I turned into that doorway, Sir; the next moment I felt a stunning blow between my eyes.  I just remember calling out with all the strength of my lungs:  “Police!  Gendarmes!  A moi!” Then nothing more.

3.

I woke with the consciousness of violent wordy warfare carried on around me.  I was lying on the ground, and the first things I saw were three or four pairs of feet standing close together.  Gradually out of the confused hubbub a few sentences struck my reawakened senses.

“The man is drunk.”

“I won’t have him inside the house.”

“I tell you this is a respectable house.”  This from a shrill feminine voice.  “We’ve never had the law inside our doors before.”

By this time I had succeeded in raising myself on my elbow, and, by the dim light of a hanging lamp somewhere down the passage, I was pretty well able to take stock of my surroundings.

The half-dozen bedroom candlesticks on a table up against the wall, the row of keys hanging on hooks fixed to a board above, the glass partition with the words “Concierge” and “Reception” painted across it, all told me that this was one of those small, mostly squalid and disreputable lodging houses or hotels in which this quarter of Paris still abounds.

The two gendarmes who had been running after me were arguing the matter of my presence here with the proprietor of the place and with the concierge.

I struggled to my feet.  Whereupon for the space of a solid two minutes I had to bear as calmly as I could the abuse and vituperation which the feminine proprietor of this “respectable house” chose to hurl at my unfortunate head.  After which I obtained a hearing from the bewildered minions of the law.  To them I gave as brief and succinct a narrative as I could of the events of the past three days.  The theft of Carissimo—­the disappearance of Theodore—­my meeting him a while ago, with the dog under his arm—­his second disappearance, this time within the doorway of this “respectable abode,” and finally the blow which alone had prevented me from running the abominable thief to earth.

The gendarmes at first were incredulous.  I could see that they were still under the belief that my excitement was due to over-indulgence in alcoholic liquor, whilst Madame the proprietress called me an abominable liar for daring to suggest that she harboured thieves within her doors.  Then suddenly, as if in vindication of my character, there came from a floor above the sound of a loud, shrill bark.

“Carissimo!” I cried triumphantly.  Then I added in a rapid whisper, “Mme. la Comtesse de Nole is rich.  She spoke of a big reward for the recovery of her pet.”

These happy words had the effect of stimulating the zeal of the gendarmes.  Madame the proprietress grew somewhat confused and incoherent, and finally blurted it out that one of her lodgers—­a highly respectable gentleman—­did keep a dog, but that there was no crime in that surely.