“They have just gone.”
“Which way did they go?”
“By the servants’ stairs.”
Sholmes leaned out of the window. He saw two men leaving the house, carrying bicycles. They mounted them and quickly disappeared around the corner.
“How long have they been working on this scaffolding?”
“Those men?... only since this morning. It’s their first day.”
Sholmes returned to the street, and joined Wilson. Together they returned to the hotel, and thus the second day ended in a mournful silence.
On the following day their programme was almost similar. They sat together on a bench in the avenue Henri-Martin, much to Wilson’s disgust, who did not find it amusing to spend long hours watching the house in which the tragedy had occurred.
“What do you expect, Sholmes? That Arsène Lupin will walk out of the house?”
“No.”