realised that to hide under the bed was impossible: he would be
discovered immediately.... The screen was no better!... There was
Elizabeth's trunk!... Why, it was a kind of monument in wicker work! The
very thing! It was quite big enough to hold him--it was one of those
enormous trunks beloved of women!... To hide in it would be an
excellent trick--a real joke! Let me burrow in there, and see the
stupefaction of these estimable characters when they open it to rummage
about among Elizabeth's belongings and find themselves face to face with
me! They will see besides my sympathetic countenance the stern mouth of
my revolver!... Let us see whether it is a possible hiding place!

Fandor raised the cover and lifted out a top compartment, in which were
scattered, among objects of feminine apparel, papers, books, and all
sorts of things which had evidently belonged to the unfortunate painter.
The distracted Elizabeth, in the hurry of departure from rue Norvins,
must have thrust them in pell-mell. The lower division of the trunk was
empty.

"Another bit of luck!" thought Fandor. "Now to sample my little
hide-hole!"

Fandor found he could get into a fairly comfortable position. Then he
calculated, that with the compartment back in its place and the cover
open, all he had to do to close it was to shake the trunk transversely.
He could certainly remain inside for several hours without intolerable
discomfort.

Raising the cover, Fandor slipped out.

The interminable hours crawled by. To smoke was out of the question.
Fandor's pride in his exploit was sinking to zero: was he passing a
wretched night to no purpose? A violent ring sounded. Someone was
ringing at the garden gate--ringing loudly, insistently--an imperative
summons!

Instantly Fandor was on the alert. Useless to slip to the window and
peer cautiously out, for Elizabeth's window did not face the gate: even
by leaning out he could not catch any glimpse of any visitors, either
coming to the house or passing along towards Madame Bourrat's apartments
in the annex.... Besides, Fandor feared to make a noise, and the
polished boards of the floor cracked and creaked at the least movement!

"The one thing for me to do," thought he, "is to creep back into my
retreat and wait. Now who can it be at this time of night?"

Fandor's curiosity was rapidly satisfied--after a fashion! The call of
the bell had been answered by noises and hurried footsteps, whisperings,
an outburst