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Waiting
for
no
more
,
I
turned
and
ran
up
the
path
to
the
shed
.
The
two
men
on
guard
there
stood
aside
to
let
me
pass
and
,
filled
with
excitement
,
I
entered
.
The
light
was
dim
,
the
place
was
a
mere
rough
wooden
erection
to
keep
old
pots
and
tools
in
.
I
had
entered
impetuously
,
but
on
the
threshold
I
checked
myself
,
fascinated
by
the
spectacle
before
me
.
Giraud
was
on
his
hands
and
knees
,
a
pocket
torch
in
his
hand
with
which
he
was
examining
every
inch
of
the
ground
.
He
looked
up
with
a
frown
at
my
entrance
,
then
his
face
relaxed
a
little
in
a
sort
of
good
-
humoured
contempt
.
“
Ah
,
c
’
est
l
’
Anglais
!
Enter
then
.
Let
us
see
what
you
can
make
of
this
affair
.
”
Rather
stung
by
his
tone
,
I
stooped
my
head
,
and
passed
in
.
“
There
he
is
,
”
said
Giraud
,
flashing
his
torch
to
the
far
corner
.
I
stepped
across
.
The
dead
man
lay
straight
upon
his
back
.
He
was
of
medium
height
,
swarthy
of
complexion
,
and
possibly
about
fifty
years
of
age
.
He
was
neatly
dressed
in
a
dark
blue
suit
,
well
cut
and
probably
made
by
an
expensive
tailor
,
but
not
new
.
His
face
was
terribly
convulsed
,
and
on
his
left
side
,
just
over
the
heart
,
the
hilt
of
a
dagger
stood
up
,
black
and
shining
.
I
recognized
it
.
It
was
the
same
dagger
I
had
seen
reposing
in
the
glass
jar
the
preceding
morning
!
“
I
’
m
expecting
the
doctor
any
minute
,
”
explained
Giraud
.
“
Although
we
hardly
need
him
.
There
’
s
no
doubt
what
the
man
died
of
.
He
was
stabbed
to
the
heart
,
and
death
must
have
been
pretty
well
instantaneous
.
”
“
When
was
it
done
?
Last
night
?
”
