The road through the river-valley was little used, and nobody came to interrupt the work. The night was dark, the sky heavy with moveless clouds.

Lupin gave the Masher and the Growler their final instructions and said, with a laugh:

"I can't tell you how amused I am at the thought of seeing Daubrecq's face when they proceed to take his scalp or slice his skin into ribbons. Upon my word, it's worth the journey."

Clarisse also had taken a seat in the boat. He said to her:

"Until we meet again. And, above all, don't stir. Whatever happens, not a movement, not a cry."

"Can anything happen?" she asked.

"Why, remember the Sire de Tancarville! It was at the very moment when he was achieving his object, with his true love in his arms, that an accident betrayed him. But be easy: I shall be all right."

She made no reply. She seized his hand and grasped it warmly between her own.

He put his foot on the ladder and made sure that it did not sway too much. Then he went up.

He soon reached the top rung.

This was where the dangerous ascent began, a difficult ascent at the start, because of the excessive steepness, and developing, mid-way, into into an absolute escalade.

Fortunately, here and there were little hollows, in which his feet found a resting-place, and projecting stones, to which his hands clung. But twice those stones gave way and he slipped; and twice he firmly believed that all was lost. Finding a deeper hollow, he took a rest. He was worn out, felt quite ready to throw up the enterprise, asked himself if it was really worth while for him to expose himself to such danger:

"I say!" he thought. "Seems to me you're showing the white feather, Lupin, old boy. Throw up the enterprise? Then Daubrecq will babble his secret, the marquis will possess himself of the list, Lupin will return empty-handed, and Gilbert... "

The long rope which he had fastened round his waist caused him needless inconvenience and fatigue. He fixed one of the ends to the strap of his trousers and let the rope uncoil all the way down the ascent, so that he could use it, on returning, as a hand-rail.

Then he once more clutched at the rough surface of the cliff and continued the climb, with bruised nails and bleeding fingers. At every moment he expected the inevitable fall. And what discouraged him most was to hear the murmur of voices rising from the boat, murmur so distinct that it seemed as though he were not increasing the distance between his companions and himself.

And he remembered the Sire de Tancarville, alone, he too, amid the darkness, who must have shivered at the noise of the stones which he loosened and sent bounding down the cliff. How the least sound reverberated through the silence! If one of Daubrecq's guards was peering into the gloom from the Lovers' Tower, it meant a shot... and death.

And he climbed... he climbed... He had climbed so long that he ended by imagining that the goal was passed. Beyond a doubt, he had slanted unawares to the right or left and he would finish at the patrol-path. What a stupid upshot! And what other upshot could there be to an attempt which the swift force of events had not allowed him to study and prepare?

Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

“What is it, then?” asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him. “Does he know about the stone?”

“He knows a damned sight too much about it. I’m not sure that he doesn’t know all about it.”

“Good Lord!” The boxer’s sallow face turned a shade whiter.

“Ikey Sanders has split on us.”

“He has, has he? I’ll do him down a thick ’un for that if I swing for it.”

“That won’t help us much. We‘ve got to make up our minds what to do.”

“Half a mo’,” said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. “He’s a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he’s not listening?”

“How can he be listening with that music going?”

“That’s right. Maybe somebody‘s behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room.” As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.

“Tut! it’s only a dummy,” said the Count.

“A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain’t in it. It’s the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains Count!”

“Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone.”

“The deuce he can!”

“But he’ll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is.”

“What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?”

“It’s one or the other.”

Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.

“He’s alone in there. Let‘s do him in. If his light were out we should have nothing to fear.”

The Count shook his head.

“He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it’s likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?”

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

“Something in the street,” said Merton. “Now look here, guv’nor, you’ve got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use then it’s up to you.”

“I’ve fooled better men than he,” the Count answered. “The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday. He knows nothing of Van Seddar.”

“I thought Van Seddar was going next week.”

“He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him.”