Then he spoke--in French--in a tone that
imitated the cool irony he had noted in Durand's tone:
"A few murders more or less! But Von Stroebel was hardly a fair mark,
dearest Jules!"
With this he sent the chair clattering down the steps, where it struck
Jules Chauvenet's legs with a force that carried him howling lustily
backward to the second landing.
Armitage turned and sped down the front stairway, hearing renewed clamor
from the rear and cries of rage and pain from the second story. In
fumbling for the front door he found a hat, and, having lost his own,
placed it upon his head, drew his inverness about his shoulders, and went
quickly out. A moment later he slipped the catch in the wall door and
stepped into the boulevard.
The stars were shining among the flying clouds overhead and he drew deep
breaths of the freshened air into his lungs as he walked back to the
Monte Rosa. Occasionally he laughed quietly to himself, for he still
grasped tightly in his hand, safe under his coat, the envelope which
Chauvenet had carried so carefully concealed; and several times Armitage
muttered to himself:
"A few murders, more or less!"
At the hotel he changed his clothes, threw the things from his
dressing-table into a bag, and announced his departure for Paris by
the night express.
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