CHAPTER XX. FLORENCE'S SECRET
It was time for the second act of the tragedy. Don Luis Perenna's death
was to be followed by that of Florence. Like some monstrous butcher, the
cripple passed from one to the other with no more compassion than if he
were dealing with the oxen in a slaughter-house.
Still weak in his limbs, he dragged himself to where the girl lay, took a cigarette from a gun-metal case, and, with a final touch of cruelty, said:
"When this cigarette is quite burnt out, Florence, it will be your turn. Keep your eyes on it. It represents the last minutes of your life reduced to ashes. Keep your eyes on it, Florence, and think.
"I want you to understand this: all the owners of the estate, and old
Langernault in particular, have always considered that the heap of rocks
and stones overhanging your head was bound to fall to pieces sooner or
later. And I myself, for years, with untiring patience, believing in a
favourable opportunity, have amused myself by making it crumble away
still more, by undermining it with the rain water, in short, by working
at it in such a way that, upon my word, I can't make out how the thing
keeps standing at all. Or, rather, I do understand.
"The few strokes with the pickaxe which I gave it just now were merely
intended for a warning. But I have only to give one more stroke in the
right place, and knock out a little brick wedged in between two lumps of
stone, for the whole thing to tumble to the ground like a house of cards.
"A little brick, Florence," he chuckled, "a tiny little brick which
chance placed there, between two blocks of stone, and has kept in
position until now. Out comes the brick, down come the blocks, and
there's your catastrophe!"
He took breath and continued:
"After that? After that, Florence, this: either the smash will take
place in such a way that your body will not even be in sight, if any one
should dream of coming here to look for you, or else it will be partly
visible, in which case I shall at once cut and destroy the cords with
which you are tied.
"What will the law think then? Simply that Florence Levasseur, a fugitive
from justice, hid herself in a grotto which fell upon her and crushed
her. That's all. A few prayers for the rash creature's soul, and not
another word.
"As for me--as for me, when my work is done and my sweetheart dead--I
shall pack my traps, carefully remove all the traces of my coming, smooth
every inch of the trampled grass, jump into my motor car, sham death for
a little while, and then put in a sensational claim for the hundred
millions."
He gave a little chuckle, took two or three puffs at his cigarette, and
added, calmly:
"I shall claim the hundred millions and I shall get them. That's the
prettiest part of it. I shall claim them because I'm entitled to them; and I explained to you just now before Master Lupin came interfering, how, from the moment that you were dead, I had the most undeniable legal right to them. And I shall get them, because it is physically impossible to bring up the least sort of proof against me."
He moved closer.
"There's not a charge that can hurt me. Suspicions, yes, moral
presumptions, clues, anything you like, but not a scrap of material
evidence. Nobody knows me. One person has seen me as a tall man, another
as a short man. My very name is unknown. All my murders have been
committed anonymously. All my murders are more like suicides, or can be
explained as suicides.
"I tell you the law is powerless. With Lupin dead, and Florence Levasseur
dead, there's no one to bear witness against me. Even if they arrested
me, they would have to discharge me in the end for lack of evidence. I
shall be branded, execrated, hated, and cursed; my name will stink in
people's nostrils, as if I were the greatest of malefactors. But I shall
possess the hundred millions; and with that, pretty one, I shall possess
the friendship of all decent men!
"I tell you again, with Lupin and you gone, it's all over. There's
nothing left, nothing but some papers and a few little things which I
have been weak enough to keep until now, in this pocket-book here, and
which would be enough and more than enough to cost me my head, if I did
not intend to burn them in a few minutes and send the ashes to the bottom
of the well.