"Yes, perhaps," said M. Lenormand, "perhaps . . . But I have another idea."
They followed the circuit of the wall. It was a bright night; and, though their two forms were hardly distinguishable, they themselves could see enough to examine the stones of the walls and to convince themselves that no breach, however skilful, had been effected.
"A ladder, very likely?" suggested Gourel.
"No, because Gertrude is able to get out in broad daylight. A communication of the kind I mean can evidently not end out of doors. The entrance must be concealed by some building already in existence."
"There are only the four garden-houses," objected Gourel, "and they are all inhabited."
"I beg your pardon: the third, the Pavillon Hortense, is not inhabited."
"Who told you so?"
"The porter. Mrs. Kesselbach hired this house, which is near her own, for fear of the noise. Who knows but that, in so doing, she acted under Gertrude's influence?"
He walked round the house in question. The shutters were closed. He lifted the latch of the door, on the off-chance; the door opened.
"Ah, Gourel, I think we've struck it! Let's go in. Light your lantern. . . . Oh, the hall. . . . the drawing-room . . . the dining-room . . . that's no use. There must be a basement, as the kitchen is not on this floor."