Treasure Royal/Chapter 9

the first sunlight of the new day flooded the green world, Farvel and Hawkins departed by the same trail that Dubois and Bigarot had followed, but more leisurely. Franchipot remained with Paléologue, who spoke one last word with Kent.

"Your word of honor, M. Kent?"

"I have given it," said Kent quietly, supporting Marie on his arm. "If you wish to shoot me in the back, then—"

"Don't be a fool," said Paléologue in English. "Precede us, if you please."

Kent and Marie started away from the ruins. At this instant the sound of a single shot came lifting from the green depths of the jungle. Paléologue and Franchipot exchanged a significant look. That shot, of course, signified that the unfortunate Bigarot was no more.

The four passed along the jungle trail. Marie Marquet, in the fresh morning light, was more than ever like a frail flower; yet Kent found her cool enough now that the crisis seemed over, and quite self-reliant. Once, as a gay bird leaped out ahead of them, he caught a swift glow of radiance in her eyes.

"The way out—the way home!" he thought, not without a pang. "That's everything to her. She'll come through it all right; but why was Paléologue so easy with me?"

This question troubled him. A glance over his shoulder showed him the two men following unconcernedly, carelessly. He did not believe that Paléologue would for a moment trust to his promise of silence. What, therefore, lay behind the man's indifference? What plot, what bloody gin, what pitfall?

Kent was thinking thus when the air vibrated twice. The two shots came from a distance, and were felt rather than heard—dull thuds, as if the shooting were done below some muffling depth of jungle.

"Some hunter, probably," said Paléologue to his companion. "That reminds me—get rid of your pistol at once, mon ami. Such a weapon might be incriminating, and we have no further need of it. We shall assuredly be searched, so get rid of the thing now."

As he spoke, Paléologue drew out his own automatic and tossed it into-the trees. Franchipot followed suit. They sauntered on after Kent and Marie, who had not observed the action.

It was perhaps five minutes later that Franchipot came to a sudden halt, his features blanching. He caught at Paléologue's arm.

"Listen! Voices—at your camp!"

"Quiet!" Paléologue gripped him with iron fingers. "Not a word—let me talk! Come!"

They hurried forward and joined Kent and Marie Marquet. All four came at once into sight of Paléologue's camp, and halted in astonishment.

This place, which should have been deserted, was alive with natives. A palanquin stood near the tent. Soldiers under a French officer were busy, and at Paléologue's folding table sat the bulky, white-clad figure of M. Davignan.

With an excited buzz, the four arrivals were surrounded. Kent felt dazed as he beheld Davignan bowing over Marie's hand and clasping his own fingers in a warm grip. Then the fat man, beaming, extended his hand to Paléologue.

"Ah, monsieur le prince! Welcome, every one! You have breakfasted?"

Paléologue looked dumfounded at this greeting, as well he might. A cry broke from Marie. There was a moment of excited questions, of rapid words; then Davignan led the girl to the stool he had just vacated.

The soldiers had closed around the three men. Kent stood in rather puzzled wonder, amazed by the sight of Davignan. Franchipot affected a huge unconcern, which was belied by the furtive glances he darted around. Paléologue wore his best air of cold hauteur; he sensed a crisis, and he met it superbly.

Leaving Marie, Davignan now returned to the group, beaming cherubically. He was about to speak when Paléologue forestalled him.

"M. Davignan, may I have an instant of private speech with you?"

"But certainly!" exclaimed Davignan. "I am at your service. You will excuse us, messieurs?" he added, to the others. "One little moment!"

Paléologue stepped forward. Davignan took his arm familiarly.

"This is admirable, this meeting!" said the commissioner. "Mlle. Marquet was missed, M. Kent was missed—and I find them in your company! Decidedly, monsieur le prince, you have done us a great favor."

Reassured, Paléologue halted.

"Listen, M. Davignan. You found certain dead men here?"

Davignan frowned.

"Ah, my poor men! They lie in the tent yonder."

"I have brought you the criminal. Before I left the city, naturally, I had learned that M. Kent was suspected of the palace robbery. Last night I was camped here. I had trouble with my natives; they quit me in a flash. I was alone. Suddenly four white men appeared, with a native guide. They were your four agents. I welcomed them, and the guide returned to the nearest village to bring me men and bearers. You comprehend?"

"Perfectly." Davignan fingered his imperial thoughtfully. "And then?"

Paléologue removed his helmet and showed the furrow across his scalp.

"I do not know. I heard a shot, felt the bullet strike me here. It was an ambuscade. When I recovered, this American, M. Kent, was with me; also Mlle. Marquet. Three of your men lay dead; the fourth had vanished."

"Ah!" exclaimed Davignan. "Saperlipopette! And then?"

"M. Kent informed me that he had left the city with the lady, in order to be married. They took a sampan up the river, intending to go to the mission station at Bhuloc—or so he said. He told a most unconvincing story of having lost his way. Naturally, I said nothing. I knew that his gang of robbers had fallen upon us. I pretended to believe all he said, and resolved to overpower him if possible. The headquarters of his gang lay in a ruined temple, a little farther along this trail. I saw that the lady was unhappy—"

Davignan pressed the arm of the prince. Sympathy and a hearty reassurance were in his cherubic features as he spoke.

"Mon ami, say no more! Me, I have imagination. I can understand. You acted well, nobly! Saperlipopette! The man suspects nothing?"

"Nothing," said Paléologue. "He does not dream that his connection with the robbery is known. Further, he is an American, and not the Englishman William Kent at all. I suspected this when we met him at Singapore—you remember?"

"Yes, that is true." Davignan nodded pompously, and motioned toward Franchipot. "And this fellow?"

"My servant, an honest garcon. I had left him at the village below. He rejoined us this morning. Kent's gang had disappeared, so he was unmolested."

Davignan nodded.

"You have done wonders, monsieur!" he said earnestly. "I congratulate you! And to think that I, Davignan, did you the injustice to suspect you of having designs upon that treasure!"

"Monsieur!" exclaimed Paléologue, haughtily indignant.

Davignan patted his arm.

"Apologies by the thousand! Hold—let me arrange my thoughts an instant."

Holding Paléologue by the arm, Davignan stared over the shoulder of the prince, his lips moving silently, a frown of reflection overspreading his cherubic visage. His eyes, however, were fastened upon a certain point of the brush and jungle growth enclosing the little glade.

In this growth a face had appeared. The eyes of Davignan were fastened upon this face, which was that of Bigarot.

Davignan made a slight gesture with his free hand. The face vanished.

"Ah!" exclaimed the fat commissioner. "I have it! Let us send Mlle. Marquet to the city in my palanquin, yes? Let us not do her the painful harm of inflicting questions. Does she love this impostor of an American?"

Paléologue twirled his mustache and smiled.

"Monsieur, I believe that she does. From some words which we exchanged this morning, I am convinced of it."

"Good! Then leave matters to me."

M. Davignan approached Marie Marquet and bowed. He inquired whether she desired to be sent at once to her home. She looked at him and smiled faintly.

"If you please. My father has not returned yet from Hanoi?"

"No."

"M. Kent—he will also proceed to the city?"

"When I have asked him a few questions"—Davignan waved his hand—"he will return with me, mademoiselle."

She assented. Davignan called his bearers, offered his arm. The girl's eyes sought Kent, who approached. She extended her hand.

"I am returning to town. I shall expect you soon, monsieur. Au revoir!"

Kent smiled. He was a trifle uneasy over Paléologue's private conversation with Davignan, but he felt that he was now a bystander, without further interest in the affair of the royal treasure. He was curious to see how Paléologue intended to act. That he would have an accounting with the man, later, he had long since resolved.

In five minutes the palanquin was ready. Paléologue bowed coldly, and Marie ignored him. With an escort of four men and a native corporal, the palanquin was borne away.

Davignan said a low word to the French lieutenant. The latter addressed his soldiers in Anamese. In a twinkling the three white men were surrounded, and deft hands searched them. Then they were released. No weapons had been found.

"Diantre!" cried Paléologue angrily. "This is an outrage, monsieur!"

Davignan laughed heartily.

"Come, come, monsieur le prince! I am taking no chances, you comprehend, with desperate men. M. Kent, what do you know about the robbery which took place in the royal palace of Hué? Have you any knowledge on the subject?"

Kent met the laughing, probing black eyes. For an instant his lips compressed; then he spoke.

"Yes," he said. "I have some knowledge of it, monsieur, but I have passed my word of honor to keep silence."

Paléologue's brows lifted slightly. Franchipot gazed admiringly at the speaker. Neither man had expected Kent to keep his word. Davignan merely shrugged, and turned to Paléologue.

"May I have the privilege of introducing a friend, monsieur le prince—a friend who is very anxious to meet you? True, the occasion lacks ceremony, yet—"

"I should be delighted," said Paléologue, a questioning wonder in his gaze.

Davignan made a gesture. From the bushes came Bigarot, a pistol in his hand, his smoldering eyes fastened upon Paléologue. His wrists were still manacled. The latter turned deathly pale. Franchipot opened his mouth and stared with fallen jaw at this man who had come from the dead. Bigarot emitted a dry laugh.

"So aristocrat! I struck down Dubois by a coup de savate; I shot him. Then I shot Hawkins and Farvel. One cannot take chances with both hands fastened together, you understand! So now I am here to pull you down, dog of an aristocrat!"

"You will make your verbal report to me, now," commanded Davignan.

He motioned the lieutenant, and the soldiers closed in about Franchipot and Paléologue. Franchipot was still paralyzed by the apparition of Bigarot. Paléologue shrugged, bit his lip, then coolly produced his cigaret-case. He saw that everything had been lost at one blow—and he understood that this terrible fat man had been playing with him all the while.

"At least," he said calmly, "you will never find the treasure!"

Bigarot laughed again.

"The treasure," he answered, "is in a boat, which is moored at one of the city wharves. To find the boat is a matter of elimination. It was clever to leave the craft there—therefore I guessed that it would be done."

Franchipot uttered a low groan. Paléologue shrugged again, and picked a cigaret from his case. Davignan made an imperative gesture to Bigarot, who came forward and began to make his verbal report.

Kent, still ignorant that he was at all involved, stood watching proceedings with a grim smile of satisfaction upon his lips.

Suddenly Bigarot turned his head and saw that Paléologue was smoking. A loud cry burst from his lips. He whirled and flung himself toward Paléologue. The latter, smiling, tossed away the cigaret.

"Too late!" he said.

Bigarot stopped short, inarticulate; then burst into a storm of oaths. Davignan came forward, wondering. He caught Bigarot by the shoulder with an angry question.

"What is it?" repeated Bigarot shrilly, and pointed at Paléologue. "The cigarets—ah, the cursed one has escaped me after all! Look!"

Paléologue, staggering a little, uttered his old gay laugh.

"Aye, Bigarot!" he said throatily. "Aye—escaped you! Kent, talk all you damned please—I'm done!"

With a cry of agony, Franchipot caught him as he fell.