es," murmured the doctor, "the clock betrays that."

"The count finds nothing under the mantel-shelf except the dust,
which has retained traces of his fingers. Then he begins to be
anxious. Where can this paper be, for which he has risked his life?
He grows angry. How search the locked drawers? The keys are on the
carpet--I found them among the debris of the tea service--but he
does not see them. He must have some implement with which to break
open everything. He goes downstairs for a hatchet. The drunkenness
of blood and vengeance is dissipated on the staircase; his terrors
begin. All the dark corners are peopled, now, with those spectres
which form the cortege of assassins; he is frightened, and hurries
on. He soon goes up again, armed with a large hatchet--that found
on the second story--and makes the pieces of wood fly about him.
He goes about like a maniac, rips up the furniture at hazard; but
he pursues a desperate search, the traces of which I have followed,
among the debris. Nothing, always nothing! Everything in the room
is topsy-turvy; he goes into his cabinet and continues the
destruction; the hatchet rises and falls without rest. He breaks
his own bureau, since he may find something concealed there of which
he is ignorant. This bureau belonged to the first husband--to
Sauvresy. He takes out all the books in the library, one by one,
shakes them furiously, and throws them about the floor. The infernal
paper is undiscoverable. His distress is now too great for him to
pursue the search with the least method. His wandering reason no
longer guides him. He staggers, without calculation, from one thing
to another, fumbling a dozen times in the same drawer, while he
completely forgets others just by him. Then he thinks that this
paper may have been hid in the stuffing of a chair. He seizes a
sword, and to be certain, he slashes up the drawing-room chairs and
sofas and those in the other rooms."

M. Lecoq's voice, accent, gestures, gave a vivid character to his
recital. The hearer might imagine that he saw the crime committed,
and was present at the terrible scenes which he described. His
companions held their breath, unwilling by a movement to distract
his attention.

"At this moment," pursued he, "the count's rage and terror were at
their height. He had said to himself, when he planned the murder,
that he would kill his wife, get possession of the letter, execute
his plan quickly, and fly. And now all his projec