“I am decidedly pleased with this room, and if you see no objection, I wish to stay here and await the visitors of tonight?”

“You think of sleeping here alone?”

“Alone! Decidedly I do! It is pretty certain that these men know every inch of your flat; and if they are the sort I take them to be, they will make certain that everything here is as usual before attempting to attack the Bank. I do not wish them to be frightened off by finding a companion in the room, and I particularly wish them to mistake me for you.”

“But that is frightfully dangerous, surely?” objected Nanteuil.

“Reassure yourself, monsieur, I do not run any great risk. They won’t know I am watching them; but I shall have this advantage over them – I am on the look out for these evil assassins and robbers, and I do not fear them in the slightest.”

Fandor was not going to admit that he knew there was danger; but he was keenly set on running this particular risk, for, by so doing, might he not finally discover the truth?

When the bankers left him for the night, Fandor again examined every corner of the room and all it contained. He tested the electric light switch; he took a mental photograph of the position of the pieces of furniture.

He got into bed, half dressed, and lay quietly grasping his revolver, which was fully loaded.

He switched off the light, and in that large room, veiled in darkness, he awaited the events of the night.

Noises from the street reached him indistinctly. The silence about him was menacing: something was going to happen here, something sudden, unforeseen, perhaps irremediable.

Minute by minute, time went by, interminable, monotonous, casting a soft veil of sleep over the eyes of Fandor. But thoughts were rising within him: more and more keenly he was realising the horrible danger he was exposing himself to. Beneath closed eyes his brain was active, his imagination afire.

Elizabeth Dollon must be avenged, was his persistent thought. Consequently I must run some risks to achieve that end...

A definite fear tormented him. He thought of the curious sleep Elizabeth had fallen victim to in the boarding house. Provided I have not taken some narcotic without knowing it... Suppose the villains are going to inject into the room some gas which would suffocate me, and I should not know I was breathing it in? Suppose I lose consciousness and slip into death?

But Fandor drew himself together; he stiffened his will.

Do they know I am in this room waiting to entrap them? Do they think they will find Nanteuil here defenceless? Who was that workman?... I ought to be able to put a name to that familiar face...

How slow, how deadly slow, the tick-tock, tick-tock, of the timepiece... Centuries passed between the striking of the hours... Would it be tonight?... Tomorrow night?... Or....