II
The American handed the note to Pierre, whose face flushed with anger.
“Who gave you this?” he asked of the landlord.
“A young man who had no need to say he came from Paris,” replied the landlord, rapidly describing Marcel Fayard.
“Would you let us have something to eat,” said Pierre, “and we shall start right back for Paris?”
“But we’re not going back to-night, Pierre,” protested Van Duyven.
“Yes, monsieur, it is really necessary.”
They partook of a hasty repast and reentered the car. Pierre set off at a fast pace, but a mile to the west of the town he swung off on a by road.
“What’s the matter, Pierre?” asked Van Duyven.
“The matter is,” said Pierre grimly, “that we are not going back to Paris tonight. I said what I did back there, so that the ears that were listening would convey it to M. Leon Gaveau the news that we were out of the way. We are making a detour to Aubers, two miles to the south.
“We shall garage the car there and make our way back on foot to that ugly rock called the Devil’s Hoof, where we dug up the treasure. I am convinced that M. Gaveau would not have written that letter, but that he wanted to get rid of us.
“He has probably found out that the treasure is in the sea, and he is going to recover it.”
In a few minutes they reached Aubers and left the car at the inn. Then they made their way on foot back to the gaunt rock near the seashore, known as the Devil’s Hoof. Half an hour’s walk brought them in sight of the scene of their last encounter with the terrible, old blind man, Jacques Lanneau. Even with the knowledge that he was long since dead, Pierre could not look on the scene without a sense of fear.
“He was a terrible fiend,” said Van Duyven, answering the other’s thoughts.
“Horrible!” said Pierre.
As he spoke they rounded a bend of the road, and Pierre stopped short with a faint cry that was like a sob strangled in his throat. He gripped Van Duyven tightly and trembled as though he would fall. His teeth were chattering, and his face became an ashen hue.
Van Duyven himself turned pale, as he gazed, speechlessly, on the figure of an old man, who came toward them tapping the ground with his stick. His silvery white hair was so long that it tossed in the light breeze. His head held erect, and his sightless eyes turned upward to the light, imparted to his face and figure an expression of benignity.
He was thirty yards away when they sighted him, but, as they stood spellbound, he rapidly approached, and covered half the distance before Van Duyven found the power to move or speak.
“Courage, Pierre,” he whispered, “over the fence with you.”
Hastily they climbed the fence. Pierre would have bolted, but that Van Duyven held him by the arm.
“Pull yourself together, Pierre,” he whispered, crouching behind the fence and drawing the boy down beside him.
The blind man came along with a quick, short pace and, as if he had somehow become aware there was some one in the vicinity, he began to beg in a curious, singsong voice:
“May the All Merciful bless and preserve you and yours, good people, and all those who make light the way of the afflicted, and one sou, for the love of Heaven.”
He halted in the spot immediately opposite them. Van Duyven saw a despairing look in Pierre’s eyes, and feared he would cry out. He caught the boy’s wrist in a grip of steel, as much to quiet him as to steady his own nerves. Lanneau ceased speaking, as if expecting an answer, and a puzzled look crossed his face at the silence. After a pause, he moved toward the fence.
“I am in darkness, good people,” he said, “pity my distress and spare a sou, for the love of Heaven.”
With his head raised in the old, familiar, listening attitude, and with a curiously intent look on his face, the blind man groped about with his stick, and, finding the fence, he leaned against it.
For a moment, Van Duyven feared he was going to climb over, but instead, he sat down not a foot from where they lay. He was evidently puzzled, and he looked incredulous, as if asked to believe something that was impossible. After a long pause, he said to himself:
“Well, that’s curious.”
He produced a black cheroot and lit it leisurely. Van Duyven was convinced that all his senses were on the alert, but, to reassure Pierre, he slowly winked at the boy, whose lips were moving silently as he crouched on his hands and knees.
