Part 65 (1/2)

Fandor felt himself flung towards the wall. The vise loosed its grip.

There was a terrific din. The window panes were shattered, a heavy piece of furniture was pushed aside, oscillated, fell with a crash; then a sudden silence; but a silence broken by gaspings, loud breathings, hoa.r.s.e sounds, an agonising death rattle.

The dead pause seemed interminable.... Fandor was about to shoot again, when a voice close to him cried:

”He is escaping!...”

Jerome Fandor recognised that voice!...

Another voice said:

”We must have a light!”

A wax match flamed and flared.

By its wavering light Fandor could distinguish three men in the room....

Their clothes were torn: there was blood on their faces, they were panting: they stared at one another.

Fandor recognised them instantly.

Leaning against the bed, a gash in his cheek, was Monsieur Barbey.

Lying on the floor, apparently half dead, was Monsieur Nanteuil.

Calmly lighting a candle was the telephone workman. He alone seemed unmoved.

Fandor threw down his revolver and, coolly marching to the door, locked it.

Monsieur Barbey followed the journalist with a look. He made a gesture of discouragement and pointed to the window: its panes were smashed to pieces.

”We are tricked--done!” he said. ”The a.s.sa.s.sin has got away!”

But Fandor, with a shrug, marched up to the window, returned, and said in a matter-of-fact tone:

”It is impossible that Fantomas could have made his escape that way!”

The workman nodded gravely.

”Monsieur Fandor,” said he, ”I am entirely of your opinion.”

XXVII

THE IMPRINT

”Monsieur Fandor, I am entirely of your opinion!”

Hearing these words, Fandor, who had regained his self-possession, and was ready to start fighting again if necessary, looked at the individual who had made this statement--the individual whose face was oddly familiar.

”Who are you?” he asked.