While the terrible drama of discovery was in progress on one side of the door, trivial questions about the amusements of Venice, and facetious discussions on the relative merits of French and Italian cookery, were proceeding on the other. Little by little, the sound of the talking grew fainter. The visitors, having arranged their plans of amusement for the day, were on their way out of the hotel.
In a minute or two, there was silence once more.
Henry turned to the window, thinking to relieve his mind by looking at the bright view over the canal. He soon grew wearied of the familiar scene. The morbid fascination which seems to be exercised by all horrible sights, drew him back again to the ghastly object on the floor.
Dream or reality, how had Agnes survived the sight of it?
As the question passed through his mind, he noticed for the first time something lying on the floor near the head. Looking closer, he perceived a thin little plate of gold, with three false teeth attached to it, which had apparently dropped out (loosened by the shock)when the manager let the head fall on the floor.
The importance of this discovery, and the necessity of not too readily communicating it to others, instantly struck Henry.
Here surely was a chance--if any chance remained--of identifying the shocking relic of humanity which lay before him, the dumb witness of a crime! Acting on this idea, he took possession of the teeth, purposing to use them as a last means of inquiry when other attempts at investigation had been tried and had failed.
He went back again to the window: the solitude of the room began to weigh on his spirits. As he looked out again at the view, there was a soft knock at the door. He hastened to open it--and checked himself in the act. A doubt occurred to him. Was it the manager who had knocked? He called out, 'Who is there?'
The voice of Agnes answered him. 'Have you anything to tell me, Henry?'
He was hardly able to reply. 'Not just now,' he said, confusedly.
'Forgive me if I don't open the door. I will speak to you a little later.'
The sweet voice made itself heard again, pleading with him piteously.
'Don't leave me alone, Henry! I can't go back to the happy people downstairs.'
How could he resist that appeal? He heard her sigh--he heard the rustling of her dress as she moved away in despair. The very thing that he had shrunk from doing but a few minutes since was the thing that he did now!
He joined Agnes in the corridor. She turned as she heard him, and pointed, trembling, in the direction of the closed room.
'Is it so terrible as that?' she asked faintly.
He put his arm round her to support her. A thought came to him as he looked at her, waiting in doubt and fear for his reply.
'You shall know what I have discovered,' he said, 'if you will first put on your hat and cloak, and come out with me.'
She was naturally surprised. 'Can you tell me your object in going out?' she asked.
He owned what his object was unreservedly. 'I want, before all things,' he said, 'to satisfy your mind and mine, on the subject of Montbarry's death. I am going to take you to the doctor who attended him in his illness, and to the consul who followed him to the grave.'
Her eyes rested on Henry gratefully. 'Oh, how well you understand me!' she said. The manager joined them at the same moment, on his way up the stairs. Henry gave him the key of the room, and then called to the servants in the hall to have a gondola ready at the steps.
'Are you leaving the hotel?' the manager asked. 'In search of evidence,'
Henry whispered, pointing to the key. 'If the authorities want me, I shall be back in an hour.'
