ntrance, the
only one with double doors. He seized the heavy iron bar placed across
the door and worked it loose. He drew the two leaves of the door towards
him; and, although it had been locked as usual, he effected his escape,
after a considerable trial of strength.

Out on the stairs, lighted taper in hand, the laughing Fandor closed the
two leaves of the door with the utmost care, and went forward whistling
a marching tune. His objective was a certain little staircase leading to
the top story of the Palais, and this he mounted with vigorous
determination. There was no likelihood of chance encounters, for there
was not a soul in the vast building: the police were making their rounds
outside it. Our adventurous journalist did not make his way upwards with
stealthy tread--there was no need for that. Having gained the top floor,
he went straight to a corner where an ebony ladder was ensconced, a
ladder which had long been the joy and pride of the grand master of this
part of the Palais, the amiable Monsieur Peter.

"Pretty heavy!" grumbled Fandor, as he carried it upwards. Under the
roof he caught sight of a skylight, rested his ebony ladder against it,
and climbed briskly on to the roof.

From thence Fandor had a view that was fairy-like. Spread out in the
distance were the sparkling lights of Paris. He was divided from them by
the vast mass of roofs about him, by a gulf of empty space, and beyond,
by a dark blur--the two arms of the Seine flowing on either side of the
Palais de Justice.... The mysterious darkness! The fascination of the
sparkling points of light!... Fandor gave himself a mental shake....
This was no moment for dreaming under the stars!

From his pocket he took a tiny, folding dark lantern; from his
pocket-book he drew a paper, which he spread out and proceeded to study.
As he bent over it, he murmured:

"A bit of good luck that I was able to get hold of a complete and
detailed plan of the Palais de Justice! Without it I never could have
found my way among these roofs!"

He examined the plan for some minutes; made a note of various landmarks;
then refolding it, he gained one of the sloping roofs facing the quay of
the Leather Dressers:

"Now," thought Fandor, "I must be just above the Depot! And now to find
out how Jacques Dollon, dead or living, has got out of the Depot! No use
thinking of a window, for the cell has not got one! Fuselier has reason
on his side when he declares that you do not