I saw that Godfrey and Simmonds had the same fear, for the cab in which they were drew up at the curb and waited there until the van had got some distance ahead.  At Sixteenth Street, it turned westward again, and then northward into Seventh Avenue.

What could Armand be doing in this part of the town, I asked myself?  Did he propose to leave that priceless cabinet in this dingy quarter?  And then I paused abruptly and slipped into an area-way, for the van had stopped some distance ahead and was backing up to the curb.

Looking out discreetly, I saw the cab containing Armand stop also, and that gentleman alighted and paid the driver.  The other cab rattled on at a good pace and disappeared up the Avenue.  Then the two porters lifted out the cabinet, and, with Armand showing them the way, carried it into the building before which the van had stopped.

They were gone perhaps five minutes, from which I argued that they were carrying it upstairs; then they reappeared, with Armand accompanying them.  He tipped them and went out also to tip the driver of the van.  Then the porters climbed aboard and it rattled away out of sight.  Armand stood for a moment on the step, looking up and down the Avenue, then disappeared indoors.

An instant later, I saw Godfrey and another man whom I recognised as Simmonds, come out of a shop across the street and dash over to the house into which the cabinet had been taken.  They were standing on the door-step when I joined them.

It was a dingy building, entirely typical of the dingy neighbourhood.  The ground floor was occupied by a laundry which the sign on the front window declared to be French; and the room which the window lighted extended the whole width of the building except for a door which opened presumably on the stairway leading to the upper stories.

Godfrey’s face was flaming with excitement as he turned the knob of this door gently—­gently.  The door was locked.  He stooped and applied an eye to the key-hole.

“The key is in the lock,” he whispered.

Simmonds took from his pocket a pair of slender pliers and passed them over.

Godfrey looked up and down the street, saw that for the moment there was no one near, inserted the pliers in the key-hole, grasped the end of the key, and turned it slowly.

“Now!” he said, softly opened the door and slipped inside.  I followed, and Simmonds came after me like a shadow, closing the door carefully behind him.

Then we all stopped, and my heart, at least, was in my mouth, for, from somewhere overhead, came the sound of a man’s voice talking excitedly.

Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the look of astonishment and alarm on Godfrey’s face, as he stood for a moment motionless, listening to that voice.  I also stood with ears a-strain, but I could make nothing of what it was saying; then suddenly I realised that it was speaking in French.  And yet it was not Armand’s voice—­of that I was certain.