The Crystal Stopper - Maurice Leblanc (best ereader for epub .txt) 📗

Clarisse pulled back the curtain that concealed the first door, noiselessly drew the bolt and put her ear to the second door:

“He is here,” she thought. “He is dressing to go to the club⁠ ⁠… as he did yesterday.”

When her neighbour had gone, she went into the passage and, availing herself of a moment when there was no one in sight, walked up to the door of No. 129. The door was locked.

She waited all the evening for her neighbour’s return and did not go to bed until two o’clock. On Sunday morning, she resumed her watch.

The neighbour went out at eleven. This time he left the key in the door.

Hurriedly turning the key, Clarisse entered boldly, went to the partition-door, raised the curtain, drew the bolt and found herself in her own room.

In a few minutes, she heard two chambermaids doing the room in No. 129.

She waited until they were gone. Then, feeling sure that she would not be disturbed, she once more slipped into the other room.

Her excitement made her lean against a chair. After days and nights of stubborn pursuit, after alternate hopes and disappointments, she had at last succeeded in entering a room occupied by Daubrecq. She could look about at her ease; and, if she did not discover the crystal stopper, she could at least hide in the space between the partition-doors, behind the hanging, see Daubrecq, spy upon his movements and surprise his secret.

She looked around her. A travelling-bag at once caught her attention. She managed to open it; but her search was useless.

She ransacked the trays of a trunk and the compartments of a portmanteau. She searched the wardrobe, the writing-table, the chest of drawers, the bathroom, all the tables, all the furniture. She found nothing.

She gave a start when she saw a scrap of paper on the balcony, lying as though flung there by accident:

“Can it be a trick of Daubrecq’s?” she thought, out loud. “Can that scrap of paper contain⁠ ⁠…”

“No,” said a voice behind her, as she put her hand on the latch.

She turned and saw Daubrecq.

She felt neither astonishment nor alarm, nor even any embarrassment at finding herself face to face with him. She had suffered too deeply for months to trouble about what Daubrecq could think of her or say, at catching her in the act of spying.

She sat down wearily.

He grinned:

“No, you’re out of it, dear friend. As the children say, you’re not ‘burning’ at all. Oh, not a bit of it! And it’s so easy! Shall I help you? It’s next to you, dear friend, on that little table⁠ ⁠… And yet, by Jove, there’s not much on that little table! Something to read, something to write with, something to smoke, something to eat⁠ ⁠… and that’s all⁠ ⁠… Will you have one of these candied fruits?⁠ ⁠… Or perhaps you would rather wait for the more substantial meal which I have ordered?”

Clarisse made no reply. She did not even seem to listen to what he was saying, as though she expected other words, more serious words, which he could not fail to utter.

He cleared the table of all the things that lay upon it and put them on the mantelpiece. Then he rang the bell.

A headwaiter appeared. Daubrecq asked:

“Is the lunch which I ordered ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s for two, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the champagne?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Extra-dry?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another waiter brought a tray and laid two covers on the table: a cold lunch, some fruit and a bottle of champagne in an ice-pail.

Then the two waiters withdrew.

“Sit down, dear lady. As you see, I was thinking of you and your cover is laid.”

And, without seeming to observe that Clarisse was not at all prepared to do honour to his invitation, he sat down, began to eat and continued:

“Yes, upon my word, I hoped that you would end by consenting to this little private meeting. During the past week, while you were keeping so assiduous a watch upon me, I did nothing but say to myself, ‘I wonder which she prefers: sweet champagne, dry champagne, or extra-dry?’ I was really puzzled. Especially after our departure from Paris. I had lost your tracks, that is to say, I feared that you had lost mine and abandoned the pursuit which was so gratifying to me. When I went for a walk, I missed your beautiful dark eyes, gleaming with hatred under your hair just touched with gray. But, this morning, I understood: the room next to mine was empty at last; and my friend Clarisse was able to take up her quarters, so to speak, by my bedside. From that moment I was reassured. I felt certain that, on coming back⁠—instead of lunching in the restaurant as usual⁠—I should find you arranging my things to your convenience and suiting your own taste. That was why I ordered two covers: one for your humble servant, the other for his fair friend.”

She was listening to him now and in the greatest terror. So Daubrecq knew that he was spied upon! For a whole week he had seen through her and all her schemes!

In a low voice, anxious-eyed, she asked:

“You did it on purpose, did you not? You only went away to drag me with you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But why? Why?”

“Do you mean to say that you don’t know?” retorted Daubrecq, laughing with a little cluck of delight.

She half-rose from her chair and, bending toward him, thought, as she thought each time, of the murder which she could commit, of the murder which she would commit. One revolver-shot and the odious brute was done for.

Slowly her hand glided to the weapon concealed in her bodice.

Daubrecq said:

“One second, dear friend⁠ ⁠… You can shoot presently; but I beg you first to read this wire which I have just received.”

She hesitated, not knowing what trap he was laying for her; but he went on, as he produced a telegram:

“It’s about your son.”

“Gilbert?” she asked, greatly concerned.

“Yes, Gilbert⁠ ⁠… Here, read it.”

She gave a yell of dismay. She had read:

“Execution on Tuesday morning.”

And she at once flung herself