He heard a step crossing the lobby softly toward his own room, and whispered,
"Who's there?"
"Jacques Duval, at Monsieur's service."
Monsieur took his candle, and crossed the floor to meet Jacques, who was approaching, and he signed to him to stop. He looked at his watch. It was now twenty minutes past one.
"Jacques," said he, in a whisper, "there's no mistake about those sounds?"
"No, Monsieur, not at all."
"Three nights running, you say?"
"Monsieur is perfectly right."
"Steps, you say?"
"Yes, sir, footsteps."