loor, an object which he recognized as a candlestick--an overturned
candlestick. A moment later, his hand encountered another object:
a clock--one of those small traveling clocks, covered with leather.
-------

Well! What had happened? He could not understand. That candlestick, that
clock; why were those articles not in their accustomed places? Ah! what
had happened in the dread silence of the night?

Suddenly a cry escaped him. He had touched--oh! some strange,
unutterable thing! "No! no!" he thought, "it cannot be. It is some
fantasy of my excited brain." For twenty seconds, thirty seconds, he
remained motionless, terrified, his forehead bathed with perspiration,
and his fingers still retained the sensation of that dreadful contact.

Making a desperate effort, he ventured to extend his arm again. Once
more, his hand encountered that strange, unutterable thing. He felt
it. He must feel it and find out what it is. He found that it was hair,
human hair, and a human face; and that face was cold, almost icy.

However frightful the circumstances may be, a man like Arsene Lupin
controls himself and commands the situation as soon as he learns what it
is. So, Arsene Lupin quickly brought his lantern into use. A woman
was lying before him, covered with blood. Her neck and shoulders
were covered with gaping wounds. He leaned over her and made a closer
examination. She was dead.

"Dead! Dead!" he repeated, with a bewildered air.

He stared at those fixed eyes, that grim mouth, that livid flesh,
and that blood--all that blood which had flowed over the carpet and
congealed there in thick, black spots. He arose and turned on the
electric lights. Then he beheld all the marks of a desperate struggle.
The bed was in a state of great disorder. On the floor, the candlestick,
and the clock, with the hands pointing to twenty minutes after eleven;
then, further away, an overturned chair; and, everywhere, there was
blood, spots of blood and pools of blood.

"And the black pearl?" he murmured.

The box of letter-paper was in its place. He opened it, eagerly. The
jewel-case was there, but it was empty.

"Fichtre!" he muttered. "You boasted of your good fortune much too soon,
my friend Lupin. With the countess lying cold and dead, and the black
pearl vanished, the situation is anything but pleasant. Get out of here
as soon as you can, or you may get into serious trouble."

Yet, he did not move.

"Get out of here? Yes, of course. An