"Don't stir, chief; we are in Pierre Leduc's dressing-room. I am opening the door of the recess in which his bed stands. . . . Don't be afraid . . . he has taken his veronal as he does every evening . . . nothing can wake him. Come this way. . . . It's a good hiding-place, isn't it? . . . These are the curtains of his bed. . . . From here you can see the window and the whole side of the room between the window and the bed."
The casement stood open and admitted a vague light, which became very precise at times, when the moon burst through her veil of clouds. The two men did not take their eyes from the empty window-frame, feeling certain that the event which they were awaiting would come from that side.
A slight, creaking noise . . .
"He is climbing the trellis," whispered Gourel.
"Is it high?"
"Six feet or so."
The creaking became more distinct.
"Go, Gourel," muttered M. Lenormand, "find the Doudevilles, bring them back to the foot of the wall and bar the road to any one who tries to get down this way."
Gourel went. At the same moment, a head appeared at the level of the window. Then a leg was flung over the balcony. M. Lenormand distinguished a slenderly-built man, below the middle height, dressed in dark colours and without a hat.
The man turned and, leaning over the balcony, looked for a few seconds into space, as though to make sure that no danger threatened him. Then he stooped down and lay at full length on the floor. He appeared motionless. But soon M. Lenormand realized that the still blacker shadow which he formed against the surrounding darkness was coming forward, nearer.