Jérôme Fandor looked at the great lady in wide-eyed astonishment.
“Fly! fly!” she could only repeat. “Oh! for pity’s sake, begone! It is horrible, appalling they have just found in the park a man dressed as Fantômas lying dead, stabbed to the heart—an officer of the Criminal Investigation Bureau!”
Fandor listened without a word, while Lady Beltham went on again, wringing her hands:
“But fly, I tell you, fly! Don’t you understand they will accuse you? You were seen just now, dressed as Fantômas, leaving the rooms with another ‘Fantômas’, they will make sure the first masquer was the murderer, that is you!”
Still dazed as he followed Lady Beltham, who was leading him towards a hidden door, Fandor asked:
“But then there were three ‘Fantômas’?—Tom Bob, myself, this officer?”
“There were four or five,” replied Lady Beltham, “I cannot tell how many: there was you, there was Tom Bob, there was an officer of the Bureau ... there was ...”
Fandor finished the sentence the grand duchess dared not complete. “There was ... there was,” he hesitated, “there must have been the true Fantômas!”
A malediction rose to Jérôme Fandor’s lips, but all ready to make his escape as Lady Beltham urged him, he yet stayed his flight an instant; he had heard, like a benison the unhappy woman murmur a parting word.
“To-morrow, to-morrow! I have promised you Elisabeth shall know you are innocent!”