Dorothy had formed the plan of taking advantage of the maid's weekly evening out to knock at the door and question Juliet Assire. But Fortune decided otherwise. The door was not locked, and when she stepped over the threshold of the low and comfortable sitting-room, she perceived the old lady asleep in the lamplight, her head bent over the canvas which she was engaged in embroidering.
"Suppose I look for it?" thought Dorothy. "What's the use of asking her questions she won't answer?"
She looked round her, examined the prints hanging on the wall, the clock under its glass case, the candlesticks.
Further on an inner staircase led up to the bedrooms. She was moving towards it when the door creaked. On the instant she was certain that d'Estreicher was about to appear. Had he followed her?... Had he by any chance brought her there by a combination of machinations? She was frightened and thought only of flight.... The staircase? The rooms on the first floor.... She hadn't the time! Near her was a glass door.... Doubtless it led to the kitchen.... And from there to the back door through which she could escape.
She went through it and at once found out her mistake. She was in a dark closet, a cupboard rather, against the boards of which she had to flatten herself before she could get the door shut. She found herself a prisoner.
At that moment the door of the room opened, very quietly. Two men came cautiously into it; and immediately one of them whispered:
"The old woman's asleep."
Through the glass, which was covered by a torn curtain, Dorothy easily recognized d'Estreicher, in spite of his turned-up coat-collar and the flaps of his cap, which were tied under his chin. His confederate in like manner had hidden half his face in a muffler.
"That damsel does make you play the fool," he said.
"Play the fool? Not a bit of it!" growled d'Estreicher. "I'm keeping an eye on her, that's all."