“Impossible!”
“Why?”
“The door hasn’t been used for years. There’s not even a key to it.”
“That’s as may be,” Bournef rejoined. “All the same, we’re surely not going to organize a battue with lanterns and rouse the whole district for the sake of finding a woman . . .”
“Yes, but that woman . . .”
Colonel Fakhi seemed exasperated. He turned to the prisoner:
“You’re in luck, you old rascal! This is the second time to-day that minx of yours has slipped through my fingers! Did she tell you what happened this afternoon? Oh, if it hadn’t been for an infernal officer who happened to be passing! . . . But I’ll get hold of him yet and he shall pay dearly for his interference. . . .”
Patrice clenched his fists with fury. He understood: Coralie was hiding in her own house. Surprised by the sudden arrival of the five men, she had managed to climb out of her window and, making her way along the terrace to the steps, had gone to the part of the house opposite the rooms that were in use and taken refuge in the gallery of the library, where she was able to witness the terrible assault levied at her husband.
“Her husband!” thought Patrice, with a shudder. “Her husband!”
And, if he still entertained any doubts on the subject, the hurried course of events soon removed them, for the leader began to chuckle: