|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Book, page 191 / 282 the wine-seller, "goes the marchioness's granddaughter, Mademoiselle Claire, with her governess, Mademoiselle Smith." Lecoq's head whirled. "Her granddaughter!" he stammered. "Yes--the daughter of her deceased son, if you prefer it." "How old is the marchioness, then?" "At least sixty: but one would never suspect it. She is one of those persons who live a hundred years. And what an old wretch she is too. She would think no more of knocking me over the head than I would of emptying this glass of wine--" "Excuse me," interrupted Lecoq, "but does she live alone in that great house?" "Yes--that is--with her granddaughter, the governess, and two servants. But what is the matter with you?" This last question was not uncalled for; for Lecoq had turned deadly white. The magic edifice of his hopes had crumbled beneath the weight of this man's words as completely as if it were some frail house of cards erected by a child. He had only sufficient strength to murmur: "Nothing--nothing at all." Then, as he could endure this torture of uncertainty no longer, he went toward the marchioness's house and rang the bell. The servant who came to open the door examined him attentively, and then announced that Madame d'Arlange was in the country. He evidently fancied that Lecoq was a creditor. But the young detective insisted so adroitly, giving the lackey to understand so explicitly that he did not come to collect money, and speaking so earnestly of urgent business, that the servant finally admitted him to the hall, saying that he would go and see if madame had really gone out. Fortunately for Lecoq, she happened to be at home, and an instant afterward the valet returned requesting the young detective to follow
|
Knowledgerush Search
|
|
Contact Us
| Privacy Statement & Terms of Use
|