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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (May 9, 1918)
THE J TEETH OF THE TIGER Vjl by I J MAURICE LEBLANC TRANST.ATED RY ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS -- CHAPTER VII. SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS, VOL. VIII. Two lodges, belonging to the eaine old time period as the house itself, stood at the extreme right and left of the low wall that sepa rated the front courtyard from the Place du Palais-Bourbon. These lodges were joined to the main building, situated at the back of the courtyard, by a series of out houses. On one side were the coach stables, stables, harness rooms, and garage, with the por ter's lodge at the end; on the other side, the wash houses, kitchens and! offices, ending in the lodge occu pied by Mile. Lcvasseur. . This lodge had only a ground floor, consisting of a dark entrance! hall and one large room, most of which served as a sitting room, while the rest, arranged as a bed room, was really only a sort of al cove. A curtain hid the bed and wash ha>id stand. There were two windows looking out on the-Place du Palais-Bourbon. It was the first time that Don Luis had set foot in Mile. Levas setir’s room. Engrossed though he was with other matters, he felt its charm. It was very simply fur nished: some old mahogany chairs and armchairs, a plain, empire writing table, a round table with one heavy, massive log, and some book shelves. But the bright color of the linen curtains enlivened the room. On the walls hung repro ductions of famous pictures, draw ings of sunny buildings and land scapes, Italian villas, Sicilian temples. • * * mi • i • i i -i • r-ii The girl remained standing. She had resumed her composure, and her face had taken on the enigmat ical expression so difficult to fath om, especially as she had assumed a deliberate air of dejection, which Perenna guessed was intended to hide her excitement and alertness, together with the tumultuous feel ings which even she had great dif ficulty in controlling. Iter eyes looked neither timor our nor defiant. It really seemed as though she had nothing to fear from the explanation. Don Luis kept silent for some little time. It was strange and it annoyed him to feel it,- but he ex perienced a certain embarrassment in the presence of this woman, against whom he was inwardly bringing the most serious charges. And, not daring to put them into words, not daring to say plainly what he thought, he began: “You, know what happened in this house this morning?” “This morning?” “Yes, when I had finished speaking on the telephone.” “I know now. I heard it from the servants, from the butler.” “Not before?” “IIow could 1 have know ear lier?” She was lying. It was impossi ble that she should be speaking the truth. And yet in what a calm voice she had replied! He went on: “I will tell you, in a few words, what happened. I was leaving the telephone box, when the iron cur tain, concealed in the upper part af the wall, fell in front of me. After making sure that there was bottling to be done, I simply re solved, as I had tin* telephone by me, td call in the assistance of one of my friends. I rang up Major d’Astrignnc. He came at once and, wit!: the help of the butler, let me out. Ts that what you heard?” ‘Acs, monsieur. 1 had gone to my room, which explains why 1 knew nothing of the incident or of Major d'Astrignac's visit.”. “Very well. It appears, how ever, from what 1 learned when 1 was released, that the butler and, for that matter, everybody in the house, including yourself, knew of the existence of that iron curtain.” “Certainly.” “And how did you know it?” “Through Tlaron Malonyi. He told me that, during the revolu tion, his great grandmother, on the mother's side, who then occu pied this house and whose husband was guillotined, remained bidden in that recess for 13 months. At that time the curtain was covered with woodwork similar to that of the room.” “It’s a pity that I wasn’t in 17 formed of it, after all, T was very nearly crushed to death.” This possibility did not seem to move the girl. She said : ‘‘It would be a good thing to look at the mechanism and see why it became unfastened. It’s all very old and works badly.” ‘‘The mechanism works perfect ly. I tested it. An accident is not enough to account for it.” ‘‘Who could have done it, if it was unt accident?” ‘‘Some enemy whom I am un able to name.” ‘‘He would have been seen.” ‘‘There was only one person who could have seen him—your self. You happened to pass through my study as I was tele phoning and I heard your excla mation of fright at the news about Mme, Fauville.” ‘‘Yes, it gave me a shock. I pity the woman so very much, whether she is guilty or not.” ‘‘And, as you were close to the arch, with your hand within reach of the spring, the presence of an evildoer would not have escaped your notice.” She did not lower her eyes. A slight flush overspread her face, and she said: ‘‘Yes, 1 should at least have met him, for, from what I gather, I went out a few seconds before the accident. ” ‘‘Quite so,” he said. ‘‘But what is so curious and unlikely is that you did not hear the loud noise of the curtain falling, nor my shouts and all the uproar I created.” ‘‘1 must have closed the door of the stud;* by that time. I-heard nothing.” 1 lion i am bound to presume that there was some one hidden in my study at. that moment, and that this person is a confederate of the ruffians who committed the two murders on the Boulevard Suchet; for the prefect of police has just discovered under the cushions of my sofa the half of a walking stick belonging to one of those ruffians.” She wore an air of great sur prise. This new incident seemed really to be quite unknown to her. He came nearer and, looking her straight in the eyes, said: “You must at least admit that it’s strange.” “What’s strange?” “This scries of events, all directed against me. Yesterday, that draft of a letter which 1 found in the courtyard—the draft of the article published in the Echo de France. This morning, first the crash of the iron curtain just as I was passing under it, next, the discovery of that walk ing stick, and then, a moment ago, the poisoned water bottle,-” She nodded her head and mur mured : “Yes, yes—there is an array of facts— “An array of facts so signifi cant,’’ he said, completing her sen tence meaningly, “as to remove the least shadow of doubt. I can feel absolutely certain of the im mediate intervention of my most ruthless and daring enemy. His presence here is proved. He is ready to act at any moment. His object is plain,” explained Don Luis. “By means of the anony mous article, by means of that half of the walking stick, he meant to compromise me and have me ar rested. By the fall of the curtain j he meant to kill me or at least to keep me imprisoned for some hours. And now it’s poison, the cowardly poison which kills by stealth, which they put in my water today and which they wiil put in my food tomorrow. And next it will he the dagger and then the revolver and then the rope, no matter which, so long as I disap pear: for that is what they want: to get rid of me. “I am the adversary, I am the man they're afraid of,' the man who will discover the secret one day and pocket the millions which they re after. 1 am the interloper. 1 stand mounting guard over the I Morniugton inheritance. It’s my i turn to suffer. Four victims are : dead already. 1 shall be the fifth. II So Gaston Sauverand has decided: ■’ Gaston Sauverand or some one else who’s managing the busi - ness.” Percnna’s eyes narrowed. “The accomplice is here, in this house, in the midst of everything, by my side, lie is lying in wait for me. He is following every step I take. lie is living in mv shadow, lie is waiting for the time and place to strike me. Well, I have had enough of it. I want to know, I will know, and I shall know. Who is he?” The girl had moved back a little way and was leaning against the round table. He took another step forward and, with his eyes still fixed on hers, looking in that im mobile face for a quivering sign of fear or anxiety, he repeated, with greater violence: “Who is the accomplice? Who in the house has.sworn to take mv | life?’’ “J don't know,” she said, “I i don’t know. Perhaps there is no plot, as you think, but just a series of chance coincidences-” He felt inclined to say to her, with his habit of adopting a familiar tone toward those whom he regarded as his adversaries: “You’re lying, dearie, you’re lying. The accomplice is yourself, my beauty. You alone overheard my conversation on the telephone with Mazeroux, you alone can have gone to Gaston Sauverand’s assistance, waited for him in a motor at the corner of the boule vard, and arranged with him to bring the top half of the walking stick here. You’re the beauty that wants to kill me, for some reason which I do not know. The hand that strikes me in the dark is yours, sweetheart.” But it was impossible for him to treat her in this fashion; and he was so much exasperated at not being able to proclaim his cer tainty in words of anger and in dignation that he took her fingers and twisted them violently, while his look and his whole attitude ac cused the girl even more forcibly than the bitterest words. He mastered himself and re leased his grip. The girl freed herself with a quick movement, indicating repulsion and hatred. Don Luis said: “Very well. I will question the servants. If necessary I shall dis miss any whom I suspect.” “No, don’t do that,” she said eagerly. “You mustn’t. I know them all.” Was sne going to detenu them? Was she yielding to a scruple of conscience at the moment when her obstinacy and duplicity were on the point of causing her to sac rifice a set of servants whose con duct she knew to be beyond re proach, Don Luis received the im pression that the glance which she threw at him contained an appeal for pity. But pity for whom? For the others? Or for herself? They were sijent for a long time. Don Luis, standing a few steps away from her, thought of the photograph, and was surprised to find in the real woman all the beauty of the portrait, all that beauty which he had not observed hitherto, but which now struck him as a revelation. The golden hair shone with a brilliancy un i known to him. The mouth wore a I less happy expression, perhaps, a rather bitter expression, but one which nevertheless retained the shape of the smile. The curve of the chin, the grace of the neck re vealed above the dip of the linen collar, the line of the shoulders, the position of the arms, and of the hands resting on her knees: all this was charming and very gentle and. in a manner, very seemly and reassuring. Was it possible that this woman should be a murderess, a poisoner? lie said: "1 forget what you told me , that vour Christian name was. i But the name you gave me was not i the right one.” “.Yes, it was,” she said. “Your name is Florence: Flor ence Levasscur.” She started. “What? Who told you? Flor ence? How do you know?” “Here is your photograph, with your name on it almost illegible.” “Oli!” she said, amazed at see ing the picture. “I can't believe it! Where does it come from? Where did you get it from?” Ami suddenly, "It was the prefect of police who gave it to you, was it not? Yes, it was he, l‘m sure of it. I am sure that this photograph is to identify me and that they are i looking for me, for me, too. And it's you again, it’s you again-” | “Have no fear,” he said. “The print only wants a few touches to 'alter the face beyond recognition. II will make them. Have no fear.” She was no longer listening to him. She gazed at the photograph I with all her concentrated atton |tion and murmured: “1 was 20 years old. * * * I was ; living in Italy. Dear me, how hap ■ pv I was on the day when it was taken! And how happy I was when I saw my portrait! * * * I I used to think myself pretty in . ^ "*■ — [those days. * • • And then it dis-' ' appeared. # * * It was stolen from [me like other things that had al ■ ready been stolen from me, at that | time-” i And sinking her voice still low [ er, speaking her name as if she were addressing some other wom an, some unhappy friend, she re peated : “Florence. * * * Florence-” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “She is not one of those who kill,” thought Don Luis. “I can’t believe that she is an accomplice. And yet—and yet ” He moved away from her and walked across the room, from the window to the door. The drawings of Italian landscapes on the wall attracted his attention. Next he read the titles of the books on the shelves. They represented French and foreign works, novels, plays, essays, volumes of poetry, point-, ing to a really cultivated and, varied taste. 11c saw Racine next to Dante, Stendhal near Edgar Allen Poe, Montaigne between Goetli and Virgil. And suddenly, with that extraordinary faculty which en abled him, in any collection of ob jects, to perceive details which he did not at oneo take in, he no ticed that one of the volumes of an English edition of Shake speare's works did not look exact ly like the others. There was something peculiar about the red morocco back, something stiff, without the cracks and creases which show that a book has been used. It was the eighth volume. He took it out, taking care not to be heard. He was not mistaken. The vol ume was a sham, a mere set of boards surrounding a hollow space that formed a box and thus pro-, vided a regular hiding place; and, inside this book, he caught sight of plain note paper, envelopes of dif ferent kinds, and some sheets of ordinary ruled paper, all of the same size and looking as if they had been taken from a writing pad. And the appearance of these ruled sheets struck him at once. He remembered the look of the paper on which the article for the Echo de France had been drafted. The ruling was identical, and the shape and size appeared to be the same. On lifting the sheets one after the other, he saw, on the last but one, a series of lines consisting of words and figures in pencil, like notes hurriedly jotted down. He read: House on the Boulevard Cuchet. First letter. Night of 15 April. Second. Night of 25th. Third and four. Nights of 5 and 15 May. Fifth and explosion. Night of 25 May. And, while noting first that the date of the first night was that of the aTtual day, and next that all these dates followed one another at intervals of 10 days, he re marked the resemblance between the writing and the writing of the rough draft. The draft was in a notebook in his pocket. lie was therefore in a position to verify the similarity of the two handwritings and of the two ruled sheets of paper. He took his notebook and opened it. The draft was uot there. “Gad,” lie snarled, “hut this is a bit too thick!” And, at the same time, he re membered clearly that, when he was telephoning to Mazeroux in the morning, the notebook was in the poeket of his overcoat and that lie had left his overcoat on a chair near the telephone box. Now, at that moment, Mile. Levasseur, for no reason, was roaming about the study. What was she doing there? “Oil, the play actress!” thought Perenna, raging within himself. •She was humbugging me. Her tears, her air of frankness, her tender memories: all bunkum ! She belongs to the same stock and the same gang as Marie Fauvillc and Gaston Sauverand. Like them, she is an accomplished liar ami > actress from her slightest gesture down to the least inflection of her innocent voice.” I He was on the point of having it all out with her and confound ing her. This time, the proof was | undeniable. Dreading an in | quiry which might have brought ! the facts home to her, she had been unwilling to leave the draft of the article in the adversary’s hands. How could he doubt, from this | moment, that she was the accora ■ plice employed by the people who were working the Mornington af fair and trying to get rid of him? j Had he not every right to suppose I that she was directing the sinister 1 gang, and that, commanding the ! others with her audacity and her intelligence, she was leading them ! toward the obscure goal at which | they were aiming? (Continued Next Week.) t. _ MADE IMMORTAL BY GOETHE Leipzig Tavern in Which Poet Located Scene in “Faust," Was Well known Gathering Place. Auerbach's cellar was a tavern at Leipzig which disappeared in 1912. It owed Its chief fame to Goethe, who In this place located the scene in “Faiiyt” wherein Mephistopheles, standing up on a wine cask, takes his flight into fpnee with Doctor Faust, to the stupe faction of the guests drinking at the tables. Tim old building to which the collar belonged was huilt by Doctor Stromer d'Auerbaeh at about 1520, the worthy doctor there storing the wine ; intended for Ills own use. I,ater, ns the wine was good, he conceived the Idea of selling if. In this way was es tablished the tavern to which Ids name has been attached ever since. From the earliest years of the seven teenth -century legend lias placed in this cellar the famous adventure of Faust and Mephistopheles. 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