"There's nobody in the house," he said, "or, if he is he's so cleverly
hidden, that we haven't been able to find him--that is so far. Perhaps
Madame here can tell us something."

"I know nothing," she said, "but if I knew anything I would not tell it
to you."

The sergeant smiled sourly, but Dick said:

"We must look again. The man could not have escaped with the guard that
we've set around the house."

The sergeant and his men made another search. They penetrated every
place in which a human being could possibly hide. They thrust their
rifle barrels up the chimneys, and they turned down the bed covers,
but again they found nothing. Dick meanwhile remained as before in the
large room, covertly watching the woman, lest she give a signal to the
rifleman who must be somewhere.

All the while the perfume of the roses was growing stronger and more
penetrating, a light wind that had sprung up bringing it through the open
window. It thrilled Dick in some singular manner, and the strangeness of
the scene heightened its effect. It was like standing in a room in a dim
old castle to which he had been brought as a prisoner, while the terrible
old woman was his jailer. Then the click of the knitting needles brought
him back to the present and reality, but reality itself, despite the
sunshine and the perfume of the roses, was heavy and oppressive.

Dick apparently was looking from the window at the garden, brilliant with
flowers, but in fact he was closely watching the woman out of the corner