“What’s to be done with the alarm clock?” he went on. “To leave it will be to betray my having passed this way – but what of it?... In any case, even if this reporting job fails, I shall make a story out of it... and how can they accuse me of stealing if I leave my clock as a gift for his judgeship?”

Laughing, Fandor piled up the law books lying on the desk, and placed the alarm clock on the top; that done, he went to the principal entrance, the only one with double doors. He seized the heavy iron bar placed across the door and worked it loose. He drew the two panels of the door towards him; and, although it had been locked as usual, he effected his escape, after a considerable exertion of strength.

Out on the stairs, lighted taper in hand, the laughing Fandor closed the two door panels with the utmost care, and went forward whistling a marching tune. His objective was a certain little staircase leading to the top story of the Palais, and this he mounted with vigorous determination. There was no likelihood of chance encounters, for there was not a soul in the vast building: the police were making their rounds outside it. The adventurous journalist did not make his way upwards with stealthy tread – there was no need for that.

Having reached the top floor, he went straight to a corner where an ebony ladder was tucked away, a ladder which had long been the joy and pride of the grand master of this part of the Palais, the amiable Monsieur Pierre.

“Pretty heavy!” grumbled Fandor, as he carried it upwards. Under the roof he caught sight of a skylight, rested his ebony ladder against it, and climbed briskly into the night. From there Fandor had a view that was faery-like.

Spread out in the distance were the sparkling lights of Paris.

He was divided from them by the vast mass of roofs about him, by a gulf of empty space, and beyond, by a dark blur – the two arms of the Seine flowing on either side of the Palais de Justice.... The mysterious darkness! The fascination of the sparkling points of light!... Fandor gave himself a mental shake. This was no moment for dreaming under the stars.

From his pocket he took a tiny, folding dark lantern; from his pocket-book he drew a paper, which he spread out and proceeded to study. As he bent over it, he murmured:

“A bit of good luck that I was able to get hold of a complete and detailed plan of the Palais de Justice; without it I never could have found my way among these rooftops.” He examined the plan for some minutes; made a note of various landmarks; then refolding it, he climbed onto one of the sloping roofs facing the quay of the Leather Dressers.