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Updated: June 2, 2025
A sharp, pungent odour was mingled with the heavy atmosphere of the room the smell of a burning fabric. There was no disorder, no weapon, no indication of a struggle. Only the motionless, bleeding figure on the bed revealed to the guests clustering outside the room that somebody had entered and departed as silently as a tiger. Musard went swiftly to the bedside and bent over the girl.
He eyed the young man critically, and thought he looked fairly well considering the ordeal he had passed through. "I am glad to see you better, Phil," he said. "How do you feel? Not very fit yet?" "I am all right," responded Phil quickly. "Now, Musard, I want you to tell me all that has happened since I have been lying here. I am completely in the dark.
He had no intention of pointing out to his companion that such an assumption overlooked the fact that Tufnell's discovery, and the locking of the door, had not prevented the crime and the subsequent escape of the murderer. He turned to leave the room, but Musard was in a talkative mood. He offered the detective a cigar, and kept him for a while, chatting discursively.
The sound of the target practice would not be heard upstairs?" "It would be an exceedingly loud report that penetrated to the upper regions through that door," interjected Musard, pointing to the oak door with iron clamps which gave entrance to the gun-room. "Besides, there is another door at the top of the steps.
In all likelihood the butler had first acquainted his mistress with his discovery of the unlocked staircase door, and she, realizing where she had dropped her brooch, had seized upon the opportunity to request Musard to call the detective downstairs and tell him about the door. In his absence she returned to the bedroom for the brooch.
"I mean that the atmosphere of the room was heavy and thick, as if the window had not been opened all day." "It has been a still, close day." "But Violet never had a window open if she could help it. She disliked fresh air. She was always afraid of catching cold." Musard looked out of the window into the velvet darkness of the night.
"I think the best plan will be for you to meet me in the carriage drive, near the spot. Can you manage that?" "Quite easily, sir." "Excellent. And now, as you go downstairs, I should be glad if you would tell Mr. Musard that I should like to see him in my room before I go." "Very well, sir. Afterwards you will find me waiting at the bend of the carriage drive where it winds round the lake."
Those terrible, vexatious, quivering teams, laden with meat, those trucks with big tin teats bursting with milk, though they make a clatter most infernal and even crush the paving stones, seem to you to glide over cotton, and vaguely remind you of the orchestra of Napoleon Musard.
It was inscribed with testimony to his worth in a civic, military, and Christian capacity, together with a text stating that he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. Beneath the text was commemorated his feat in sinking the French frigate L'Équille, with every soul on board." "That hardly seems like causing the widow's heart to sing for joy," commented Musard.
Sir Philip's manner to everybody was distinguished by perfect urbanity, which was so impersonal and unvarying as to suggest that it was not so much a compliment to those upon whom it was bestowed as a duty which he felt he owed to himself to perform with uniform exactitude. Musard began to talk about the arrangements for his departure the following day, and asked Tufnell about the trains.
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