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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
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CHATEAU MORT d'aMOUR
I
but the artist had acquired a habit of swift upward glance while painting, and one of these surprised an expression of infinite cunning on the Sacristan's face.
The man was lying!
Trevor rose abruptly.
The man who had been engaged in the cultivation of double violets, who had spent most of his life as custodian of the vestments of a church, might be intelligent and devoted to the interests of his present employer, but he was not an athlete.
Trevor caught the man by the collar with his right hand, relieved him of his keys with the left, and proceeded to march him over the bridge. The Sacristan struggled angrily, but made no outcry. At the door of the chateau he refused stubbornly to indicate the key which should admit them, but it was easily found, and they entered, Trevor keeping a viselike grip on the other's collar. They traversed a large hall with a groined roof, probably used as a receptionroom — all doors leading from it were wide open and the furniture bore evi
dence of preparation for use — and reached a corridor leading to an ancient portion, which had once formed part of the tower. There they found a locked door. Again there was a struggle. The Sacristan made a desperate effort to recover his keys, but the American shook all the ambition out of him. The door was unlocked and they entered. The room was not a cell; it was handsomely furnished and lighted by a balconied window overlooking the lake, but escape from it would have been difficult, if not impossible. It had been fitted in comparative luxury, had been recently occupied, and, across the back of a chair, was hung the satin gown worn by Stephanie when posing for her portrait.
Trevor uttered a cry of triumph and dragged the Sacristan to the window.
On the narrow balcony, clad in her yachting suit, her head bowed in her arms, sat Stephanie Boyne.
She rose at the sound of Trevor's voice, smiled faintly and extended her hand.