he hall, in order to make doubly sure whence the
terrified scream came.

Then he heard it again, louder and shriller than before. There was a
dreadful note of fear in it. It was the scream of a woman.

As he stood there trying to locate the direction of the cry, a servant
bearing a lantern in his hand ran toward him. The man was unarmed,
apparently.

"What is that?" Paul demanded of him. But the man merely shrugged his
shoulders.

Then there came the scream again, louder and more terror-stricken than
before. Paul did not hesitate.

Before the servant had time to utter any protest he had snatched the
lantern from his hand and was racing up the third flight to the
topmost landing.

Again came the scream, and Paul suddenly found his way barred by a
door across the corridor.

Now there was no longer any doubt as to where the cries came from.
Paul dashed at the door, only to find it locked. In a second he had
his shoulder against the panel, and the door went in with a crash,
disclosing a small anteroom, formed by the end of the hall-way. And
then Paul saw before him another door, before which stood the fat
Frenchman, Virot, with a shining knife in his hand. Paul covered him
with his revolver.

"Drop that knife," he ordered.

"Not me!" said the portly rogue.

"Drop it!" said Paul again, with an unmistakable threat in his voice.

And this time the man dropped it.

"Now," Paul cried, "away with you, before I send you to hell before
your time."

Virot smiled in appreciation of the compliment, and at once started
down the hall as fast as his short legs could carry him. The rascal
was always careful of his precious skin.

Paul turned the handle of the door, only to find, as he had expected,
that the key on the inner side had been turned and he groaned within
himself. He was living in some awful nightmare at which a door faced
him at every turn.

He emptied his revolver in the lock and hurled himself in frenzy
against this further obstruction. It gave way, and he tottered into
the room, the lights of which for a moment dazzled him.

His half-blinded eyes were greeted by the sight which he had dreaded
ever since he had come to the farm on the hill.

Natalie was fighting desperately, and for life, with Boris.

With a great cry Paul leapt forward, but he was too late to exercise
that vengeance which had now full possession of his soul.

Boris flung Natalie to one side, and for a second turned his pallid
face