But this was not all.  The struggle for life did not account for the condition of other parts of the room.  Papers were scattered over the floor:  the drawers of an old escritoire had been jerked out of place and their contents strewn far and near.  The doors of a wardrobe were open, and a few shabby coats and pairs of trousers thrown about, with the pockets wrong side out or torn in rags.  A chest of drawers had been ransacked, and a narrow, hospital bed stripped of sheets and blankets, the stuffing of the mattress pulled into small pieces.  The room looked as if a whirlwind had swept through it, and as I forced myself to go near the body I saw that it had not been left in peace by the murderer.  The blood-stained coat was open, the pockets of the garments turned out, like those in the wardrobe, and all the clothing disarranged, evidently by hands which searched for something with frenzied haste and merciless determination.

The cunning forethought of the wretched man had availed him nothing.  I could imagine how joyously he had arrived at this house, believing that he had outwitted the enemy.  I pictured his disappointment on not finding the friend who could have helped and supported him.  I saw how he had planned to defend himself in case of siege, by locking and bolting the door (both lock and bolt were broken); I fancied him driven by hunger to search his friend’s quarters for food, and fearfully beginning a supper in the midst of which he had probably been interrupted.  Almost, I could feel the horror with which he must have trembled when steps came along the corridor, when the door was tried and finally broken in by force without any cry of his being heard.  I guessed how he had rushed to the window, opened it, only to stare down at the depths below and return desperately, to stand at bay; to protest to the avengers that he had not the jewels; that he had been deceived; that he was innocent of any intention to defraud them; that he would explain all, make anything right if only they would give him time.

But they had not given him time.  They had punished him for robbing them of the diamonds by robbing him of his life.  They had made him pay with the extreme penalty for his treachery; and yet in the flickering candle-light the stricken face, blood-spattered though it was, seemed to leer slyly, as if in the knowledge that they had been cheated in the end.

The confusion of the room promised badly for my hopes, nevertheless there was a chance that the murderers, intent only on finding the diamonds or some letters relating to their disposal, might, if they found the treaty, have hastily flung it aside, as a thing of no value.

Though the corridors of the house were lit by gas, this room had none, and the lamp being broken, I had to depend upon the bit of candle which might fail while I still had need of it.  I separated it carefully from its bed of grease on the mantel, and as I did so the wavering light touched my hand and shirt cuff.  Both were stained red, and I turned slightly sick at the sight.  There was blood on my brown boots, too, and the grey tweed clothes which I had not had time to change since arriving in Paris.