John glanced toward the door of the smoking-room but it was
dark there. He was somewhat surprised. Julie had doubtless gone to bed,
but Antoine, the grim and faithful, would be on watch.
"I expected Picard to meet us," he said.
"Probably they're all worn out, and anticipating no danger, have gone to
sleep," said Weber.
The candle was still burning in the bureau, and John, picking it up,
hurried into the smoking-room. A sudden, terrible fear had struck like a
dagger at his heart. The silence, and the absence of Picard filled him
with alarm. In the smoking-room he held the candle aloft, and then he
uttered a cry.
The room was in a state of utter disorder. Chairs, tables and
writing-desks were overturned, and glass was smashed. It was evident to
both that a mighty struggle had taken place there, but no blood was
shed. John's keen mind inferred at once that Picard had been set upon
without warning by many men, but they had struggled to take him alive.
Nothing else could account for the wrecked furniture, and the absence of
red stains.
His fears now became a horrible certainty, and without a thought of
Weber, rushing up the stairway, candle in hand, he knocked at the door
of Julie's room, the room that she and Suzanne were to occupy together.
There was no answer. He knocked again, loud and long.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111