The Heart of a Mystery/Chapter 1

EATH had summoned my friend Maurice Escott, and I was called to Paris at a moment's notice. I was thirty years of age, and had led up to that date a lazy and in many respects a good-for-nothing existence. My name was Rupert Phenays. I came of an old family, and had plenty of money for my needs.

It was on the 5th of February, 1898, that I received the telegram, and little did I guess as I opened it that with one leap I was to spring into a totally new life. I, who had not the slightest experience of danger, whose blood had never been quickened by a single heart-beat into undue excitement, was henceforth to be the victim of a strange mystery. I was to know tragedy, pain, and the extreme of peril.

I was standing in the bay window of my luxurious sitting-room in Half Moon Street when my servant brought me a telegram on a salver. I tore it open. It ran as follows:—

I had known Escott all my days. I was fond of him. He was a first-rate fellow in very sense of the word—handsome to look at, brave, and in all his actions straight as a die. Where I was lacking in energy, he was lull of go and spirit. Nevertheless, friends that we were, there was a secret in connection with his life which I had never been able to discover. He was, I knew, a very busy man, but in what sort of manner he occupied his time, or in what way he earned his income, for he had no private means, was a secret he had never divulged. He was strangely, remarkably sensitive on the point, and, knowing that such was the case, I had long ceased to worry him.

Such a telegram was immediately to be obeyed. I took the night mail to Paris, and early the following morning drove up in hot haste to Escott's apartments in the Rue de Rivoli. The door was opened by my friend's valet, who knew me well.

"How is your master, Valentine?" I asked.

The man shook his head.

"I am sorry to say he is very bad, sir; the doctor does not give the slightest hope. I am glad, Mr. Phenays, that you are in time." "Pray let the nurse know that I have arrived," was my next remark.

The man ushered me into a sitting-room. A moment later a tall young woman dressed as a nurse came in.

"You are in time, Mr. Phenays. Mr. Escott has been asking for you at intervals all night. He is very ill, but your presence will comfort him."

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"The patient is in the last stage of double pneumonia. The doctor, Professor Thesiger, who is attending him, and who is an Englishman, gave up all hope a few hours ago. Will you follow me, sir?"

The nurse led the way into a darkened room. As soon as I got accustomed to the dim light, I looked on the face of my friend, and knew that both doctor and nurse were right. Escott was breathing with extreme difficulty, and there was a dusky hue under his eyes and round his lips. When I first bent over him, his eyes were shut, but the next instant he opened them with a restless movement, saw me, and a smile lit up his face.

"Thank God! Rupert, you have come," he said. "I must speak to you at once and alone. I have not a moment to lose. Please leave us, nurse."

The woman withdrew from the room. When the door had closed behind her, Escott raised himself with some difficulty in bed. A flicker of strength came into his voice, and his eyes grew bright.

"I have come to the end, old man," he said. "I am within a few moments of solving the great secret. Do not waste time condoling with me; there is something I must tell you quickly. You have often wondered what my life has been. I never told you, but it is necessary to tell you now. I am one of the agents of the British Secret Service."

I listened to these words in astonishment. I had always heard of the Secret Service, and knew well that to belong to it meant danger and difficulty.

"You may thank Heaven that up to the present you have known nothing of what I have lived through," continued Escott. "Men in my profession have to obtain their strange knowledge at fearful risks. Yes, my life has been one of danger; and now, Phenays, I am about to transfer that danger to you. You must not shrink nor hesitate; there is no course in honour open to you but to accept the charge which I am about to confide in you. When you know my secret, you, too, will be at the mercy of men without scruple and without conscience. But I put this burden on you, Phenays, because you are an Englishman, and for the sake of our country."

His voice sank to a whisper. I gave him a spoonful of a restorative which stood near. It revived him, and he continued, his words coming out now in gasps.

"You will do what I want, Phenays?"

"Yes," I replied.

I spoke with earnestness, and my words comforted him.

"I knew I was right in appealing to you," he said. "Now listen. A fortnight ago it was my misfortune to obtain possession of a political secret of such gravity that if even a suspicion of its existence were breathed, it would cause a European crisis. There is only one who knows that I know this secret. That man is a certain Monsieur Laroque, a French chemist, a man of remarkable learning and power. He is altogether my friend in this matter. Immediately after my death you must go to my cabinet in my sitting-room; you will find a letter there addressed to him. Take it to him and act in concert with him over this grave matter."

"But what is the secret?" I asked.

"Listen. I was present, but unknown, a fortnight back, at a secret conference between the President of the French Republic and the agent of the Czar of Russia. The substance of what I heard was that in the event of war between England and the Transvaal, Russia and France would—but come closer. No, do not write anything, for Heaven's sake! it would not be safe. Listen, and do not forget. There are three generals of the French Army, General Romville, General"

There was a sudden movement at the door, a few words of entreaty and expostulation fell on our ears, and the next instant a tall girl, with evidences of great excitement on her face, burst into the room.

The name of General Romville must have fallen on her ears. She rushed to the bedside, and the horror on her face was painful to witness.

"I am in time," she said. "Send him away, Maurice, and tell me what you want. Tell me what has burdened your last moments!"

She fell on her knees by the dying man's side and buried her face in her hands. Escott gave her a glance of despair. Then he looked at me, and then a sudden change came over his face. His lips made an effort to speak, but no words were audible. His breath came in hurried gasps and then stopped. He was dead.

"You have killed him!" I said, turning to the girl and speaking in hot anger. "Why did you force yourself into the room? You do not know what you have done."

"I know perfectly well," she replied. She had risen to her feet. Her face was as white as the white face of my dead friend. "I meant to be with him at the very end," she said. "I had the right."

I stared at her in consternation.

"He was telling you something important when I entered the room," she continued. "It was a secret. Now listen. That secret was meant for me. I know what it was about, for I caught the words 'General Romville.' Will you tell it to me now, for it is my right to know."

Her words were interrupted by the nurse, who entered the room.

"Mr. Escott is dead," I said, turning to the woman. "The entrance of this young lady was the final shock—you had no right to admit her."

"I told Mademoiselle what the consequences would be," said the nurse. "She went to the sitting-room first. What were you doing, mademoiselle? How did you come by the key of my master's cabinet? I found it on the floor."

"Give it to me," I said eagerly.

The nurse handed it to me without a word. As she did so Mademoiselle regarded her with grave, wide-open eyes. There was a half-despairing, half-vindictive expression on her face. Notwithstanding the fact that I had just lost my dearest friend, it was the sort of look to haunt a man, to fill him with uneasiness.

I left the room where Escott lay dead and went straight to his sitting-room. The first thing I did was to walk to the cabinet and open it. I meant to take out the letter which he had told me I should find there, the letter addressed to M. Laroque. Search as I would, I could not see it anywhere. I opened drawer after drawer. Had the strange girl, whose name I did not even know, taken it?

This thought had scarcely come to me before the door was opened and she came in.

"Mr. Phenays," she said, "I have come to ask your pardon. Please forgive me if I spoke with intemperance. The fact is, I was very much upset at seeing you in the room with Maurice Escott. I wanted to be alone with him during his last moments. I had my reason."

"Whatever that reason was, mademoiselle," I replied, "I still very deeply regret your having burst into the room in the intemperate way you did; but, however much we may deplore it, we cannot call the dead back to life. Now, I have a question to ask you. The nurse said she found the key of this cabinet on the floor; she further said that you had been in the room. Did you open the cabinet and take from thence a letter? If you did, please return it to me immediately. It was entrusted to me by my friend, and was addressed to a man he had business connections with."

"I took no letter," she answered haughtily. "What do you take me for?"

"You are a stranger to me," I answered. "Your actions since you came into this house have astonished me; forgive me if I am over-suspicious."

"You had better know at once who I am," she replied. "My name is Francesca Delacourt. My father, who is dead, was a Frenchman, but my mother was English. I have known Mr. Escott for a long time. I can scarcely realise that he is dead. Whatever secret he told you was meant for me. May I share the confidence which he gave you on his deathbed?"

"I have nothing whatever to tell you," I answered. "I should be glad if you would leave me now, for I am upset and shocked."

"I will certainly go," she replied. "As to your being shocked, if you know what I think you know, you have reason for your emotion."

She turned, walked to the door, went out, and closed it behind her.

I was alone, and I tried to collect my troubled thoughts. Escott had died without having told me his secret. The letter which he had written to M. Laroque could not be found. Mademoiselle Delacourt seemed to be mixed up in the affair. I distrusted her. I felt certain, that, although she denied it, she had really stolen the letter which was addressed to M. Laroque. What that letter contained, God only knew. It was terrible to feel that my poor friend's most dangerous secret might have got into wrong hands. An agent of the British Secret Service is a man scarcely to be envied; he becomes acquainted with matters which touch big interests, often affecting the welfare of nations. Escott declared that his was a most dangerous secret; he was about to tell it to me, when death, caused by Mademoiselle Delacourt's abrupt entrance, prevented him.

I was musing on these thoughts when the doctor arrived. He was an Englishman, with a clever face, of about forty years of age. I told him that his patient was dead.

"I expected it," was his answer. "Did you arrive in time, Mr. Phenays?"

"Yes and no," was my answer. "He sent me a wire, as, perhaps, you know; he had something to confide in me, but died before his confidence was complete."

"Indeed! How sad! Where are you staying?"

"I was going to the Continental. I must return to London immediately after the funeral."

"Pray make my house your home, Mr. Phenays. I have apartments in the Rue St. Honoré. Bring your things, for we shall be quite quiet."

After a moment's thought I decided to accept this invitation. I went, therefore, that afternoon to Thesiger's rooms, and in the evening the doctor and I dined together. During the meal I asked him a few questions with regard to my dead friend.

"Did you know Escott well? Did you see much of him?" was my first query.

"A good deal," replied Dr. Thesiger. "He was always rather a reserved sort of fellow, but he often came over here to smoke and have a chat. During the last few weeks he seemed to be seriously troubled and to have something weighing on his mind."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, and I think that something lessened his chance of recovery. When I told him yesterday that his illness was likely to take a serious turn, he immediately asked me to wire for you. I am sorry you were not in time to receive his confidence."

"Alas! I was not."

Thesiger gave me a keen glance; his eyes met mine—I saw a gleam of curiosity in them.

"There was a great deal of mystery about him, poor fellow," he continued. "He never even told me what his business was. Was he conscious at the end?"

"Yes," I said slowly.

"And yet he did not relieve his mind?"

"He was prevented."

"How?"

"A girl forced her way into the room."

"Mr. Phenays! A girl? What girl?"

"Mademoiselle Francesca Delacourt."

"Ah! I know Mademoiselle Delacourt. What do you mean?"

"She rushed in uninvited. My friend was interrupted in an important confidence; her entrance agitated him. He passed away a moment later."

Thesiger's face looked grave and stern.

"Do you know this young lady?" I asked.

"Yes; I think everyone does. She is a beautiful and clever woman. Her father belonged to one of the best old French families. She goes everywhere; her beauty and position give her the entrée wherever she wills."

"Do you like her, doctor?"

"Yes," he replied, but I noted a certain reserve in his tone.

"You mean 'No,' Dr. Thesiger," I said boldly.

"You may take my answer then to mean both 'Yes' and 'No,’" was his reply.

"Please tell me exactly what you know about her."

"I should advise you, Phenays, to have nothing to do with her. She is said to have the power of arousing keen interest in most men to whom she accords her friendship. It is rumoured that she has considerable political influence, and that her greatest friends belong to the Diplomatic Corps."

"The Diplomatic Corps!" I replied.

"Yes."

I sat silent, but a thrill of mingled pain and fear had run through me. Could Mademoiselle really know Escott's secret? Had she interrupted his confidence on purpose? At that moment a servant entered with a card on a salver. Thesiger glanced at it and then, with a curious smile on his face, handed it to me. It bore the name of Mademoiselle Francesca Delacourt.

"This is curious," I said.

"I will go and see what she wants," said the doctor. "If she should have learnt that you are here, Phenays, and asks to see you, what shall I say?"

"I will see her," I replied.

Thesiger was absent a minute or two. His face looked grave when he returned.

"Mademoiselle has managed to trace you here," he said. "With what motive I am unable to say. She wishes to see you immediately. Will you give her an interview? You are, of course, at liberty to refuse." "I will see her," I said. "If you will take my advice, Phenays, you will be careful."

"I shall be very careful," I answered.

Thesiger now led the way to his library. He opened the door for me, and I entered.

Mademoiselle was standing in the shade of a lamp. She wore full dinner dress, covered with a long opera cloak, lined with rich silk of a rosy hue.

"Nothing but the utmost necessity, Mr. Phenays, would make me intrude myself on you at a moment like this," she began.

"Your business?" I interrupted.

"I will tell you in as few words as possible. You were a great friend of Mr. Escott's, were you not?"

"His greatest friend, mademoiselle."

"May I ask if you had any idea as to the nature of his profession?"

As Mademoiselle uttered these words I watched her face closely. Notwithstanding all her efforts to wear a mask of utter indifference, I noticed on her smooth young features an expression of anxiety, joined to what might almost be called fear.

"I certainly knew about my friend," I answered. "But, pardon me, what affair is it of yours?"

"I will soon explain. Please listen. Mr. Escott was a member of the British Secret Service. You know that fact, so do I. Less than an hour before I reached his house I received an urgent message from him to come at once, as he had a matter of the utmost importance to tell me. I came on the scene just too late; he was giving you his confidence. Did he say anything about me?"

"He did not."

"Then did he tell you that secret of great importance."

"I decline to discuss the question, mademoiselle."

Her eyes flashed an angry fire and her face hardened.

"Mr. Phenays," she said earnestly, "you are unknowingly putting yourself into danger. I use the word advisedly; it is my duty to warn you. The Secret Service requires much of its votaries. The communication Mr. Escott made to you was not a pleasant one for you to receive; he only told you because I was not present. Beyond doubt his instructions were that you were to deliver the message to me."

"You are mistaken," I answered. "Those were not his instructions."

As I spoke I walked to the door and held it wide open.

"I think, mademoiselle, our conference has come to an end."

To my amazement she changed colour, the hard look left her face, her eyes filled with tears, which rolled over and ran down her cheeks.

"I spoke hastily," she exclaimed. "I am always hasty, always excitable, unfit, most unfit for that which—which I have undertaken; but you are so cold, so suspicious. Why do you not trust me . Do you think I would injure him?"

"I will be truthful with you," I replied. "My friend was about to confide a secret to me, but your entrance prevented it ever reaching his lips. I shall never know what he wanted to say. It was your fault. He sought to relieve his mind, and the secret may have been of consequence—that I am unprepared to say. I have never heard it; it can, therefore, never be imparted to you."

She smiled.

"Do you really think that I believe you?" she answered. "Did I not with my own ears hear words to convince me of the contrary? You will be sorry for this. Are you leaving Paris at once?"

"After the funeral."

She gave me a curious stare, but did not speak. Without offering her hand she left the room.

On the day of the funeral I received a letter. It was directed in a strange hand, was enclosed in a black-edged envelope, and bore the mark of a Paris suburb. The words in it were typewritten, and were, in the French tongue. They ran as follows:—

I read this strange letter twice, at first with bewilderment, then with growing interest. One of two things had happened: either I was the victim of a pitiable and laboured jest, or I had received a threat of some seriousness. In either case, the letter, being anonymous, must be disregarded. My thoughts naturally flew to Mademoiselle Delacourt. Could she have written the letter? I dismissed the notion as impossible. But if she were not the author, who was? for who else knew that I was with Escott?

Just then the words the poor fellow had said on his deathbed recurred to my memory.

"My life has been in great danger, and that danger I hand to you when I tell you my secret."

A shudder ran through me.

"I must consult my London lawyer about this," I said to myself, and I rose from my chair in Thesiger's sitting-room with the intention of packing my things. Just then a servant entered with a letter.

"By messenger, sir," he said briefly.

I tore open the letter. It was in a handwriting quite unknown to me.

"Another anonymous communication," I said to myself. "What does it mean?"

I turned quickly to the signature of the second letter, and then I gave a start of relief. The letter was headed "Château Laroque," and at the end was the signature "Edouard Laroque." These were the contents of the letter:—

I gave a pleased exclamation. This letter was indeed a comfort. Just when I was despairing of ever being able to communicate with M. Laroque, he gave me the opportunity I required. When Thesiger came in I told him of Baroque's letter, at the same time mentioning that I intended to leave Paris that evening. He did not ask me for any particulars, but said that he would be pleased at any time to serve me and to put me up if I required to come back to the French capital. I reached the Gare du Nord in good time, and my train set me down just about six o'clock at Bévallon.

I found a brougham waiting for me. I entered it and told the man to take me to the Château Laroque.

The sun had just set, and a watery moon was creeping up the sky. As I drove along I could see stretches of marsh and waste land intersected by dykes. The air was damp, and a rising mist rendered distant objects indistinct. Presently the road took a sharp turn and the old Château burst into view. I can vividly recall my impressions as I first saw it. It was a well-preserved feudal fortress, lying in a hollow, and with a wide moat surrounding it. The Château was of the typical Norman type, with round bastions at each corner and surrounded by battlements.

As the carriage drew up at the drawbridge, I alighted, entered the courtyard, and was about to advance to the principal entrance, when, to my amazement, my eyes fell upon the figure of Mademoiselle Francesca Delacourt. She was talking to an elderly man, but when she saw me she came quietly forward, smiling as she did so.

"Ah, Mr. Phenays!" she exclaimed.

"By all that is wonderful," I could not help answering, "how is it that I see you here?"

"You see me here for a very natural reason," was her answer. "I am staying in the house with my godfather. I have known him all my lifetime. You will like him, Mr. Phenays. He is a great chemist, and is making some investigations at the present time for me, for my hobby is also chemistry. The fact is, I am proud to tell you I have made a small discovery which may be of use to the world. M. Laroque is helping me to perfect it. But come, Mr. Phenays, I must not keep you talking any longer; follow me, will you?"

Her manner was courteous and friendly, but a strange despondency came over me as I talked to her, and the comfort which I had hitherto experienced, in the receipt of M. Laroque's letter, gave place to a strange feeling of unaccountable distrust. Mademoiselle led the way into the old house. We passed down several dark passages, and then paused outside a door covered with green baize. This she flung open, and going in before me, invited me to follow.

Seated by a log fire was an old man, whose bent back and long, grey hair were all I could see.

"How do you do, M. Laroque?" I said, bending towards him. "I have answered your letter in person. I am Mr. Phenays."

As I spoke I noticed that Mademoiselle had left the room. I looked at my host, expecting a word of welcome. He was silent for a moment, then he said gravely—

"This is Francesca's doing. But it is good of you, Mr. Phenays, to come."

"Mademoiselle's doing!" I could not help interrupting.

"Yes; she happened to be present when poor Escott died, and gave me to understand that he had imparted a somewhat serious matter to you. If so, we shall have something to discuss, and I hope you will forgive the liberty a complete stranger takes in summoning you here." "But there is no liberty," I replied. "On the contrary, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Poor Escott spoke to me of you on his deathbed, and asked me to communicate with you immediately. He said that he had left a letter addressed to you in his cabinet. I could not find it, and, did not know your address, therefore was unable to write to you. Your letter to-day, therefore, makes all straight. I am much relieved."

"I presume, Mr. Phenays, you are now on your way to London, in order to hand on the communication which Escott made to you to the right quarter?"

"I am returning to London," I answered. "But an unfortunate thing happened. Poor Escott's secret was never confided to me; he was about to tell it when he was interrupted."

"How?"

"Miss Delacourt, in what I consider an unwarrantable way, burst into the room. The shock killed him."

"Francesca was always impulsive," said the old man. He paused for a moment and his face looked downcast. "Is it really true," he said then, "that you know nothing?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"And yet someone must act, and at once," continued M. Laroque. "The matter is of vital importance. If I were not a cripple, I could—but there, I am powerless. God only knows what the consequences may be if those scoundrels"

He broke off, a faint streak of colour in his face.

"Well, sir, I am glad to see you. Your coming is opportune. You will, of course, remain for the night."

"I have come prepared to do so."

"That is well. After dinner I will tell you what I know."

He rang the bell, which was close to his side. An old servant in faded livery appeared. He took me to a room on the second floor. I changed into my dinner dress and came downstairs. I found my host and Mademoiselle in the room. The meal was announced. The old servant Paul gave his arm to my host and conducted him to the head of the table. During dinner Francesca Delacourt led the conversation. She spoke well in excellent French. My host now and then looked at her with an affectionate smile. She was, beyond doubt, a handsome and attractive woman.

We dined simply, and when the meal came to an end Laroque turned to his god-daughter.

"Francesca," he said, "Mr. Phenays and I are going to the laboratory. We are about to have an important conversation. Can you do without us for a time?"

"Of course I can," she answered. "But, godfather, the laboratory is too damp for you just now. I must go down first and see that it is comfortable."

"Very well, my dear. Turn on the electric light. The room is thoroughly warm, and your idea with regard to its being damp, is—pardon my saying it—nonsense."

She shook her head and her eyes met mine fully. There was something in their glance which again brought back that intense sensation of discomfort and uneasiness which her presence had before produced. She went as far as the door, then she turned and looked at me again. Her second glance caused a curious tingling in my spine. As I write these words I recall that queer look. There was a strange expression round her mouth, a slight narrowing of her dark, almond-shaped eyes—a peculiar smile, which first lit up the gloomy depths of her eyes, hovered round her lips, and vanished.

A moment later I had forgotten about her, being much entertained by my host's conversation. We chatted for a few minutes, then he turned to me.

"If you will walk down the passage outside this room, Mr. Phenays, and open a baize door at the end, you will find some steps. Pray go down the stairs to the laboratory. I shall be with you in a moment or two."

I immediately proceeded to carry out his instructions. I walked down the passage, opened the baize door, and went downstairs. The whole of the castle was lit with electric light. It looked strangely out of place in this Norman fortress; but Laroque was nothing if not scientific, and the latest improvements in science were, he assured me, always to be found in his house. As I entered the laboratory I started to see that Mademoiselle Delacourt was there. She was bending over a cylinder. When I appeared she hastily pushed it behind a velvet curtain; then she turned, looked at me, and smiled.

"I will leave you and my godfather to your business," she said, and she went away without waiting for me to speak to her.

Curiosity impelled me to walk to the curtain and push it back, in order to see what was behind it. Only two cylinders, which might have contained anything, but were now empty. I vaguely wondered why they were there, and what Mademoiselle Delacourt was doing with them. A weight of gloom and nervousness overpowered me, but my host's footsteps caused me to pull myself together, and the next instant he entered the room.

"Ah," he said, sinking with a sigh into his easy-chair. "Do you know, Phenays, that this is one of the finest laboratories in the neighbourhood of Paris. Here I do all my scientific work. I am quite quiet here and undisturbed; anyone would think a place of this sort would be damp, for it is only just above the level of the moat, but in reality it is not."

"The air of the room is quite warm and dry," I answered.

"Yes, that is the case," he replied. Then he was silent for a minute. "I am glad you have come, Mr. Phenays," he said then, "for if that secret got into the wrong hands, it would do the most incalculable and awful mischief. Now, come nearer to me and I will tell you everything. Hullo! what is that?"

He had scarcely spoken before we were plunged into darkness; the electric light had gone out.

"That infernal dynamo has broken down again!" he said. "It is really too bad. Please hand me the matches and we will light a lamp; you will find them just there on the bench; run your hand along and you will touch the box."

I rose to comply, guided by a streak of moonlight which entered through a narrow window.

"I cannot find any matches," I said. "Just wait a moment; I will go to the dining-room and get some."

I opened the door and began to climb the stairs. I had not gone up a dozen steps when I heard him call out—

"All right, here they are; come back, please."

I had just turned to do so, when a sudden and terrific explosion occurred, an explosion of such awful violence that I felt myself hurled up against the stonework as if by an unseen arm. For a moment I was so stunned that I could scarcely understand what had happened. Then self-control returned to me and I went quickly back to the laboratory. A terrible sight met my gaze. The room was absolutely wrecked, the window-panes and sashes blown out, and the floor strewn with shattered furniture. In one corner, evidently propelled there by the violence of the explosion, lay the body of my poor host. I rushed to raise him up, but one glance was sufficient to show that he was quite dead. I was just about to go for assistance, when Mademoiselle, followed by several servants, hurried in. On seeing me she gave a sharp cry, and I shall never forget the curious look of horror and intense disappointment on her face. Then she seemed to recover herself; she stood by the door with both hands raised.

"Ah!" she cried, "I warned him; so it has happened at last."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Can you throw any light on this fearful thing?"

"I can," she replied. "I warned him, but he would never listen. Come upstairs, and I will tell you."

"You shall tell me here," I answered.

"Bring a lamp at once," I continued, turning to the servant.

He turned to obey. Miss Delacourt and I stood facing each other. The moonlight coming in through the shattered windows fell on both our faces. All the distrust I felt for her shone, doubtless, in my eyes. Just for a moment her eyes quailed under my gaze. A man came down with a lamp.

"Now for your explanation," I said.

"Do you doubt my word?" she asked.

"I doubt everything about you," I replied. "I doubted you from the first moment I saw you; now I doubt you terribly."

"And yet you are wrong," she said; "but some men cannot help being suspicious."

"I await your explanation," I said.

"And I will give it," she said. "Have you ever heard of marsh gas?"

"Certainly."

"Then you will soon be at the bottom of this awful accident. Marsh gas is to be found in places where vegetation decomposes. It is the same thing as fire-damp, which causes so many mining disasters. Its deadliness consists in its not being detectable by any of the senses, as it has no colour or smell; but when mixed with the air it forms one of the most explosive gaseous mixtures there is. Now, I have often suspected that this gas found its way into M. Laroque's laboratory from the moat. Of course, even if it did come in, he would be safe as long as only the electric light was burning; but any unguarded flame, even that caused by the lighting of a match, would bring on an explosion. But why were you not also present when the explosion took place?"

"I went to find some matches," I answered. "The electric light went out suddenly. I could not find the match-box, and went upstairs to get some. Mademoiselle, why did the light go out? What were you doing when you bent over the cylinder? Why did you push it behind the curtain? I looked behind the curtain when you left the room, and found two cylinders; they may have contained compressed air or anything."

She turned white.

"You will be sorry for this," she said. "Your suspicions are past enduring." She turned and left the room.

How I spent the rest of that night I can scarcely tell, but towards morning I went to my bedroom and lay down without undressing. I had scarcely dropped asleep before I was aroused by someone touching me. Looking up, I saw the old servant Paul.

"The carriage is at the door, sir. A train for Paris leaves Bévallon in less than an hour. I will drive you to the station. You are not safe in this house, Mr. Phenays."

"In Heaven's name what do you mean?" I asked.

He bent near and spoke in a whisper.

"May God forgive me if I am wrong, sir, but I must speak. There was nothing the matter with the dynamo. I saw Mademoiselle with her own hands turn off the current."

I raised myself on my elbow and stared hard at the old servant.

"I will take your advice, Paul," I said, "and get back to Paris at once."