CHAPTER XV
THE MYSTERIOUS PRISON
"Good Lord! How my head aches! It feels as though it were made of lead!... I have a fire in my veins and such a thirst! Here and now I make a firm resolution never to give way again to such dissipation. Never again will I drink champagne in such quantities. But, where the deuce am I?... It's still pitch dark!... Ah, I remember ... it's outrageous! Help! Help!"
King Frederick-Christian had wakened. At first he experienced the usual unpleasant sensations which follow a night of heavy drinking and then, as his memory returned, he was afraid, horribly afraid.
He recalled his arrival at Susy d'Orsel's apartment in company with the young companion he had picked up at Raxim's and the subsequent supper, and then he broke into a cold sweat as his mind flashed to the picture of Fandor's return with the inanimate body of his mistress in his arms—dead. Yes, she was undoubtedly dead!
And afterwards, what had happened?
His companion had declared himself to be the journalist, Jerome Fandor, and had called him by name—Frederick-Christian. Furthermore, he had cried:
"It was you who killed Susy d'Orsel. It was you who threw her out of the window!"