The islands can be observed and recognized from afar, for they are of some height. Île Royale is the highest, and rises to about two hundred feet above the sea level. From the mainland it has the appearance, in shape, of an irregular sugar-loaf.
But to return to Chéri-Bibi, whose position was extremely precarious. He had been able to retreat without being observed, but in order to reach his tunnel he would have to cross an open space in which it would be impossible for him to conceal himself. On the other hand, he could not remain where he was, twenty paces from the dog's body, hiding behind a great overhanging rock where the convict guards were bound to discover him.
He heard one of the men who answered the Commandant's call for assistance say:
"There's been a great stir among the convicts since yesterday. The rumor goes that the Parisian Intends to skedaddle."
Now a "deputy-warder" filled the night with his resounding imprecations. . . . Someone had killed his dog, his Tarasque. . . . It must have been Chéri-Bibi who did the deed. Tarasque never allowed anyone to come near him but Chéri-Bibi. . . .
When they heard that he had escaped, or at any rate was attempting to escape, and was at large in the island, the warders began to lose their heads. His escapes were so sensational, and were accompanied by such amazing incidents, that the very thought of it was enough to rob them of their self-control.
They must warn the guard; put the whole garrison on the alert.
The Commandant and the Lieutenant pulled them up. Chéri-Bibi could not be far away.
He had killed the dog a few spaces from the spot where they were standing. That spot was open ground. The scoundrel could not cross it without being detected. And as a logical consequence the Commandant took a step towards the rock which hid Chéri-Bibi from view.
The latter was thinking things out.