lodge me here where we
stood. The porter, on the other hand, who held the keys, would not. He
did not speak a word, nor did the other--and this gave a queer ominous
character to the debate; but he continued to jerk his head towards the
farther end of the corridor; and, at last, he carried his point. Louis
shrugged his shoulders, and moved on, glancing askance at me; and I, not
understanding the matter in debate, followed the pair in silence.

We reached the end of the corridor, and there for an instant the monster
with the keys paused and grinned at me. Then he turned into a narrow
passage on the left, and after following it for some paces, halted
before a small, strong door. His key jarred in the lock, but he forced
it shrieking round, and with a savage flourish threw the door open.

I walked in and saw a mean, bare chamber with barred windows. The floor
was indifferently clean, there was no furniture. The yellow light of
the lanthorn falling on the stained walls gave the place the look of
a dungeon. I turned to the two men. 'This is not a very good room,' I
said. 'And it feels damp. Have you no other?'

Louis looked doubtfully at his companion. But the porter shook his head
stubbornly.

'Why does he not speak?' I asked with impatience.

'He is dumb,' Louis answered.

'Dumb!' I exclaimed. 'But he hears.'

'He has ears,' the servant answered drily. 'But he has no tongue,
Monsieur.'

I shuddered. 'How did he lose it?' I asked.

'At Rochelle. He was a spy, and the king's people took him the day the
town surrendered. They spared his life, but cut out his tongue.'

'Ah!' I said. I wished to say more, to be natural, to show myself at my
ease. But the porter's eyes seemed to burn into me, and my own tongue
clave to the roof of my mouth. He opened his lips and pointed to his
throat with a horrid gesture, and I shook my head and turned from
him--'You can let me have some bedding?' I murmured hastily, for the
sake of saying something, and to escape.

'Of course, Monsieur,' Louis answered. 'I will fetch some.'

He went away, thinking doubtless that Clon would stay with me. But after
waiting a minute the porter strode off also with the lanthorn, leaving
me to stand in the middle of the damp, dark room and reflect on the
position. It was plain that Clon suspected me. This prison-like room,
with its barred window, at the back of the house, and in the wing
farthest from the stables, proved so much. Clearly, he was a dan