of the Castle of Grosbois, with the oil-lamp still burning at
the end of it. A frightful cry--a long-drawn scream of terror and of
pain--rang through it as we entered.

'He is killing him! He is killing him!' cried a voice, and a woman
servant rushed madly out into the passage. 'Help, help; he is killing
Monsieur Bernac!'

'Where is he?' shouted Savary.

'There! The library! The door with the green curtain!' Again that
horrible cry rang out, dying down to a harsh croaking. It ended in a
loud, sharp snick, as when one cracks one's joint, but many times
louder. I knew only too well what that dreadful sound portended.
We rushed together into the room, but the hardened Savary and the
dare-devil hussar both recoiled in horror from the sight which met our
gaze.

My uncle had been seated writing at his desk, with his back to the door,
when his murderer had entered. No doubt it was at the first glance over
his shoulder that he had raised the scream when he saw that terrible
hairy face coming in upon him, while the second cry may have been when
those great hands clutched at his head. He had never risen from his
chair--perhaps he had been too paralysed by fear--and he still sat with
his back to the door. But what struck the colour from our cheeks was
that his head had been turned completely round, so that his horribly
distorted purple face looked squarely at us from between his shoulders.
Often in my dreams that thin face, with the bulging grey eyes, and the
shockingly open mouth, comes to disturb me. Beside him stood Toussac,
his face flushed with triumph, and his great arms folded across his
chest.

'Well, my friends,' said he, 'you are too late, you see. I have paid my
debts after all.'

'Surrender!' cried Savary.

'Shoot away! Shoot away!' he cried, drumming his hands upon his breast.
'You don't suppose I fear your miserable pellets, do you? Oh, you
imagine you will take me alive! I'll soon knock that idea out of your
heads.'

In an instant he had swung a heavy chair over his head, and was rushing
furiously at us. We all fired our pistols into him together, but
nothing could stop that thunderbolt of a man. With the blood spurting
from his wounds, he lashed madly out with his chair, but his eyesight
happily failed him, and his swashing blow came down upon the corner of
the table with a crash which broke it into fragments. Then with a mad
bellow of rage he sprang upon Savary, tore him down to the gr