of things, what plan could he have in mind except his invariable plan of murder?
"Faster!" cried Don Luis. "We're making no headway. Go faster, can't you?"
Florence murdered! Perhaps the crime was not yet accomplished. No, it could not be! Killing takes time. It is preceded by words, by the offer of a bargain, by threats, by entreaties, by a wholly unspeakable scene. But the thing was being prepared, Florence was going to die!
Florence was going to die by the hand of the brute who loved her. For he loved her: Don Luis had an intuition of that monstrous love; and he was bound to believe that such a love could only end in torture and bloodshed.
Sablé … Sillé-le-Guillaume.…
The earth sped beneath them. The trees and houses glided by like shadows.
And then Alençon.
It was hardly more than a quarter to two when they landed in a meadow between the town and Damigni. Don Luis made inquiries. A number of motor cars had passed along the road to Damigni, including a small limousine driven by a gentleman who had turned down a crossroad. And this crossroad led to the woods at the back of Langernault's estate, the Old Castle.
Don Luis's conviction was so firm that, after taking leave of Davanne, he helped him to start on his homeward flight. He had no further need of him. He needed nobody. The final duel was at hand.
He ran along, guided by the tracks of the tires in the dust, and followed the crossroad. To his great surprise
