The Hollow Needle | Page 4

LEBLANC
AUTHOR OF
"ARSENE LUPIN," "THE BLONDE LADY," ETC.
TRANSLATED BY ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS

CONTENTS
I. The Shot II. Isidore Beautrelet, Sixth-form Schoolboy III. The
Corpse IV. Face to Face V. On the Track VI. An Historic Secret VII.
The Treatise of the Needle VIII. From Caesar to Lupin IX. Open,
Sesame! X. The Treasures of the Kings of France

ILLUSTRATIONS
Valmeras loved Raymonde's melancholy charm
She put the gun to her shoulder, calmly took aim and fired
Two huge letters, each perhaps a foot long, appeared cut in relief in the
granite of the floor
"We're going now. What do you think of my cockle-shell, Beautrelet?"

THE HOLLOW NEEDLE


CHAPTER ONE
THE SHOT
Raymonde listened. The noise was repeated twice over, clearly enough
to be distinguished from the medley of vague sounds that formed the
great silence of the night and yet too faintly to enable her to tell
whether it was near or far, within the walls of the big country- house, or

outside, among the murky recesses of the park.
She rose softly. Her window was half open: she flung it back wide. The
moonlight lay over a peaceful landscape of lawns and thickets, against
which the straggling ruins of the old abbey stood out in tragic outlines,
truncated columns, mutilated arches, fragments of porches and shreds
of flying buttresses. A light breeze hovered over the face of things,
gliding noiselessly through the bare motionless branches of the trees,
but shaking the tiny budding leaves of the shrubs.
And, suddenly, she heard the same sound again. It was on the left and
on the floor below her, in the living rooms, therefore, that occupied the
left wing of the house. Brave and plucky though she was, the girl felt
afraid. She slipped on her dressing gown and took the matches.
"Raymonde--Raymonde!"
A voice as low as a breath was calling to her from the next room, the
door of which had not been closed. She was feeling her way there,
when Suzanne, her cousin, came out of the room and fell into her arms:
"Raymonde--is that you? Did you hear--?"
"Yes. So you're not asleep?"
"I suppose the dog woke me--some time ago. But he's not barking now.
What time is it?"
"About four."
"Listen! Surely, some one's walking in the drawing room!"
"There's no danger, your father is down there, Suzanne."
"But there is danger for him. His room is next to the boudoir."
"M. Daval is there too--"
"At the other end of the house. He could never hear."

They hesitated, not knowing what course to decide upon. Should they
call out? Cry for help? They dared not; they were frightened of the
sound of their own voices. But Suzanne, who had gone to the window,
suppressed a scream:
"Look!--A man!--Near the fountain!"
A man was walking away at a rapid pace. He carried under his arm a
fairly large load, the nature of which they were unable to distinguish: it
knocked against his leg and impeded his progress. They saw him pass
near the old chapel and turn toward a little door in the wall. The door
must have been open, for the man disappeared suddenly from view and
they failed to hear the usual grating of the hinges.
"He came from the drawing room," whispered Suzanne.
"No, the stairs and the hall would have brought him out more to the
left--Unless--"
The same idea struck them both. They leant out. Below them, a ladder
stood against the front of the house, resting on the first floor. A
glimmer lit up the stone balcony. And another man, who was also
carrying something, bestrode the baluster, slid down the ladder and ran
away by the same road as the first.
Suzanne, scared to the verge of swooning, fell on her knees,
stammering:
"Let us call out--let us call for help--"
"Who would come? Your father--and if there are more of them left--
and they throw themselves upon him--?"
"Then--then--we might call the servants--Your bell rings on their
floor."
"Yes--yes--perhaps, that's better. If only they come in time!"
Raymonde felt for the electric push near her bed and pressed it with her

finger. They heard the bell ring upstairs and had an impression that its
shrill sound must also reach any one below.
They waited. The silence became terrifying and the very breeze no
longer shook the leaves of the shrubs.
"I'm frightened--frightened," said Suzanne.
And, suddenly, from the profound darkness below them, came the
sound of a struggle, a crash of furniture overturned, words,
exclamations and then, horrible and ominous, a hoarse groan, the
gurgle of a man who is being murdered--
Raymonde leapt toward the door. Suzanne clung desperately to her
arm:
"No--no--don't leave me--I'm frightened--"
Raymonde pushed her aside and