“Did you learn his name?”
“No——”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“They spoke in English——”
“What!” The man’s puffy face went flabby white, and his big, badly made frame seemed to sag for a moment. He laid a large fat hand flat against the wall, as though to support and steady himself, and gazed dully at the terrified maid.
And she, shivering in her night-robe and naked feet, stared back into the pallid face, with its coarse, greyish moustache and little short side-whiskers which vulgarized it completely—gazed in unfeigned terror at the sagging, deadly, lead-coloured eyes.
“Is the man there—in there now—with her?” demanded the Comte d’Eblis heavily.
“No, monsieur.”
“Gone?”