“I looked up, just in time to see the girl flash me a look of subtle warning”
“Almost simultaneously came a loud crash, blinding darkness, and I was once again in the forest—God knows how—pursuing my way laboriously along the mud-laden track.
“At early dawn I arrived within sight of Garvois—Garvois bathed in a cold grey mist, and a little later I dragged myself with difficulty towards the wicket gate leading to my father’s house. To my intense surprise it was padlocked, but the mystery explained itself at once—standing upright in the garden was a notice-board, bearing the inscription, ‘To be Let or Sold.’ I swayed on my feet as I looked at it, and with a bursting heart reeled away to the nearest house—the house of my old friend, Henry Crozier.
“Henry had just awakened—he invariably got up at five—and shuffling downstairs, he opened the door.
“‘Le diable!’ he exclaimed, ‘if it isn’t Bertram! Ma foi! I was dreaming of you last night. So you’ve come back!’
“‘Come back to find the place empty!’ I murmured. ‘But, tell me, my friend, where’s my father?’
“Henry’s eyes grew round with astonishment. ‘What!’ he said. ‘What! you don’t know?’ Then, seeing my look of utter stupefaction, he added: ‘My poor Bertram! Your father is dead! He died a fortnight ago, the very day after his marriage with Mademoiselle Marie Dernille, the niece of his last housekeeper. What killed him? Apoplexy. It does not do to dispute the doctor.’
“‘But the woman—the woman? What was she like?’ I stuttered.
“‘Why,’ Harry enunciated slowly, ‘she was what some people would call beautiful, though, as God is my judge, I did not admire her. Fair, very fair, a mass of washed-out yellow hair, painted lips—oh, yes, anyone could see they were painted—and big, very big eyes—china-blue and smiling—name of a name—eternally smiling.’”