Mathias Sandorf

CHAPTER I. 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.”

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