Dick knelt hastily by the side of his friend and sought frantically to revive him. But it was in vain. The young peer died in his arms. It was evident that he had been attacked without the slightest warning, and mercilessly strangled.
And in the side of his throat, just above the jugular vein, was a deep wound, horribly lacerated, from which the blood flowed in a heavy stream.
The Castle was speedily aroused, and in a few minutes half a dozen men were busily searching the surrounding country. But it was in vain—the mysterious assailant of the unfortunate Lord Renstoke had vanished completely.
The following day Dick, Jules, and Yvette, almost overcome with grief, were discussing the loss of their friend.
“There is some devilry at work,” Dick declared. “And I shall never rest till it is cleared up, if I spend the rest of my life here.”
Yvette burst into a furious philippic against Erckmann. “That man is at the bottom of it all,” she insisted.
“But, Yvette,” Dick remonstrated, “we have no kind of evidence of that.”
“I don’t care,” she replied vehemently, “Erckmann knows all about it. I should like to choke it out of him,” she ended viciously in French.
“Well,” said Jules, “we can’t go to Lockie and accuse him. How about trying a trap of some kind?”
“We might do it in that way,” Dick admitted. “But what kind of trap?”