“Come!—come in!” he stammered.
Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated:—
“Let us go, monsieur.”
He turned up by the road he had come from the château, Rouletabille still retaining his hold on the horse’s bridle. I addressed a few words to Monsieur Darzac, but he made no answer. My looks questioned Rouletabille, but his gaze was elsewhere.
Chapter VI.
In the Heart of the Oak Grove
We reached the château, and, as we approached it, saw four gendarmes pacing in front of a little door in the ground floor of the donjon. We soon learned that in this ground floor, which had formerly served as a prison, Monsieur and Madame Bernier, the concierges, were confined.
Monsieur Robert Darzac led us into the modern part of the château by a large door, protected by a projecting awning—a “marquise” as it is called. Rouletabille who had resigned the horse and the cab to the care of a servant, never took his eyes off Monsieur Darzac. I followed his look and perceived that it was directed solely towards the gloved hands of the Sorbonne professor. When we were in a tiny sitting-room fitted with old furniture, Monsieur Darzac turned to Rouletabille and said sharply:—
“What do you want?”
The reporter answered in an equally sharp tone:—
“To shake you by the hand.”