"But the man, Fritz, the man!" exclaimed Pierre, Lamont. "I am still in ignorance as to who this strange, nocturnal visitor can be."
"There lies the pith of my dream. If I were to tell you that this man who makes his way secretly into the grounds in the darkness of the night--who is closeted with the Advocate for an hour at least--who is treated to wine and cake--who is presented with money, and grumblingly asks for more, and gets it--if I were to tell you that this man is Gautran, who was tried for the murder of Madeline, the flower-girl, and who was set free by the Advocate--what would you say, Master Lamont?"
"I should say," replied Pierre Lamont with some difficulty controlling his excitement, "that you were mad, fool Fritz."
"Nevertheless," said Fritz with great composure, "it is so. I have related my dream as it occurred. The man was Gautran and no other. Can you explain that to me in one word?"
"No," said Pierre Lamont, gazing sharply at Fritz. "You are not fooling me, Fritz?"
"If it were my last word it would make no difference. I have told you the truth."
"I was in the court every day of the trial, and there is no chance of my being mistaken. See here, Master Lamont. I can do many things that would surprise people. I can draw faces. Give me a pencil and some paper."
With a few rapid strokes he produced the very image of Pierre Lamont, sitting up in bed, with thin, cadaverous face, with high forehead and large nose; even the glitter of the old lawyer's eyes was depicted. Pierre Lamont examined the portrait with admiration.
"I am proud of you, Fritz," he said; "you have the true artist's touch."
Fritz was busy with the pencil again. "Who may this be?" he asked, holding another sketch before Pierre Lamont.
"The Advocate. To the life, Fritz, to the life."
"This is also to the life," said Fritz, producing a third portrait. "This is Gautran. It is all I can draw, Master Lamont--human faces; I could do it when I was a boy. There is murder in Gautran's face; there was murder in the words I heard him speak as I followed him: 'Is not one killing enough for you?' There is only one meaning to such words. I leave you to puzzle it all out, Master Lamont. You have a wise head; I am a fool. Mother Denise may be right, after all, when she said--not knowing I was within hearing--that it was an evil day when my lady, the Advocate's wife, set foot in the grounds of the House of White Shadows. But it is no business of mine; only I must look after my peach, or it may suddenly be spirited away on a broomstick. Unholy work, Master Lamont, unholy work! What do you say to letting Father Capel into the mystery?"