"Is there a cellar?"
"No, there's no cellar. But that has not stopped our searching, and
has not prevented the examining magistrate and his Registrar from
studying the floor plank by plank, as if there had been a cellar
under it."
The reporter then reappeared. His eyes were sparkling and his
nostrils quivered. He remained on his hands and knees. He could
not be better likened than to an admirable sporting dog on the
scent of some unusual game. And, indeed, he was scenting the steps
of a man,--the man whom he has sworn to report to his master, the
manager of the "Epoque." It must not be forgotten that Rouletabille
was first and last a journalist.
Thus, on his hands and knees, he made his way to the four corners
of the room, so to speak, sniffing and going round everything
--everything that we could see, which was not much, and everything
that we could not see, which must have been infinite.
The toilette table was a simple table standing on four legs; there
was nothing about it by which it could possibly be changed into a
temporary hiding-place.
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