I remained absolutely still, scarcely moving an eyelid as I watched the face of the clock, the minutes speeding on--now three--now five--now ten---- I could hear the Marquis’ stertorous breathing close beside me. Was I dreaming, or did I really see now a dark line--the width of a hair--between the massive double doors of the clock case? Oh, how my pulses throbbed! That dark line was widening perceptibly. The doors were slowly opening! For the moment I almost felt in sympathy with the blackguard who was on the watch with me. His agitation must have been the most exquisite torture. Now we could distinctly see the glimmer of white paper--not pressed down by the ponderous weights, but lying loosely just inside the doors; and anon, as the aperture widened, the papers fell out just at my feet. With a smothered, gurgling exclamation which I will not attempt to describe, the Marquis literally fell on that paper, like a hungry wild beast upon its prey. He was on his knees before me, and I could see that the paper was a square envelope, which, with a trembling hand, he tore open. It contained a short document whereon the signature “Amédé de Terhoven” was clearly visible. It was the confession of forgery made by the young Marquis just a year ago; there were also a few bank-notes: some hundred thousand francs, perhaps. The young man threw them furiously aside, and once more turned to the clock. The doors were wide open, but they revealed nothing save the huge and complicated mechanism of the clock. Mademoiselle de Genneville--eccentric and far-seeing [IMAGE: images/img164.jpg CAPTION: “Now we could distinctly see the glimmer of white paper”] to the last--had played this gigantic hoax on her scheming relatives. Whilst they directed all their unscrupulous energies towards trying to obtain possession of her will in one place, she had calmly put it securely somewhere else. Meantime, Monsieur le Marquis had sufficient presence of mind, and, I must own, sufficient dignity, not only to release me from my bonds but also to offer me the fifty thousand francs which he had promised me. “I can wind up the clock now,” he said dully, “and you can walk straight out of this place. No one need know that you impersonated your friend. She, no doubt, knew of this--hoax; therefore we found the scheme to keep her out of the way so easy of accomplishment. It was a grisly joke, wasn’t it? How the old witch must be chortling in her grave!” Needless to say, I did not take his money. He escorted me downstairs silently, subdued, no doubt, by the spirit of hatred which had followed him up from the land of shadows. He even showed no surprise when, on reaching the hall, he was met by his late aunt’s lawyer, Maître Vendôme, and also by Lady Molly, who had just arrived. Madame la Marquise de Terhoven was nowhere to be seen. My dear lady smiled at me approvingly, and when I came near her she contrived to draw me aside and to whisper hurriedly: