His face was like the face of a corpse. The one
vestige of colour left in it was a livid purple streak which marked the
course of the scar where his victim had wounded him on the cheek and
neck. Speechless, breathless, motionless alike in eye and limb, it
seemed as if, at the sight of Vendale, the death to which he had doomed
Vendale had struck him where he stood.
"Somebody ought to speak to him," said Maitre Voigt. "Shall I?"
Even at that moment Bintrey persisted in silencing the notary, and in
keeping the lead in the proceedings to himself. Checking Maitre Voigt by
a gesture, he dismissed Marguerite and Vendale in these words:--"The
object of your appearance here is answered," he said. "If you will
withdraw for the present, it may help Mr. Obenreizer to recover himself."
It did help him. As the two passed through the door and closed it behind
them, he drew a deep breath of relief. He looked round him for the chair
from which he had risen, and dropped into it.
"Give him time!" pleaded Maitre Voigt.
"No," said Bintrey. "I don't know what use he may make of it if I do."
He turned once more to Obenreizer, and went on. "I owe it to myself," he
said--"I don't admit, mind, that I owe it to you--to account for my
appearance in these proceedings, and to state what has been done under my
advice, and on my sole responsibility. Can you listen to me?"
"I can listen to you."
"Recall the time when you started for Switzerland with Mr.
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