“For the safety of all of us, then—for our lives, even!” replied Rouletabille, arising from his chair and pacing restlessly across the room, in order, doubtless, to give himself an opportunity to perform some necessary mental algebraic operation. Then he paused and went on, “Where was he? In the Square Tower?”
Bernier did not speak but he nodded assent.
“Where? In Old Bob’s bedroom?”
“No,” Bernier shook his head.
“Hidden in your rooms?”
Bernier shook his head vehemently.
“Well, where was he then? He could certainly not have been in the apartments of M. and Mme. Darzac!”
Bernier bowed his head.
“Miserable hound!” cried Rouletabille and he leaped at Bernier’s throat. I rushed to the rescue of the concierge and snatched him from the young man’s clutches. As soon as he could breathe, the old servant looked up, piteously.
“Why did you try to strangle me, M. Rouletabille?” he asked.