Desperate, Fandor plunged haphazard about the disordered chamber, wrapped in darkness. Suddenly, he rushed into the study hard by, found there another lamp which he lit in haste, and hurried back with it.
A fearful sight wrung a cry of terror from him. Juve, on his knees on the floor, was covered with blood.
"Juve!"
"It's all right, Fandor. Some one has bled, but not I."
The detective rushed to the open window and leaned out into the dark night.
"Listen!" he cried. "Do you hear that low hissing, that dull rustling?"
"Yes. I heard it just now."
"It was the 'executioner.'"
The detective drew back into the room, shut the window, pulled down the blinds, and then took off his armour. Curiously he examined the stains of blood, the tiny shreds of flesh that had remained on the points.
"We have no more to fear now," he said, "the stroke has been tried—and has failed."