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Updated: June 28, 2025


"It's the first time I've seen it like that," she said apologetically; "the curtain could not have been unhooked when I did the room last without my noticing it. Anyhow, it hasn't been like that long. I ought to say that as M. Gurn was seldom here I didn't do the place out thoroughly very often." "When did you do it out last?" "Quite a month ago."

"Yes," Lady Beltham answered, trying to control her voice; "I believe that that may be what took place. And then, it is the only way in which I can find the least excuse for the crime this man Gurn committed." The President picked up the word, in astonishment. "Do you want to find excuses for him, madame?" Lady Beltham stood erect, and looked at the President.

Gurn smiled and Roger de Seras was encouraged. "It's given me no end of a boom, my leader acting for you, and my being able to come and see you whenever I like! Everybody asks me how you are, and what you are like, and what you say, and what you think. You can congratulate yourself on having caused a sensation in Paris." Gurn began to be irritated by all this chatter.

She crouched forward listening, filled with a horrible fear, her hand laid upon her scarcely beating heart. "There he is: hold him!" some one shouted. "That's him all right! Look out, constable!" "This way, Inspector! Yes, it's him, it's Gurn! Ah, would you!" Paler than death, Lady Beltham cowered down upon a sofa. "Good God! Good God!" she moaned. "What are they doing to him!"

It was a perfect May day, and everyone who could pretend, on any conceivable ground, to belong to "Paris" had schemed and intrigued to obtain admission to a trial over which public opinion had been excited for months: the trial of Gurn for the murder of Lord Beltham, ex-Ambassador and foremost man of fashion, whose murder, two years before, had caused a great sensation.

At six, when he actually came on duty, Nibet opened the peephole in the door of number 127, as he did in all the others, and saw that Gurn had made an admirable dummy figure in the bed: it was so good that it even deceived a head warder who made a single rapid inspection of all the cells when Nibet was on one of his several rounds during the night.

We have been chatting for a whole half-hour, and those ladies are still waiting for me. What on earth will they say to me?" He was about to ring for the warder when Gurn abruptly stayed him. "Tell me," he said with a sudden air of interest, "when is that man coming what's his name? Dollon?"

It turns my blood cold to think of him!" Juve was never a man for general conversation, and he was still less interested in the garrulity of this loquacious creature. He took the key and cut short her remarks by walking to the door. "Yes, Gurn has been arrested," he said shortly; "but he has made no confession, so nothing is known for certain yet.

"Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?" "Nothing," Gurn replied. In rapid tones the President read the formal pronouncement of the Court. It seemed horribly long and unintelligible, but presently the President's voice became slower as it reached the fatal words: there was a second's pause, and then he reached the point: " the sentence on the prisoner Gurn is death."

He had heard the story of the battle of Saint-Privat a dozen times already, but he was quite willing to let Siegenthal tell it again. The warder, however, wandered to another point. "By the way, I heard you were promoted sergeant out in the Transvaal: is that so?" and as Gurn nodded assent, he went on: "I never rose above the rank of corporal, but at any rate I have always led an honest life."

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