A long corridor with several turns and bordered with little numbered rooms led to a door that was not locked. On the other side of this door and, therefore, in another house there was another corridor with similar turns and similar rooms, and at the end of it a servants’ stairway. Ganimard descended it, crossed a court and a vestibule and found himself in the rue Picot. Then he understood the situation: the two houses, built the entire depth of the lots, touched at the rear, while the fronts of the houses faced upon two streets that ran parallel to each other at a distance of more than sixty metres apart.
He found the concierge and, showing his card, enquired:
“Did four men pass here just now?”
“Yes; the two servants from the fourth and fifth floors, with two friends.”
“Who lives on the fourth and fifth floors?”
“Two men named Fauvel and their cousins, whose name is Provost. They moved to-day, leaving the two servants, who went away just now.”
“Ah!” thought Ganimard; “what a grand opportunity we have missed! The entire band lived in these houses.”
And he sank down on a chair in despair.
Forty minutes later two gentlemen were driven up to the station of the Northern Railway and hurried to the Calais express, followed by a porter who carried their valises. One of them had his arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face denoted some illness. The other man was in a jovial mood.