodokis!” And, giving way to his grief, he added, “Poor Ya-Bon! He saved me from a horrible death one day in Africa … and today he dies by my orders, so to speak. My poor Ya-Bon!”
Assisted by Patrice, he carried the negro’s corpse into the little bedroom next to the studio.
“We’ll inform the police this evening, captain, when the drama
