Jacqueline of Golden RiverEmanuel, V. R. (Victor Rousseau)
Philosophy
Jacqueline of Golden River
Emanuel, V. R. (Victor Rousseau)
Fiction
"Come, _monsieur_!" she gasped.
But I was too mad with the desire to make an end of Leroux to accompany
her. I wanted to go back. I tried to find the bolt of the door in the
gloom, but while my fingers were fumbling for it Jacqueline came
running back to me.
"Quick, or we are lost!" she cried.
"I am going back," I answered, still fumbling for the holt Duchaine had
drawn.
"No! We are safe inside. It is a secret room. My father made it in
the first days of his sojourn here in case he was pursued, and none but
Pierre and he know the secret. Ah, come, _monsieur_--come!"
She clung to me desperately, and there was an intensity of entreaty in
her voice.
I hesitated. There was no sound in the room without, and I believed
that the two ruffianly followers were ignorant of what had happened,
and had not dared to return after being driven away.
But I meant to kill Leroux, and still felt for the bolt.
As I fumbled there the door splintered suddenly, and Jacqueline cried
out. Through the hole I saw the oil-lamp shining in the outer room.
The door splintered again. All at once I realized that Leroux was
firing his revolver at the panels. It was fortunate that we both stood
at one side, where the latch was.
Then I yielded reluctantly to Jacqueline's soft violence. I followed
her through the dark chamber, under an archway of stone, and through a
winding passage in the rock. Pierre's candle flickered before us, and
in another moment we had squeezed through a narrow opening into a
chamber in the cliff.
On the ground were five or six large stones, and Pierre began to fit
them into the aperture through which we had passed. In a minute the
place was completely sealed, and we four stood and looked breathlessly
at one another within what might have been a cenotaph.
Not the slightest sound came from without.
We were standing in a stone chamber, apparently of natural formation,
but finished with rough masonry work. It was about the size of a large
room, and I could see that it was only a widening of the tunnel itself,
which continued through a narrow exit at the farther end, running on
into the unknown depths of the cliff.
From the freshness of the air I inferred that it connected with the
surface at no distant place.
The entrance through which we had come had been made by blasting at
some period, or widened in this way, and then cemented, for the stones
which Pierre had fitted into it exactly filled it, so that it was
barely distinguishable from where I stood, and I am certain that it
would have required a prolonged scrutiny on the part of searchers on
the outside to enable them to detect it.
And even then only dynamite or blasting-powder could have forced a
path, and it would have been exceedingly difficult to handle such
materials within the tunnel without blocking the approach completely,
while leaving open the farther exit.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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