“This is some idle yarn, made to gain time; no matter, speak; I will listen.”

The workman darted a defiant glance at Christian.

“Give me your word of honor to let me go afterward.”

“If I do not do so, are you not at liberty to repeat your story?” replied the Baron, who, in spite of his curiosity, would not give his word to a scoundrel whose only aim probably was to escape justice.

This observation impressed Lambernier, who, after a moment’s reflection, assumed a strange attitude of cool assurance, considering the position in which he found himself.  Not a sound was to be heard; even the barking of the dogs in the distance had ceased.  The deepest silence surrounded them; even Gerfaut, in the place where he was concealed, could no longer see them, now that Bergenheim had left the edge of the cliff; from time to time their voices reached him, but he could not distinguish the meaning of their words.

Leaning with one hand upon his gun, Christian waited for the carpenter to begin his story, gazing at him with his clear, piercing eyes.  Lambernier bore this glance without flinching, returning it in his insolent way.

“You know, Monsieur, that when the alterations were made in Madame’s apartment, I had charge of the carving for her chamber.  When I took away the old woodwork, I saw that the wall between the windows was constructed out of square, and I asked Madame if she wished that the panel should be fastened like the other or if she preferred it to open so that it would make a closet.  She said to have it open by means of a secret spring.  So I made the panel with concealed hinges and a little button hidden in the lower part of the woodwork; it only needs to be pressed, after turning it to the right, and the woodwork will open like a door.”

Christian had now become extremely attentive.

“Monsieur will remember that he was in Nancy at the time, and that Madame’s chamber was completed during his absence.  As I was the only one who worked in this room, the other workmen not being capable of carving the wood as Madame wished, I was the only person who knew that the panel was not nailed down the length of the wall.”

“Well?” asked the Baron, impatiently.

“Well,” Lambernier replied, in a careless tone, “if, on account of the blow which I gave the coachman, it is necessary for me to appear in court, I shall be obliged to tell, in order to revenge myself, what I saw in that closet not more than a month ago.”

“Finish your story,” exclaimed Bergenheim, as he clenched the handle of his gun.

“Mademoiselle Justine took me into this room in order to hang some curtains; as I needed some nails, she went out to get them.  While I was examining the woodwork, which I had not seen since it had been put in place, I saw that the oak had warped in one place because it was not dry enough when it was used.  I wished to see if the same thing had happened between the windows, and if the panel could open.  I pressed the spring, and when the door opened I saw a small package of letters upon the little shelf; it seemed very singular to me that Madame should choose this place to keep her letters, and the thought came to me that she wished to conceal them from Monsieur.”