The scene had not lasted a minute; and in less than a minute the readjustment had taken place. Defeat was changed to victory.

A precarious victory. Dorothy knew that a man like d'Estreicher would not long remain the dupe of the illusion with which, by a stroke of really incredible daring, she had filled his mind. Nevertheless she essayed the impossible to bring about the ruffian's capture, a capture which she could not effect alone, and which would only become definite if she kept him awed till the freeing of Webster, Errington, and Marco Dario.

As authoritative as if she were disposing of an army corps, she gave her orders to her rescuers:

"One of you stay there with the rifle leveled, ready to fire at the slightest movement, and let the remainder of the troop go to set the prisoners free! Hurry up, now. Go round the tower. They're to the left of the entrance—a little further on."

The remainder of the troop was Castor and Pollux, unless Saint-Quentin went with them, thinking it best simply to leave his rifle, model 1870, resting in the loop-hole and aimed directly at the ruffian.

"They are going.... They are entering.... They are searching," she said to herself, trying to follow the movements of the children.

But she saw d'Estreicher's tense face little by little relax. He had looked at the barrel of the rifle. He had heard the quiet steps of the children, so different from the row which a band of peasants would have made. Soon she no longer doubted that the ruffian would escape before the others came.

The last of his hesitation vanished; he let his arms fall, grinding his teeth.

"Sold!" he said. "It's those brats and the rifle is nothing but old iron! My God, you have a nerve!"

"Am I to shoot?"

"Come off it! A girl like you kills to defend herself, not for killing's sake. To hand me over to justice? Will that give you back the diamonds? I would rather have my tongue torn out and be roasted over a slow fire than divulge the secret. They're mine. I'll take them when I please."

"One step forward and I shoot."

"Right, you've won the party. I'm off."

He listened.

"The brats are gabbling over yonder. By the time they've untied them, I shall be a long way off. Au revoir.... We shall meet again."

"No," she said.

"Yes. I shall have the last word. The diamonds first. The love affair afterwards. I did wrong to mix the two."

She shook her head.

"You will not have the diamonds. Would I let you go, if I weren't sure? But, and I've told you so: you are lost."

"Lost? And why?" he sneered.

"I feel it."

He was about to reply. But the sound of voices nearer came to their ears. He leapt out of the guardroom and ran for it, bending low, through the bushes.

Dorothy, who had darted after him, aimed at him, with a sudden determination to bring him down. But, after a moment's hesitation, she lowered her weapon, murmuring:

"No, no. I cannot.... I cannot. And then what good would it be? Anyhow my father will be avenged...."

She went towards her friends. The boys had had great difficulty in freeing them, so tangled was the network of cords that bound them. Webster was the first to get to his feet and run to meet her.

"Where is he?"

"Gone," she said.

"What! You had a revolver and you let him get away?"

Errington came up, then Dario, both furious.

"He has got away? Is it possible? But which way did he go?"

Webster snatched Dorothy's weapon.

"You hadn't the heart to kill him? Was that it?"

"I had not," said Dorothy.

"A blackguard like that! A murderer! Ah well, that's not our way, I swear. Here we are, friends."

Dorothy barred their way.

"And his confederates? There are five or six of them besides d'Estreicher—all armed with rifles."

"All the better," said the American. "There are seven shots in the revolver."

"I beg you," she said, fearing the result of an unequal battle. "I beg you.... Besides, it's too late.... They must have got on board their boat."

"We'll see about that."

The three young men set out in pursuit. She would have liked to go with them, but Montfaucon clung to her skirt, sobbing, his legs still hampered by his bonds.

"Mummy ... mummy ... don't go away.... I was so frightened!"

She no longer thought of anything but him, took him on her knees, and consoled him.

"You mustn't cry, Captain dear. It's all over. That nasty man won't come back any more. Have you thanked Saint-Quentin? And your comrades Castor and Pollux? Where would we have been without them, my darling?"

She kissed the three boys tenderly.

"Yes! Where would we have been? Ah, Saint-Quentin, the idea of the rifle.... What a find! You are a splendid fellow, old chap! Come and be kissed again! And tell me how you managed to get to us? I didn't miss the little heaps of pebbles that you sowed along the path from the inn. But why did you go round the marsh? Did you hope to get to the ruins of the chÂteau by going along the beach at the foot of the cliffs?"

"Yes, mummy," replied Saint-Quentin, very proud at being so complimented by her, and deeply moved by her kisses.

"And wasn't it impossible?"

"Yes. But I found a better way ... on the sand, a little boat, which we pushed into the sea."

"And you had the courage, the three of you, and the strength to row? It must have taken you an hour?"

"An hour and a half, mummy. There were heaps of sandbanks which blocked our way. At last we landed not far from here in sight of the tower. And when we got here I recognized the voice of d'Estreicher."

"Ah, my poor, dear darlings!"

Again there was a deluge of kisses, which she rained right and left on the cheeks of Saint-Quentin, Castor's forehead, and the Captain's head. And she laughed! And she sang! It was so good to be alive. So good to be no longer face to face with a brute who gripped your wrists and sullied you with his abominable leer! But she suddenly broke off in the middle of these transports.

"And MaÎtre Delarue? I was forgetting him!"

He was lying at the back of his cell behind a rampart of tall grasses.

"Attend to him! Quick, Saint-Quentin, cut his ropes. Goodness! He has fainted. Look here, MaÎtre Delarue, you come to your senses. If not, I leave you."

"Leave me!" cried the notary, suddenly waking up. "But you've no right! The enemy——"

"The enemy has run away, MaÎtre Delarue."

"He may come back. These are terrible people. Look at the hole their chief made in my hat! The donkey finished by throwing me off, just at the entrance to the ruins. I took refuge in a tree and refused to come down. I didn't stay there long. The ruffian knocked my hat off with a bullet."

"Are you dead?"

"No. But I'm suffering from internal pains and bruises."

"That will soon pass off, MaÎtre Delarue. To-morrow there won't be anything left, I assure you. Saint-Quentin, I put MaÎtre Delarue in your charge. And yours, too, Montfaucon. Rub him."

She hurried off with the intention of joining her three friends, whose badly conducted expedition worried her. Starting out at random, without any plan of attack, they ran the risk once more of letting themselves be taken one by one.

Happily for them, the young men did not know the place where d'Estreicher's boat was moored; and though the portion of the peninsula situated beyond the ruins was of no great extent, since they were at once hampered by masses of rock which formed veritable barriers, she found all three of them. Each of them had lost his way in the labyrinth of little paths, and each of them, without knowing it, was returning to the tower.

Dorothy, who had a finer sense of orientation, did not lose her way. She had a flair for the little paths which led nowhere, and instinctively chose those which led to her goal. Moreover she soon discovered foot-prints. It was the path followed regularly by the band in going to and fro between the ruins and the sea. It was no longer possible to go astray.

But at this point they heard cries which came from a point straight ahead of them. Then the path turned sharply and ran to the right. A pile of rocks had necessitated this change of direction, abrupt and rugged rocks. Nevertheless they scaled them to avoid making the apparently long detour.

Dario who was the most agile and leading, suddenly exclaimed:

"I see them! They're all on the boat.... But what the devil are they doing?"

Webster joined him, revolver in hand:

"Yes, I see them too! Let's run down.... We shall be nearer to them."

Before them was the extremity of the plateau, on which the rocks stood, on a promontory, a hundred and twenty feet high, which commanded the beach. Two very high granite needles formed as it were the pillars of an open door, through which they saw the blue expanse of the ocean.

"Look out! Down with you!" commanded Dorothy, dropping full length on the ground.

The others flattened themselves against the rocky walls.

A hundred and fifty yards in front of them, on the deck of a large motor fishing-boat, there was a group of five men; and among them a woman was gesticulating. On seeing Dorothy and her friends, one of the men turned sharply, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. A splinter of granite flew from the wall near Errington.

"Halt there! Or I'll shoot again!" cried the man who had fired.

Dorothy checked her companions.

"What are you going to do? The cliff is perpendicular. You don't mean to jump into the empty air?"

"No, but we can get back to the road and go round," Dario proposed.

"I forbid you to stir. It would be madness."

Webster lost his temper:

"I've a revolver!"

"They have rifles, they have. Besides, you would get there too late. The drama would be over."

"What drama?"

"Look."

Dominated by her, they remained quiet, sheltered from the bullets. Below them developed, like a performance at which they were compelled to be present without taking part in it, what Dorothy had called the drama; and all at once they grasped its tragic horror.

The big boat was rocking beside a natural quay which formed the landing-place of a peaceful little creek. The woman and the five men were bending over an inert body which appeared to be bound with bands of red wool. The woman was apostrophizing this sixth individual, shaking her fists in his face, and heaping abuse on him, of which only a few words reached the ears of the young people.

"Thief!... Coward!... You refuse, do you?... You wait a minute!"

She gave some orders with regard to an operation, for which everything was ready, for the young people perceived, when the group of ruffians broke up, that the end of a long rope which ran over the mainyard, was round the prisoner's neck. Two men caught hold of the other end of it.

The inert body was set on its feet. It stood upright for a few seconds, like a doll one is about to make dance. Then, gently, without a jerk, they drew it up a yard from the deck.

"D'Estreicher!" murmured one of the young men recognizing the Russian soldier's cap.

Dorothy recalled with a shudder the prediction she had made to her enemy directly after their meeting at the ChÂteau de Roborey. She said in a low voice:

"Yes, d'Estreicher."

"What do they want from him?"

"They want to get the diamonds from him."

"But he hasn't got them."

"No. But they may believe he has them. I suspected that that was what they had in mind. I noticed the savage expression of their faces and the glances they exchanged as they left the ruins by d'Estreicher's orders. They obeyed him in order to prepare the trap into which he has fallen."

Below, the figure only remained suspended from the yard for an instant. They lowered the doll. Then they drew it up again twice; and the woman yelled:

"Will you speak?... The treasure you promised us?... What have you done with it?"

Beside Dorothy, Webster muttered:

"It isn't possible! We can't allow them to...."

"What?" said Dorothy. "You wanted to kill him a little while ago.... Do you want to save him now?"

Webster and his friends did not quite know what they wanted. But they refused to remain inactive any longer in presence of this heartrending spectacle. The cliff was perpendicular, but there were fissures and runlets of sand in it. Webster, seeing that the man with the rifle was no longer paying any attention to them, risked the descent. Dario and Errington followed him.

The attempt was vain. The gang had no intention of fighting. The woman started the motor. When the three young men set foot on the sand of the beach, the boat was moving out to sea, with the engine going full speed. The American vainly fired the seven shots in his revolver.

He was furious; and he said to Dorothy who got down to him:

"All the same ... all the same we should have acted differently.... There goes a band of rogues, clearing off under our very eyes."

"What can we do?" said Dorothy. "Isn't the chief culprit punished? When they're out to sea, they'll search him again, and once certain that his pockets are really empty, that he knows the secret and will not reveal it, they'll throw their chief into the sea, along with the false Marquis, whose corpse is actually at the bottom of the hold."

"And that's enough for you? The punishment of d'Estreicher?"

"Yes."

"You hate him intensely then?"

"He murdered my father," she said.

The young men bowed gravely. Then Dario resumed:

"But the others?..."

"Let them go and get hanged somewhere else! It's much better for us. The band arrested and handed over to justice would have meant an inquiry, a trial, the whole adventure spread broadcast. Was that to our interest? The Marquis de Beaugreval advised us to settle our affairs among ourselves."

Errington sighed:

"Our affairs are all settled. The secret of the diamonds is lost."

Far away, northwards, towards Brittany, the boat was moving away.

That same evening, towards nine o'clock, after having intrusted MaÎtre Delarue to the care of the widow Amoureux—all he thought of was getting a good night's rest and returning to his office as quickly as possible—and after having enjoined on the widow absolute silence about the assault of which she had been the victim, Errington and Dario harnessed their horses to the caravan. Saint-Quentin led One-eyed Magpie behind it. They returned by the stony path up the gorge to the ruins of Roche-PÉriac. Dorothy and the children resumed possession of their lodging. The three young men installed themselves in the cells of the tower.

Next morning, early, Archibald Webster mounted his motor-cycle. He did not return till noon.

"I've come from Sarzeau," he said. "I have seen the monks of the abbey. I have bought from them the ruins of Roche-PÉriac."

"Heavens!" cried Dorothy. "Do you mean to end your days here?"

"No; but Errington, Dario, and I wish to search in peace; and for peace there is no place like home."

"Archibald Webster, you seem to be very rich; are you as firmly bent on finding the diamonds as all that?"

"I'm bent on this business of our ancestor Beaugreval ending as it ought to end, and that chance shouldn't, some day or other, give those diamonds to some one, without any right to them, who happens to come along. Will you help us, Dorothy?"

"Goodness, no."

"Hang it! Why not?"

"Because as far as I am concerned, the adventure came to an end with the punishment of the culprit."

They looked downcast.

"Nevertheless you're staying on?"

"Yes, I need rest and my four boys need it too. Twelve days here, leading the family life with you, will do us a world of good. On the twenty-fourth of July, in the morning, I'm off."

"The date is fixed?"

"Yes."

"For us, too?"

"Yes. I'm taking you with me."

"And to where do we travel?"

"An old Manor in VendÉe where, at the end of July, other descendants of the lord of Beaugreval will find themselves gathered together. I'm eager to introduce you to our cousins Davernoie and Chagny-Roborey. After that you will be at liberty to return here ... to bury yourselves with the diamonds of Golconda."

"Along with you, Dorothy?"

"Without me."

"In that case," said Webster, "I sell my ruins."

For the three young men those few days were a continuous enchantment. During the morning they searched, without any kind of method be it said, and with an ardor that lessened all the more quickly because Dorothy did not take part in their investigations. Really they were only waiting for the moment when they would be with her again. They lunched together, near the caravan, which Dorothy had established under the shade of the big oak which commanded the avenue of trees.

A delightful meal, followed by an afternoon no less delightful, and by an evening which they would have willingly prolonged till the coming of dawn. Not a cloud in the sky spoilt the beautiful weather. Not a traveler tried to make his way into their domain or pass beyond the notice they had nailed to a branch: "Private property. Man-traps."

They lived by themselves, with the four boys with whom they had become the warmest friends, and in whose games they took part, all seven of them in an ecstasy before her whom they called the wonderful Dorothy.

She charmed and dazzled them. Her presence of mind during the painful day of the 12th of July, her coolness in the chamber in the tower, her journey to the inn, her unyielding struggle against d'Estreicher, her courage, her gayety, were so many things that awoke in them an astounded admiration. She seemed to them the most natural and the most mysterious of creatures. For all that she lavished explanations on them and told them all about her childhood, her life as nurse, her life as showman, the events at the ChÂteau de Roborey and Hillocks Manor, they could not bring themselves to grasp the fact that she was at once the Princess of Argonne and circus-manager, that she was just that, manifestly as reserved as she was fanciful, manifestly the daughter of a grand seignior every whit as much as mountebank and rope-dancer. But her delicate tenderness towards the four children touched them profoundly, to such a degree did the maternal instinct reveal itself in her affectionate looks and patient care.

On the fourth day Marco Dario succeeded in drawing her aside and made his proposal:

"I have two sisters who would love you like a sister. I live in an old palace in which, if you would come to it, you would wear the air of a lady of the Renaissance."

On the fifth day the trembling Errington spoke to her of his mother, "who would be so happy to have a daughter like you." On the sixth day it was Webster's turn. On the seventh day they nearly came to blows. On the eighth day, they clamored to her to choose between them.

"Why between you?" said she laughingly. "You are not the only people in my life, besides my four boys. I have relations, cousins, other suitors perhaps."

"Choose."

On the ninth day, under severe pressure, she promised to choose.

"Well there," she said. "I'll set you all in a row and kiss the one who shall be my husband."

"When?"

"On the first day of the month of August."

"Swear it!"

"I swear it."

After that they stopped searching for the diamonds. As Errington observed—and Montfaucon had said it before him—the diamonds they desired were she, Dorothy. Their ancestor Beaugreval could not have foreseen for them a more magnificent treasure.

On the morning of the 24th Dorothy gave the signal for their departure. They quitted the ruins of Roche-PÉriac and said good-bye to the riches of the Marquis de Beaugreval.

"All the same," said Dario. "You ought to have searched, cousin Dorothy. You only are capable of discovering what no one has discovered for two centuries."

With a careless gesture she replied:

"Our excellent ancestor took care to tell us himself where the fortune was to be found—In robore.... Let us accept his decision."

They traveled again the stages which she had traveled already, crossed the Vilaine, and took, the road to Nantes. In the villages—one must live; and the young girl accepted help from no one—Dorothy's Circus gave performances. Fresh cause for amazement on the part of the three foreigners. Dorothy conducting the parade, Dorothy on One-eyed Magpie, Dorothy addressing the public, what sparkling and picturesque scenes!

They slept two nights at Nantes, where Dorothy desired to see MaÎtre Delarue. Quite recovered from his emotions, the notary welcomed her warmly, introduced her to his family, and kept her to lunch.

Finally on the last day of the month, starting early in the morning, they reached Hillocks Manor in the middle of the afternoon. Dorothy left the caravan in front of the gateway with the boys, and entered, accompanied by the three young men.

The court-yard was empty. The farm-servants must be at work in the fields. But through the open windows of the Manor they heard the noise of a violent discussion.

A man's voice, harsh and common—Dorothy recognized it as the voice of Voirin, the money-lender—was scolding furiously; reinforced by thumps on the table:

"You've got to pay, Monsieur Raoul. Here's the bill of sale, signed by your grandfather. At five o'clock on the 31st of July, 1921, three hundred thousand francs in bank-notes or Government securities. If not, the Manor is mine. It's four-fifty. Where's the money?"

Dorothy heard next the voice of Raoul, then the voice of Count Octave de Chagny offering to arrange to pay the sum.

"No arrangements," said the money-lender. "Bank-notes. It's four fifty-six."

Archibald Webster caught Dorothy by the sleeve and murmured:

"Raoul? It's one of our cousins?"

"Yes."

"And the other man?"

"A money-lender."

"Offer him a check."

"He won't take it."

"Why not?"

"He wants the Manor."

"What of it? We're not going to let a thing like that happen."

Dorothy said to him:

"You're a good fellow, Archibald, and I thank you. But do you think that it's by chance that we're here on the 31st of July at four minutes to five?"

She went towards the steps, mounted them, crossed the hall, and entered the room.

Two cries greeted her appearance on the scene. Raoul started up, very pale, the Countess de Chagny ran to her.

She stopped them with a gesture.

In front of the table, Voirin, supported by two friends whom he had brought as witnesses, his papers and deeds spread out before him, held his watch in his hand.

"Five o'clock!" he cried in a tone of victory.

She corrected him:

"Five o'clock by your watch, perhaps. But look at the clock. We have still three minutes."

"And what of it?" said the money-lender.

"Well, three minutes are more than we need to pay this little bill and clear you out of the house."

She opened the traveling cape she was wearing and from one of its inner pockets drew a huge yellow envelope which she tore open. Out of it came a bundle of thousand-franc notes and a packet of securities.

"Count, monsieur. No, not here. It would take rather a time; and we're eager to be by ourselves."

Gently, but with a continuous pressure, she pushed him towards the door, and his two witnesses with him.

"Excuse me, monsieur, but it's a family party ... cousins who haven't seen one another for two hundred years.... And we're eager to be by ourselves.... You're not angry with me, are you? And, by the way, you will send the receipt to Monsieur Davernoie. Au revoir, gentlemen.... There: there's five o'clock striking.... Au revoir."