Was I dreaming, or did I really see now a dark line--the width of a
hair--between the massive double doors of the clock case? Oh, how my
pulses throbbed!
That dark line was widening perceptibly. The doors were slowly
opening! For the moment I almost felt in sympathy with the blackguard
who was on the watch with me. His agitation must have been the most
exquisite torture.
Now we could distinctly see the glimmer of white paper--not pressed
down by the ponderous weights, but lying loosely just inside the
doors; and anon, as the aperture widened, the papers fell out just at
my feet.
With a smothered, gurgling exclamation which I will not attempt to
describe, the Marquis literally fell on that paper, like a hungry wild
beast upon its prey. He was on his knees before me, and I could see
that the paper was a square envelope, which, with a trembling hand, he
tore open.
It contained a short document whereon the signature “Amédé de
Terhoven” was clearly visible. It was the confession of forgery made
by the young Marquis just a year ago; there were also a few
bank-notes: some hundred thousand francs, perhaps. The young man threw
them furiously aside, and once more turned to the clock. The doors
were wide open, but they revealed nothing save the huge and
complicated mechanism of the clock.