He closed the door almost with the same motion with which he had passed through it, and then, with his back against it, calmly drew his revolver while the man was rising from the floor, where he had fallen.
“Who the devil are you?” demanded the man, in French. “Sacre, mon ami, but that is an odd way you have of making your presence known. And why, monsieur, do you make use of the revolver?”
“Merely to convince you of the wisdom of preserving silence,” replied Nick, smiling grimly.
“Silence?” The Frenchman chuckled audibly. “My dear sir, one might yell his lungs loose here, and not be heard inside an adjoining room. These walls were made to withstand sieges. And, besides, if I may venture to inquire, wherefore should I offer to cry out? Eh?”
The Frenchman had stepped back, and Nick saw that he was evidently a character; and he realized, moreover, that the man had not the least idea that he himself was an intruder in the castle. Then, as if to confirm him in that opinion, the man added:
“Ha! I understand. I comprehend monsieur’s tendencies—his wish. It is to fight; no?”
The detective could not avoid a smile, but he made no other reply.
“Ha! I have guessed it,” continued the Frenchman, rubbing his hands together ecstatically. “It is to fight with me that monsieur comes here at this hour. Monsieur is a guest of Count Jean. Perhaps monsieur came to the château on board the yacht with the count. Is it not so? Yes? And the count has told monsieur about Antoine Lafetre. No? It is so; no? Yes? And monsieur has not the belief that Antoine is the greatest fencing-master of the age. Ha! Monsieur has come to witness a proof of it, perhaps. Believe me, monsieur shall be gratified. Monsieur shall be convinced. Yes!”
Nick Carter permitted him to run on without interruption, for the fellow’s prattle told him at once many things he desired to know, the most important of which was the fact that Count Jean de Cadillac had in reality arrived at the château in the Shadow and was now inside the castle.
It told him, also, that here before him was a conceited Frenchman, by profession a fencing-master, who considered himself the “greatest that ever was.” A person who had not an idea beyond the horizon of his own egotism; but, above all, a person who, if Nick could win his confidence, would impart all the information he possessed.