“When daylight comes,” thought the abbe, “I will look outside.”
When morning broke, he went into the garden, and made a careful examination of the premises.
At first he saw nothing that gave him the least clew, and was about to abandon the investigations, when, upon entering the little grove, he saw in the distance a large dark stain upon the grass. He went nearer—it was blood!
Much excited, he summoned Jean, to inform him of the discovery.
“Someone has been assassinated here,” said Lacheneur; “and it happened last night, for the blood has not had time to dry.”
“The victim lost a great deal of blood,” the priest remarked; “it might be possible to discover who he was by following up these stains.”
“I am going to try,” responded Jean. “Go back to the house, sir; I will soon return.”
A child might have followed the track of the wounded man, the blood-stains left in his passage were so frequent and so distinct.
These tell-tale marks stopped at Chupin’s house. The door was closed; Jean rapped without the slightest hesitation.
The old poacher’s eldest son opened the door, and Jean saw a strange spectacle.