e stuffing protruded.
The secretary had been broken open; the writing-slide, dislocated,
hung by its hinges; the drawers were open and empty, and everywhere,
blood--blood upon the carpet, the furniture, the curtains--above
all, upon the bed-curtains.

"Poor wretches!" stammered the mayor. "They were murdered here."

Every one for a moment was appalled. But meanwhile, the justice of
the peace devoted himself to a minute scrutiny, taking notes upon
his tablets, and looking into every corner. When he had finished:

"Come," said he, "let us go into the other rooms."

Everywhere there was the same disorder. A band of furious maniacs,
or criminals seized with a frenzy, had certainly passed the night
in the house.

The count's library, especially, had been turned topsy-turvy. The
assassins had not taken the trouble to force the locks; they had
gone to work with a hatchet. Surely they were confident of not
being overheard; for they must have struck tremendous blows to make
the massive oaken bureau fly in pieces.

Neither parlor nor smoking-room had been respected. Couches, chairs,
canopies were cut and torn as if they had been lunged at with swords.
Two spare chambers for guests were all in confusion.

They then ascended to the second story.

There, in the first room which they penetrated, they found, beside
a trunk which had been assaulted, but which was not opened, a
hatchet for splitting wood which the valet de chambre recognized as
belonging to the house.

"Do you understand now?" said the mayor to M. Plantat. "The
assassins were in force, that's clear. The murder accomplished,
they scattered through the chateau, seeking everywhere the money
they knew they would find here. One of them was engaged in breaking
open this trunk, when the others, below, found the money; they
called him; he hastened down, and thinking all further search
useless, he left the hatchet here."

"I see it," said the brigadier, "just as if I had been here."

The ground-floor, which they next visited, had been respected.
Only, after the crime had been committed, and the money secured,
the murderers had felt the necessity of refreshing themselves.
They found the remains of their supper in the dining-room. They
had eaten up all the cold meats left in the cupboard. On the
table, beside eight empty bottles of wine and liqueurs, were ranged
five glasses.

"There were five of them," said the mayor.

By force of will, M. Courtois had recovered