Don Luis therefore went through the entrance hall and down the steps and, a little way before the pantry, came upon the cellar stairs.  He ran down these and soon recognized the low door that served to admit the wine-casks.  The daylight filtered in through a small, grated spy-hole.  He groped till he found the lock.  Glad to have come to the end of his expedition, he opened the door.

“Hang it all!” he growled, leaping back and clutching at the lock, which he managed to fasten again.

Two policemen in uniform were guarding the exits two policemen who had tried to seize him as he appeared.

Where did those two men come from?  Had they prevented the escape of Sauverand and Florence?  But in that case Don Luis would have met the two fugitives, as he had come by exactly the same road as they.

“No,” he thought, “they effected their flight before the exit was watched.  But, by Jove! it’s my turn to clear out; and that’s not easy.  Shall I let myself be caught in my burrow like a rabbit?”

He went up the cellar stairs again, intending to hasten matters, to slip into the courtyard through the outhouses, to jump into his motor, and to clear a way for himself.  But, when he was just reaching the yard, near the coach-house, he saw four detectives, four of those whom he had imprisoned, come up waving their arms and shouting.  And he also became aware of a regular uproar near the main gate and the porter’s lodge.  A number of men were all talking together, raising their voices in violent discussion.

Perhaps he might profit by this opportunity to steal outside under cover of the disorder.  At the risk of being seen, he put out his head.  And what he saw astounded him.

Gaston Sauverand stood with his back to the wall of the lodge, surrounded by policemen and detectives who pushed and insulted him.  The handcuffs were on his wrists.

Gaston Sauverand a prisoner!  What had happened between the two fugitives and the police?

His heart wrung with anguish, he leaned out still farther.  But he did not see Florence.  The girl had no doubt succeeded in escaping.

Weber’s appearance on the steps and the deputy chief’s first words confirmed his hopes.  Weber was mad with rage.  His recent captivity and the humiliation of his defeat exasperated him.

“Ah!” he roared, as he saw the prisoner.  “There’s one of them, at any rate!  Gaston Sauverand!  Choice game, that!...  Where did you catch him?”

“On the Place du Palais-Bourbon,” said one of the inspectors.  “We saw him slinking out through the cellar door.”

“And his accomplice, the Levasseur girl?”

“We missed her, Deputy Chief.  She was the first out.”

“And Don Luis?  You haven’t let him leave the house, I hope?  I gave orders.”

“He tried to get out through the cellar door five minutes after.”

“Who said so?”

“One of the men in uniform posted outside the door.”