He passed through a kitchen, a hall and up a staircase; and he walked deliberately, without seeking to deaden the sound of his footsteps.
On the landing, he stopped. The perspiration streamed from his forehead; and his temples throbbed under the rush of his blood. Nevertheless, he remained calm, master of himself and conscious of his least thoughts. He laid two revolvers on a stair:
"No weapons," he said to himself. "My hands only, just the effort of my two hands. . . . That's quite enough. . . . That will be better. . . ."
Opposite him were three doors. He chose the middle one, turned the handle and encountered no obstacle. He went in. There was no light in the room, but the rays of the night entered through the wide-open window and, amid the darkness, he saw the sheets and the white curtains of the bed.
And somebody was standing beside it.
He savagely cast the gleam of his lantern upon that form.
Malreich!
The pallid face of Malreich, his dim eyes, his cadaverous cheek-bones, his scraggy neck. . . .
And all this stood motionless, opposite him, at five steps' distance; and he could not have said whether that dull face, that death-face, expressed the least terror or even a grain of anxiety.
Lupin took a step forward . . . and a second . . . and a third. . . .