# Mathias Sandorf/Page 31

Mathias Sandorf.

## CHAPTER XXI. A SQUEEZE FROM CAPE MATIFOU.

Count Mathias, as we know, wished to remain Dr. Antekirtt to the whole colony except Pierre, until his work had been accomplished. When his daughter's name was suddenly pronounced by Mme. Bathory he had sufficient control over himself to suppress his emotion. But his heart for a moment ceased to beat, and he fell on the threshold of the chapel as if he had been struck by lightning.
And so his daughter was alive! And she loved Pierre, and she was loved! And it was Mathias Sandorf who had been doing everything to prevent the marriage! And the secret which gave Sava back to him would never have been discovered had not Mme. Bathory's reason been restored to her as by a miracle!
But what had happened fifteen years ago at the Castle of Artenak? That was obvious enough. This child, the sole heiress of Count Sandorf's wealth, whose death had never been proved, had been stolen by Toronthal. And shortly afterward, when the banker settled at Ragusa, Mme. Toronthal had had to bring up Sava Sandorf as her own daughter.
Such had been the scheme devised by Sarcany and executed by his accomplice Namir. Sarcany knew perfectly that Sava would come into possession of a considerable fortune when she reached eighteen, and when she had become his wife, he would then procure her acknowledgment as the heiress of Sandorf's estates. This was to be the crowning triumph of his abominable existence. He would become the master of Artenak.
Had he then foiled this odious scheme? Yes, undoubtedly. If the marriage had taken place Sarcany would already have availed himself of all its advantages.
And now how great was the doctor's grief! Was it not owing to him that there had been brought about this deplorable chain of events; at first in refusing his help to Pierre, then in allowing Sarcany to pursue his plans, then in not rendering him harmless at the meeting at Cattaro, then in not giving back to Mme. Bathory the son he had snatched from death? In fact, what misfortunes would have been avoided had Pierre been with his mother when Mme. Toronthal's letter had reached the house in the Rue Marinella! Knowing that Sava was Sandorf's daughter, would not Pierre have known how to get her away from the violence of Sarcany and Toronthal?
Where was Sava Sandorf now? In the power of Sarcany, of course! But where was she hidden? How could they get her away? And besides, in a few weeks she would attain her eighteenth year—the limit fixed for the time during which she could be the heiress—and that fact would impel Sarcany to use every effort to make her consent to the marriage!
In an instant this succession of thoughts passed through Dr. Antekirtt's mind. As he built together the past, as Mme. Bathory and Pierre were themselves doing, he felt the reproaches, unmerited assuredly, that Stephen Bathory's wife and son might be tempted to assail him with. And now, as things had turned out, would he be able to bring together Pierre and her whom for all and for himself he must still continue to call Sava Toronthal?
He must before everything find Sava, his daughter—whose name, added to that of the Countess Rena, his wife he had given to the schooner “Savarena,” as he had given that of “Ferrato” to his steam yacht. But there was not a day to lose.
Already Mme. Bathory had been led back to the Stadthaus, when the doctor came to visit her, accompanied by Pierre, whom he left to his alternations of joy and despair. Much enfeebled by the violent reaction, whose effects had just been produced in her, but cured of her illness, Mme. Bathory was sitting at the window when the doctor and her son entered.
Maria, seeing it would be better to leave them together, retired to the large saloon.
Dr. Antekirtt then approached her, and laid his hand on Pierre's shoulder.
“Madame Bathory,” he said, “I have already made your son my own. But what he is not yet through friendship I will do all I can to make him through paternal love in marrying him to Sava, my daughter.”
“Your daughter!” exclaimed Mme. Bathory.
“I am Count Mathias Sandorf.”
Mme. Bathory jumped up and fell back into her son's arms. But if she could not speak, she could hear. In a few words Pierre told her what she did not know: how Mathias Sandorf had been saved by the devotion of the fisherman Andrea Ferrato, why for fifteen years he had passed as dead, and how he had reappeared at Ragusa as Dr. Antekirtt. He told her how Sarcany and Toronthal had betrayed the Trieste conspirators, and related the treachery of Carpena, of which Ladislas Zathmar and his father had been the victims, and how the doctor had taken him from the cemetery at Ragusa to associate him in the work he had undertaken. He finished his story by stating that two of the scoundrels, the banker Toronthal and the Spaniard Carpena, were then in their power, but that the third, Sarcany, was still at large—the Sarcany who desired Sava Sandorf for his wife!
For an hour the doctor, Mme. Bathory, and her son went over in detail the facts regarding the young lady. Evidently Sarcany would stick at nothing to bring about Sava's consent to the marriage which would bring him the wealth of Count Sandorf; and this state of affairs was what principally exercised them during their interview. But if the plans of the past had now collapsed, those of the present promised to be even more formidable. Above everything it was necessary to move heaven and earth to recover Sava.
It was in the first place agreed that Mme. Bathory and Pierre should alone know that Mathias Sandorf was concealed under the name of Dr. Antekirtt. To reveal the secret would be to say that Sava was his daughter, and in the interest of the new search that was to be undertaken it was necessary to keep this quiet.
“But where is Sava? Where are we to look for her?” asked Mme. Bathory.
“We will know!” answered Pierre, in whom despair had given place to an energy that nothing could quench.
“Yes! We will know!” said the doctor. “And in admitting that Silas Toronthal does not know where Sarcany is, we can not suppose that he does not know where my daughter—”
“And if he knows, he must tell!” said Pierre.
“Yes! He must speak!” answered the doctor.
“Now?”
“Now!”
The doctor, Mme. Bathory and Pierre would remain in this state of uncertainty no longer.
Luigi, who was with Point Pescade and Cape Matifou in the large saloon of the Stadthaus, where Maria had joined them, was immediately called in. He received orders to go with Cape Matifou to the fort and bring back Silas Toronthal.
A quarter of an hour afterward, the banker left the casemate that served him for a prison, and, with his hand grasped in the large hand of Cape Matifou, was brought along the main street of Artenak. Luigi, whom he had asked where he was going, had given him no reply, and the banker, who knew not into what powerful person's hands he had fallen, was extremely uneasy.
Toronthal entered the hall. He was preceded by Luigi, and held all the time by Cape Matifou. He just saw Point Pescade, but he did not see Mme. Bathory and her son, who had stepped aside. Suddenly he found himself in the presence of the doctor, with whom he had vainly endeavored to enter into communication at Ragusa.
“You! You!” he exclaimed. “Ah!” he said collecting himself with an effort, “it is Dr. Antekirtt who arrests me on French territory. He it is who keeps me prisoner against all law.”
“But not against all justice!” interrupted the doctor.
“And what have I done to you?” asked the banker, to whom the doctor's presence had evidently given confidence. “Yes! What have I done to you?”
“To me? You will know soon,” answered the doctor. “But to start with, Silas Toronthal, ask what you have done to this unhappy woman—”
“Madame Bathory!” exclaimed the banker, recoiling before the widow, who advanced toward him.
“And to her son!” added the doctor.
“Pierre! Pierre Bathory!” stammered Silas Toronthal. And he would certainly have fallen if Cape Matifou had not held him upright.
And so Pierre, whom he thought dead, Pierre whose funeral he had seen, who had been buried in the cemetery at Ragusa, Pierre was there, before him, like a specter from the tomb! Toronthal grew frightened. He felt that he could not escape the chastisement for his crimes. He felt he was lost.
“Where is Sava?” asked the doctor, abruptly.
“My daughter?”
“Sava is not your daughter! Sava is the daughter of Count Mathias Sandorf, whom Sarcany and you sent to death after having treacherously denounced him and his companions, Stephen Bathory and Ladislas Zathmar!”
At this formal accusation the banker was overwhelmed. Not only did Dr. Antekirtt know that Sava was not his daughter, but he knew that she was the daughter of Count Mathias Sandorf! He knew how and by whom the Trieste conspirators had been betrayed!
“Where is Sava?” said the doctor, restraining himself only by a violent effort of his will. “Where is Sava, whom Sarcany, your accomplice, in all these crimes, stole fifteen years ago from Artenak? Where is Sava, whom that scoundrel is keeping in a place you know, to which you have sent her that her consent to this horrible marriage may be obtained! For the last time, where is Sava?”
So alarming had been the doctor's attitude, so threatening had been his words, that Toronthal did not reply. He saw that the present position of the girl might prove his safety. He felt that his life might be respected so long as he kept the secret.
“Listen,” continued the doctor, beginning to recover his coolness, “listen to me, Silas Toronthal. Perhaps you think you can assist your accomplice! You perhaps think you may betray him. Well, know this: Sarcany, in order to insure your silence after he had ruined you, tried to assassinate you as he assassinated Pierre Bathory at Rugusa! Yes! at the moment my people seized you on the road to Nice he was going to stab you! And now will you persist in your silence?”
Toronthal, obstinately imagining that his silence would compel them to make terms with him, said nothing.
“Where is Sava? Where is Sava?” said the doctor, getting angry.
“I do not know! I do not know!” replied Toronthal, resolved to keep his secret.
Suddenly he screamed, and writhing with pain he tried in vain to thrust Matifou away.
“Mercy! mercy!” he cried.
Matifou, unconsciously perhaps, was squeezing his hand in his own.
“Mercy!”
“Will you speak?”
“Yes! Yes! Sava—Sava—” said Toronthal, who could only speak in broken sentences—“Sava—in Namir's house—Sarcany's spy—at Tetuan!”
Cape Matifou let go Toronthal's arm, and the arm remained motionless.
“Take back the prisoner!” said the doctor. “We know what we wished to know!”
And Luigi took back Toronthal to his casemate.
Sava at Tetuan! Then, when the doctor and Pierre, hardly two months before, were at Ceuta capturing the Spaniard, only a few miles separated them from Sava!
“This very night, Pierre, we start for Tetuan.”

## CHAPTER XXII. THE HOUSE AT TETUAN.

In those days the railroad did not run from Tunis to the Moorish frontier; and to reach Tetuan as quickly as possible they had to embark in one of the swiftest boats of the Antekirtta flotilla.
Before midnight “Electric No. 2” had been got ready for sea, and was on her way across the Syrtic Sea.
On board were the doctor, Pierre, Luigi, Point Pescade, and Cape Matifou. Pierre was known to Sarcany, the others were not. When they reached Tetuan they would consult as to their proceedings. Would it be better to act by stratagem or force? That would depend on Sarcany's position in this absolutely Moorish town, or his arrangements in Namir's house, and on the following he could command. Before everything, they must get to Tetuan!
From the end of the Syrtes to the Moorish frontier as about 2,000 kilometers—nearly 1,350 nautical miles. At full-speed “Electric No. 2” could do her twenty-seven miles an hour. How many railway trains there are that are not as fast! That long steel tube, offering no resistance to the wind, could slip through the waves without hinderance, and reach its destination in fifty hours.
Before daybreak the next morning the “Electric” had doubled Cape Bon. Then, having crossed the Gulf of Tunis, it only took her a few hours to lose sight of Point Bizerte, La Calle, Bone, the Iron Cape, whose metallic mass is said to disturb the compasses, the Algerian coast, Stora, Bougie, Dellys, Algiers, Cherchell, Mostaganem, Oran, Nemons; then the shores of Riff, the Point of Mellelah, which, like Ceuta, is Spanish, Cape Tres Forcas, whence the continent rounds off to Cape Negro—all this panorama of the African coast line was unrolled during the 20th and 21st of November without either incident or accident. Never had the machine worked by the currents from the accumulators had such a run. If the “Electric” had been perceived either along the shore or crossing the gulfs from cape to cape, there would have been telegrams as to the appearance of a phenomenal ship, or perhaps a cetacean of extraordinary power that no steamer had yet exceeded in speed in the Mediterranean waters.
About eight o'clock in the evening the doctor, Pierre, Luigi, Point Pescade, and Cape Matifou landed at the mouth of the small river of Tetuan, in which their rapid vessel had dropped anchor. A hundred yards from the bank, in the middle of a small caravansary, they found mules and a guide to take them into the town, which was about four miles distant. The price asked was agreed to instantly, and the party set off.
In this part of the Riff Europeans have nothing to fear from the indigenous population, nor even from the nomads of the district. The country is thinly peopled and almost uncultivated. The road lies across a plain dotted with straggling shrubs, and it is a road made by the feet of the beasts rather than by the hand of man. On one side is the river, with muddy banks, alive with the croak of frogs and the chirp of crickets, and bearing a few fishing-boats moored in the center or drawn up on the shore. On the other side, to the right, is the outline of the bare hills, running off to join the mountain masses of the south.
The night was magnificent. The moon bathed the country in its light. Reflected by the mirror of the river the moonlight seemed to soften the heights on the northern horizon. In the distance, white and gleaming, lay the town of Tetuan—a shining patch in the dark clouds of mist beyond!
The Arab did not waste much time on the road. Twice or thrice he had to pull up before isolated houses, where the windows on the side, not lighted by the moon, threw a yellow beam out into the shadow, and from them would come two or three Moors with a lantern, who, after a hurried conference with the guide, would let them pass.
Neither the doctor nor his companions spoke a word. Absorbed in their thoughts, they left the mules to follow the road which here and there was cut through by gullies strewed with bowlders or cumbered with roots which they avoided with sure feet. The largest of the mules, was, however, very often in the rear. This might have been expected, for it bore Cape Matifou.
It was that that led Point Pescade to reflect—
“Perhaps it would have been better for Cape Matifou to carry the mule, instead of the mule carrying Cape Matifou!”
About half past nine the Arab stopped before a large blank wall, surmounted by towers and battlements, which on that side defends the town. In this wall was a low door, decorated with arabesques in Moorish fashion. Above, through the numerous entrances, pointed the throats of the cannons, looking like crocodiles carelessly sleeping in the light of the moon.
The gate was shut. Some conversation was needed, with cash in hand, before it could be opened. Then the party passed in down the winding, narrow and open vaulted streets, with other gates, barred with iron, which were successfully opened by similar means. At length the doctor and his companions, in a quarter of an hour, reached an inn or “fonda”—the only one in the place—kept by a Jewess, with a one-eyed girl as servant.
The total want of comfort in this fonda, which had the rooms disposed round the central court, was a sufficient explanation as to why strangers so very seldom venture into Tetuan. There is even only one representative of the European power, the Spanish Consul, among a population of several thousands, with whom the native element predominates.
Although Dr. Antekirtt wished exceedingly to ask for Namir's house, and to be taken there at once, he restrained himself. It was necessary to act with great prudence. To carry Sava away under such circumstances was a serious matter. Everything for and against it had been taken into consideration. Perhaps they might be able to get the girl set free for a consideration. But the doctor and Pierre would have to keep themselves out of sight—more especially from Sarcany, who might perhaps be in Tetuan. In his hands Sava would become a guarantee for the future that he would not easily part with. Here they were not in one of the civilized countries of Europe, where justice and police could easily interfere. In this country of slaves how could they prove that Sava was not Namir's legitimate slave? How could they prove that she was Count Sandorf's daughter, otherwise than by Mme. Toronthal's letter and the banker's confession? The house in these Arab towns are carefully guarded and not easily accessible. They are not entered easily. The intervention of a cadi might even be useless, even if it could be obtained.
It had been decided that at the outset, but in a way to prevent suspicion, Namir's house should be carefully watched. In the morning Point Pescade would go out with Luigi to pick up information. During his stay in Malta, Luigi had learned a little Arabic, and the two would start to find out in what street Namir lived, and then to act accordingly.
Meanwhile “Electric No. 2” would be concealed in one of the narrow creeks along the coast near the entrance of the Tetuan River, and kept ready for sea at a moment's notice. The night, whose hours were so long for the doctor and Pierre, was thus passed in the fonda. If Point Pescade and Cape Matifou had any desire to lie on beds incrusted with crockery ware, they were satisfied.
In the morning Luigi and Point Pescade began by visiting the bazaar, in which there had already gathered a large part of the Tetuan population. Pescade knew Namir, whom he had a score of times noticed in the streets of Ragusa while she was acting as spy for Sarcany. He would therefore recognize her, and, as she did not know him, there was no reason why he should not meet her. And then he could follow her.
The principal bazaar of Tetuan is a collection of sheds, penthouses, and hovels, low, narrow, and sordid, arranged in humid lanes. A few cloths of different colors are stretched on lines and protect it from the heat of the sun. Around are dull-looking shops with bordered silk, gorgeous trimmings, slippers, purses, cloaks, pottery, jewels, collars, bracelets, rings, and other common good such as are found in the shops of the large towns of Europe.
It was already crowded. The people were taking advantage of the coolness of the morning. Moors veiled to the eyes, Jewesses with uncovered faces, Arabs, Kabyles, moved to and from the bazaar, elbowed by a certain number of strangers so that the presence of Luigi Ferrato and Point Pescade did not attract special attention.
For an hour they traversed the motley crowd in search of Namir. In vain! The Moor did not appear, nor did Sarcany.
Luigi then asked one of the half-naked boys—hybrid products of all the African races from the Riff to the Sahara—who swarm in the bazaars of Morocco.
The first he spoke to made no reply. At last one of them, a Kabyle, about twelve years old, said that he knew the house, and offered to take the Europeans there—for a trifle.
The offer was accepted, and the three started through the tangled streets which radiate toward the fortifications. In ten minutes they had reached a part that was almost deserted, in which the houses were few and far between and had no windows on their outer sides.
During this time the doctor and Pierre were waiting the return of Luigi and Pescade with feverish impatience. Twenty times were they tempted to go out and look for themselves. But they were both known to Sarcany and the Moor. It would perhaps be risking everything to meet them and give them an alarm which might enable them to escape. So they remained a prey to the keenest anxiety. It was nine o'clock when Luigi and Point Pescade returned to the fonda.
Their mournful faces told that they were the bearers of bad news.
In fact, Sarcany and Namir, accompanied by a girl whom nobody knew, had left Tetuan five weeks before, and the house was now in charge of an old woman.
The doctor and Peirre had not expected this; they were in despair.
“Their departure is easily accounted for!” said Luigi. “Sarcany was evidently afraid that Toronthal, for revenge or some other motive, would reveal the place of his retreat.”
While he was only in pursuit of his betrayers the doctor never despaired of success. But now it was his daughter that he sought to rescue from Sarcany, he did not feel the same confidence.
However, Pierre agreed with him that they had better go at once to Namir's house. Perhaps they might find some trace or remembrance of Sava. Perhaps the old Jewess who had been left in charge might give, or rather sell, some hint that might prove useful.
Luigi led them there immediately. The doctor, who spoke Arabic as if he had been born in the desert, introduced himself as a friend of Sarcany's. He was passing Tetuan, he said, and would have been glad to see him.
The old woman at first raised difficulties, but a handful of sequins made her much more obliging; and she willingly answered the questions the doctor asked with the appearance of the most lively interest in her master.
The young lady who had been taken away by the Moor was Sarcany's intended wife. That had been arrranged for some time, and probably the marriage would have taken place at Tetuan, had it not been for the hurried departure. The young lady, since her arrival three months before, had not been outside the house. They said she was an Arab but the Jewess thought she was a European. She had seen her very little and only during the Moor's absence, and she could not find out any more about her.
The old woman could not say where Sarcany had taken them. All she knew was that they went away about five weeks before with a caravan to the eastward, and that since then the house had been in her care, and was to continue so until Sarcany found some one to buy it, which showed that he did not intend returning to Tetuan.
The doctor listened coldly to these replies, and as they passed to Pierre translated them.
From them it appeared that Sarcany had not thought it desirable to embark on one of the steamers calling at at Tangiers, nor to go by the railway which has its terminus at Oran. He had joined a caravan that had left Tetuan—bound whether? To some oasis in the desert, or still further, to some half-savage country, where Sava would be entirely at his mercy? How could they know? On the roads of Northern Africa it is as difficult to recover the track of a caravan as the track of an individual.
And so the doctor continued to interrogate the Jewess. He had received important news which was of interest to Sarcany, he said, and it referred to this very house which he wished to dispose of. But do what he could, no other information could be got. It was evident that the woman did not know where Sarcany had fled to bring about the close of the drama.
The doctor, Pierre, and Luigi then asked to be allowed to see the house, which was built in Arab fashion, with different rooms lighted from a court-yard surrounded by a rectangular gallery.
They soon reached the room that Sava had occupied. It was quite a prison cell. There what hours the unhappy girl must have passed a prey to despair, and without hope of help! The doctor and Pierre looked around the room seeking the least indication that might put them on the track.
Suddenly the doctor stepped up to a small brasero which stood on a tripod m a corner of the room. In this brasero were a few fragments of paper that had been destroyed by fire, but the incineration of which had not been completed.
Had Sava written them? And surprised by the hurried departure had she burned the letter before she left Tetuan? Or rather—and that was possible—had the letter been found on Sava and destroyed by Sarcany or Namir?
Pierre had watched the doctor's look as he bent over the brasero. What had he found?
On the fragments of paper that a breath would reduce to dust a few words stood out in black—among others these, unfortunately incomplete:
“Mad— Bath—”
Had Sava attempted to write to her as the only person in the world to whom she could appeal for help, not knowing and not being able to know that she had disappeared from Ragusa?
Then after Mme. Bathory's name another could be deciphered—that of her son.
Pierre held his breath and tried to find some other word still legible! But his look was troubled. He could see no more.
But there was one word that might perhaps put them on the girl's track—a word which the doctor found almost intact.
“Tripoli!” he exclaimed.
Was it in the Regency of Tripoli, his native country where he might be absolutely safe, that Sarcany had sought refuge? Was it thither that the caravan was bound!
“To Tripoli!” said the doctor.
That evening they were again at sea. If Sarcany had already reached the capital of the Regency they were in hopes that they would be only a few days behind him.
1↑ Verne: deux mille cinq cents kilomètres, 2,500 kilometres.
2↑ Cap de Fer, Algeria.