"Yes, yes," he snarled: "You wish to gain time, my dear. And suppose you do? Do you think I'll let go of you? I've got you both, you and the medal; and your bumpkin of a Raoul isn't the man to loosen my grip. Besides, if he does come, it'll be all the worse for him. My men have their orders: a good crack on the head——"
He was still searching; he stopped short, uttered a cry of triumph and stood upright, the disc in his hand.
"Here it is, ducky. Certainly the luck is with me; and you've lost. On we go, cousin Dorothy!"
Dorothy cast a last look along the walls. No one. Instinctively, at the approach of the man she hated, she made as if to thrust him off. It made him laugh—so absurd did any resistance seem. Violently he beat down her outstretched arms, and again swung her on to his shoulder with a movement in which there was as much hate as desire.
"Say good-bye to your sweetheart, Dorothy, for the good Raoul is in love with you. Say good-bye to him. If ever you see him again, it will be too late."
He crossed the bridge and strode in among the hillocks.
It was all over. In another thirty seconds, even if he were attacked, no longer being in sight of the points on the wall at which the men armed with guns were to rise up, he would have time to reach the mouth of the entrance to his lair. Dorothy had lost the battle. Raoul and the detectives would arrive too late.
"You don't know how nice it is to have you there, all quivering, and to carry you away with me, against me, without your being able to escape the inevitable," whispered d'Estreicher. "But what's the matter with you? Are you crying? You mustn't, my dear. After all why should you? You would certainly let yourself be lulled one of these days on the bosom of the handsome Raoul. Then there's no reason why I should be more distasteful to you than he, is there? But—hang it!" he cried angrily, "haven't you done sobbing yet?"
He turned her on his shoulder and caught hold of her head.
He was dumfounded.