"Well!" cried Coucon, "vanished like Miss Jane, like the Vicomte Esperance!"
Hark! Again they heard the strange noise.
Coucon, born and bred in Paris, had read many novels and seen many plays. He at once announced that the house they were in had subterranean passages.
"But there are no doors."
"What of that!"
He dashed from the room, and came back with hammer and chisel!
"What are you going to do?"
"Demolish the house, if necessary."
Madame wrung her hands.
"We shall be forgiven if we make mistakes," said Coucon. "We can do only our best."