"Perfectly. I will fetch him."
Pierre Koustak was not far away.
The last few days had made him anxious—very anxious. There were things happening he could not understand, and Monsieur le Marquis had not arrived at Varenac.
So he was ready enough to obey the summons to the library, even though he did not like the fair-haired milord with the blue eyes which were cold and hard as granite stones.
Yet perhaps he would hear something.
The worthy Pierre was not mistaken. He did hear something,—but not at all what he expected.
Murder! Ah! how terrible.
The sight of the huddled figure on the hearth made his knees tremble in very horror. But he knew nothing of it, had heard nothing. What did it mean?
In utter bewilderment, he stared from one grim-faced accuser to the other.
He murdered the Englishman who laughed and drank all day?