was one large tower standing apart from the other buildings; it did not seem as if this could offer any one a refuge.  The staircase had completely fallen in at the time of the fire, and there could not be found a ladder long enough to reach the top story; even the farmer’s ladders tied together with ropes were too short.  This top story seemed to be in a state of good preservation and to contain a room lighted by two loopholes.  Marcasse, after examining the thickness of the wall, affirmed that there might be a staircase inside, such as might be found in many an old tower.  But where was the exit?  Perhaps it was connected with some subterranean passage.  Would the assassin dare to issue from his retreat as long as we were there?  If, in spite of the darkness of the night and the silence of our proceedings, he had got wind of our presence, would he venture into the open as long as we continued on the watch at all points?

“That is not probable,” said Marcasse.  “We must devise some speedy means of getting up there; and I see one.”

He pointed to a beam at a frightful height, all blackened by the fire, and running from the tower over a space of some twenty feet to the garrets of the nearest building.  At the end of this beam there was a large gap in the wall of the tower caused by the falling-in of the adjoining parts.  In his explorations, indeed, Marcasse had fancied that he could see the steps of a narrow staircase through this gap.  The wall, moreover, was quite thick enough to contain one.  The mole-catcher had never cared to risk his life on this beam; not that he was afraid of its narrowness or its height; he was accustomed to these perilous “crossings,” as he called them; but the beam had been partly consumed by the fire and was so thin in the middle that it was impossible to say whether it would bear the weight of a man, even were he as slender and diaphanous as the worthy sergeant.  Up to the present nothing had happened here of sufficient importance for him to risk his life in the experiment.  Now, however, the case was different.  Marcasse did not hesitate.  I was not near him when he formed his plan; I should have dissuaded him from it at all costs.  I was not aware of it until he had already reached the middle of the beam, the spot where the burnt wood was perhaps nothing more than charcoal.  How shall I describe to you what I felt when I beheld my faithful friend in mid-air, gravely walking toward his goal?  Blaireau was trotting in front of him as calmly as in the old days when it was a question of hunting through bundles of hay in search of stoats and dormice.  Day was breaking, and the hildalgo’s slim outline and his modest yet stately bearing could be clearly seen against the gray sky.  I put my hands to my face; I seemed to hear the fatal beam cracking; I stifled a cry of terror lest I should unnerve him at this solemn and critical moment.  But I could not suppress this cry, or help raising my head when I heard two shots fired from the tower.  Marcasse’s hat fell at the first shot; the second grazed his shoulder.  He stopped a moment.