"I hardly think so. My father was no one's enemy but his own. And it was foul murder."
It was Count Jéhan who spoke next.
"Did you not say a girl brought the news?" he questioned abruptly.
Michael nodded.
"Olérie Koustak. I was forgetting. She told me some tale of her father being in danger of his life—accused of the deed."
He flung open the door as he spoke, stepping out into the passage.
"Olérie, Olérie," he cried.
The girl was not long in responding. Crouched in a corner behind the salon door, she had been awaiting developments in an agony of fear.
"Where is your father, child?" rapped out Morice peremptorily.
"Ah! Monsieur, in the room above."