Detective and mystery stories; Rouletabille, Joseph (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
They had waited dinner for me. It was late. The dinner was a dismal
affair, in spite of the gayety of Old Bob. We scarcely attempted to
hide the deep anxiety which froze our hearts. One would have said that
each one of us was resigned to the blow which was threatening and that
we had lost hope that it might be averted. M. and Mme. Darzac ate
nothing. Mme. Edith kept looking at me with a strange expression. At
ten o’clock I went to take up my station at the tower of the gardener,
almost with relief. While I was in the little room where we had
consulted together the night before, the Lady in Black and Rouletabille
passed beneath the arch. The glimmer of the lantern fell on their
faces. Mme. Darzac appeared to me to be in a state of the greatest
excitement. She was urging Rouletabille to something which I could
not hear. The conversation between them looked like an argument and I
caught only one word of Rouletabille, “Thief!”
The two entered the Court of the Bold. The Lady in Black stretched
her arm toward the young man, but he did not see it, for he left her
immediately and went toward his own room. She remained standing alone
for a moment in the court, leaning against the trunk of the eucalyptus
tree in an attitude of unutterable sadness, then, with slow steps, she
entered the Square Tower.
It was now the tenth of April. The attack of the Square Tower occurred
on the night between the eleventh and twelfth.
CHAPTER X
THE EVENTS OF THE ELEVENTH OF APRIL
This attack took place under circumstances so mysterious and so
inexplicable, to all appearances, under any reasonable hypothesis, that
the reader will permit me, in order to make him comprehend the issue
more fully, to dwell upon certain details in regard to the manner in
which we spent our time on the eleventh day of April, 1895.
(1) _The Morning._
The day, almost from the rising of the sun, was intolerably hot and
the hours on guard were almost overpowering. The sun was as torrid as
in the heart of Africa and it would have blinded us to keep watch over
the waters which burned like a sheet of steel, brought to a white heat,
if we had not been furnished with eyeglasses of smoked glass, without
which it is difficult to pass the season of departing winter in this
part of the country.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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