She was dead.
"Dead! Dead!" he repeated, with a bewildered air.
He stared at those fixed eyes, that grim mouth, that livid flesh,
and that blood--all that blood which had flowed over the carpet and
congealed there in thick, black spots. He arose and turned on the
electric lights. Then he beheld all the marks of a desperate
struggle. The bed was in a state of great disorder. On the
floor, the candlestick, and the clock, with the hands pointing to
twenty minutes after eleven; then, further away, an overturned
chair; and, everywhere, there was blood, spots of blood and pools
of blood.
"And the black pearl?" he murmured.
The box of letter-paper was in its place. He opened it, eagerly.
The jewel-case was there, but it was empty.
"Fichtre!" he muttered. "You boasted of your good fortune much too
soon, my friend Lupin. With the countess lying cold and dead, and
the black pearl vanished, the situation is anything but pleasant.
Get out of here as soon as you can, or you may get into serious
trouble."
Yet, he did not move.
"Get out of here? Yes, of course. Any person would, except Arsene
Lupin. He has something better to do. Now, to proceed in an
orderly way.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214