Dupree followed her into the spacious foyer. “The stench. I realized I’d be here for a few days. There was no sense despoiling the air and making my stay unpleasant. You know, I’ve thought a good deal about you since we parted company. I truly valued our acquaintance.”
“I understood you set a price on it.”
Dupree chuckled as he nudged her with the pistol in the direction of the large salon to the left of the foyer. “What a clever child you are. Yes, I couldn’t bear to part company without attempting to have you returned to me. Tell me, what was the name of the chit who escaped with you?”
Juliette didn’t answer.
“Loyalty. What a splendid virtue. But I shall findher, you know. She left a trinket behind with an excellent likeness.”
Juliette stiffened. “The locket?”
“I only recently discovered the miniature, but on my return I shall find good use for it.”
They entered the dining salon and Juliette paused just inside the door. She scarcely remembered this room. They had been there only a few months, and she had always been fed her meals upstairs in the nursery. The long, gleaming mahogany table was intricately carved in a floral design and the twenty mahogany chairs cushioned in crimson brocade. A handsome mahogany sideboard occupied one side of the room and a chest carved with the same artistry as the long table rested beside the two long doors opening onto the veranda.
“Isn’t it a splendid room?” Dupree nudged her toward the doors at the far end of the room. “I’ve spent many happy hours here.” He set the lantern on the table and threw open the doors. “Come. Let’s look at this magnificent view of the town.” He pulled her out to stand before the low stone balustrade and Juliette stared down the steep, stony hill at the lights of Andorra some two hundred feet below.
“Where is my mother?”
He smiled at her. “Don’t you hear her? I do. Listen.”
She heard nothing but the rustle of the wind through the pine trees marching down the hill.
No, the rustle wasn’t coming from the trees but from the dining salon.
She slowly turned her head and looked back toward the French doors.
“Yes,” Dupree said softly. “She’s waiting for you.” His hand closed on her arm and he pushed her back toward the dining salon, stopping inside the doors. “Now, let your ears guide you.”
The rustle came again, louder, closer.
From the elaborately carved chest to the left of the veranda doors.
The mahogany chest measured five feet long byfour feet high and gleamed with dark beauty in the flickering light of the candle.
The rustle came again, like autumn leaves blown by the wind.
“Open it.” Dupree’s eyes fixed eagerly on her face. “She’s waiting.”
Juliette swallowed and moved leadenly to stand before the chest.
The rustle came again.
Dupree motioned with the pistol.
She slowly reached down and raised the lid.
She screamed.
She slammed the lid down.
“What the—” Dupree’s strangled shout behind her jarred her out of the stupor of horror into which she had been hurled by what she had just seen. She whirled as Jean Marc, his arm around Dupree’s neck, dragged the man through the open doorway out onto the veranda.
Dupree’s eyes bulged from his head as he attempted to get his breath. He tried to lift the pistol, but Jean Marc’s hand tightened around him and then jerked the pistol from his hand as he dragged him toward the stone balustrade.
Dupree turned his head and glared at Jean Marc. “I’ve seen you before at the convention. You’re Andreas. I’ll remember you. I won’t forget—”
“Remember me in hell.” Jean Marc pressed the gun to Dupree’s side and pulled the trigger.
