“Master, madam, laughed contemptuously.”
“Did you speak to him?” asked M. Folgat.
“Oh, no, sir! M. Galpin would not allow me.”
“And did you have time to look at the gun?”
“I could but just glance at the lock.”
“And what did you see?”
The brow of the old servant grew still darker, as he replied sadly,—
“I saw that I had done well to keep silent. The lock is black. Master must have used his gun since I cleaned it.”
Grandpapa Chandore and M. Folgat exchanged looks of distress. One more hope was lost.
“Now,” said the young lawyer, “tell me how M. de Boiscoran usually charged his gun.”