He felt that the slave Tristan had taken the portmanteau into the hut for some evil design.
"Tristan!" he cried, "Tristan! open the door, or I will shoot you through a crevice in the wood."
The negro only answered with a mocking laugh. Meanwhile the smoke, increasing every minute in volume, almost suffocated the young man with its stifling fumes.
Suddenly Paul remembered that on the other side of the wood-house there was a small window which admitted light into the building.
He ran to the window.
The shutters were nailed together, but the wood was rotten and the hinges worn and rusty.
Paul wrenched them asunder with the rapidity of lightning, dashed his hand through the dingy glass of the window, flung it open and sprang into the hut.
A log fire was blazing in the center of the building, and Tristan, the negro, knelt over the flames with the portmanteau in his hand.
Paul sprang upon him and tore the leather case from his grasp, but the negro was the stronger of the two.
He regained possession of the portmanteau and made toward the door of the hut.