The Rat had not waited until the keys arrived. He had swung himself at his swiftest pace back through the streets to No. 7 Philibert Place. People turned and stared at his wild pale face as he almost shot past them.
He had left himself barely breath enough to speak with when he reached the house and banged on the door with his crutch to save time.
Both Loristan and Lazarus came to answer.
The Rat leaned against the door gasping.
"He's found! He's all right!" he panted. "Some one had locked him in a house and left him. They've sent for the keys. I'm going back. Brandon Terrace, No. 10."
Loristan and Lazarus exchanged glances. Both of them were at the moment as pale as The Rat.
"Help him into the house," said Loristan to Lazarus. "He must stay here and rest. We will go." The Rat knew it was an order.
He did not like it, but he obeyed.
"This is a bad sign, Master," said Lazarus, as they went out together.
"It is a very bad one," answered Loristan.