to the
passage. The last man closed the door noiselessly, locked it, and
removed the key. A panel of light shone upon the wall a few paces
ahead. The door of the lighted room was open. As Ricardo stepped
silently past it, he looked in. It was a parlour meanly furnished.
Hanaud touched him on the arm and pointed to the table.

Ricardo had seen the objects at which Hanaud pointed often enough
without uneasiness; but now, in this silent house of crime, they had
the most sinister and appalling aspect. There was a tiny phial half
full of a dark-brown liquid, beside it a little leather case lay open,
and across the case, ready for use or waiting to be filled, was a
bright morphia needle. Ricardo felt the cold creep along his spine, and
shivered.

"Come," whispered Hanaud.

They reached the foot of a flight of stairs, and cautiously mounted it.
They came out in a passage which ran along the side of the house from
the back to the front. It was unlighted, but they were now on the level
of the street, and a fan-shaped glass window over the front door
admitted a pale light. There was a street lamp near to the door,
Ricardo remembered. For by the light of it Marthe Gobin had seen Celia
Harland run so nimbly into this house.

For a moment the men in the passage held their breath. Some one strode
heavily by on the pavement outside--to Mr. Ricardo's ear a most
companionable sound. Then a clock upon a church struck the half-hour
musically, distantly. It was half-past eight. And a second afterwards a
tiny bright light shone. Hanaud was directing the light of a pocket
electric torch to the next flight of stairs.

Here the steps were carpeted, and once more the men crept up. One after
another they came out upon the next landing. It ran, like those below
it, along the side of the house from the back to the front, and the
doors were all upon their left hand. From beneath the door nearest to
them a yellow line of light streamed out.

They stood in the darkness listening. But not a sound came from behind
the door. Was this room empty, too? In each one's mind was the fear
that the birds had flown. Lemerre carefully took the handle of the door
and turned it. Very slowly and cautiously he opened the door. A strong
light beat out through the widening gap upon his face. And then, though
his feet did not move, his shoulders and his face drew back. The action
was significant enough. This room, at all events, was not empty. But of
what Lemerr