His own footsteps were quite noiseless.
The wall of the house was on his right, and presently he came to where a broad blur of light fell on the gravelled walk. The sound of several men talking together was clearly audible.
“My God! what double-dyed idiots,” murmured Anthony to himself. “It would serve them right to be given a fright.”
He stole up to the window, stooping a little so that he should not be seen. Presently he lifted his head very carefully to the level of the sill and looked in.
Half a dozen men were sprawling round a table. Four of them were big thickset men, with high cheek-bones, and eyes set in Magyar slanting fashion. The other two were rat-like little men with quick gestures. The language that was being spoken was French, but the four big men spoke it with uncertainty and a hoarse guttural intonation.
“The Boss?” growled one of these. “When will he be here?”
One of the smaller men shrugged his shoulders.
“Any time now.”
“About time, too,” growled the first man. “I have never seen him, this Boss of yours, but, oh, what great and glorious work might we not have accomplished in these days of idle waiting!”
“Fool,” said the other little man bitingly. “Getting nabbed by the police is all the great and glorious work you and your precious lot would have been likely to accomplish. A lot of blundering gorillas?”