"The axe might help us to find a passage," I said, "if there is one; but
why, simply because your dog scratches the wall, persist in believing
that John Mauprat, or the man who resembles him, could not have come in
and gone out by the door?"

"Come in, if you like," replied Marcasse, "but gone out--no, on my
honour! For, as the servant came down I was on the staircase brushing my
boots. As soon as I heard something fall here, I rushed up quickly three
stairs at a time, and found that it was you--like a corpse, stretched
out on the floor, very ill; no one inside nor outside, on my honour!

"In that case, then, I must have dreamt of my fiend of an uncle, and the
servant must have dreamt of the black cloak; for it is pretty certain
that there is no secret door here; and even if there were one, and all
the Mauprats, living and dead, knew the secret of it, what were that to
us? Do we belong to the police that we should hunt out these wretched
creatures? And if by chance we found them hidden somewhere, should we
not help them to escape, rather than hand them over to justice? We are
armed; we need not be afraid that they will assassinate us to-night; and
if they amuse themselves by frightening us, my word, woe betide them!
I have no eye for either relatives or friends when I am startled in my
sleep. So come, let us attack the omelette that these good people my
tenants are preparing for us; for if we continue knocking and scratching
the walls they will think we are mad."

Marcasse yielded from a sense of duty rather than from conviction. He
seemed to attach great importance to the discovery of this mystery, and
to be far from easy in his mind. He was unwilling to let me remain alone
in the haunted room, and pretended that I might fall ill again and have