Suddenly he paused, his slender hand up to his lips, his head turned toward the door, an expression of tense expectancy in every line of his face.

“Quick, Ffoulkes,” he whispered, “everything back into the chest, and the lid down.”

“What ears you have,” murmured Ffoulkes as he obeyed rapidly and without question.  “I heard nothing.”

Blakeney went to the door and bent his head to listen.

“Three men coming up the stairs,” he said; “they are on the landing now.”

“Have we time to rush them?”

“No chance!  They are at the door.  Two more men have joined them, and I can distinguish Rondeau’s voice, too.”

“The quintette,” murmured Sir Andrew.  “We are caught like two rats in a trap.”

Even as he spoke the opening of the outside door could be distinctly heard, then the confused murmur of many voices.  Already Blakeney and Ffoulkes had with perfect presence of mind put the finishing touches to the tidying of the room—­put the chairs straight, shut down the lid of the oak chest, closed all the drawers of the desk.

“Nothing but good luck can save us now,” whispered Blakeney as he lowered the wick of the lamp.  “Quick now,” he added, “behind that tapestry in the alcove and trust to our stars.”

Securely hidden for the moment behind the curtains in the dark recess of the alcove the two men waited.  The door leading into the sitting-room was ajar, and they could hear Heriot and his friends making merry irruption into the place.  From out the confusion of general conversation they soon gathered that the debates in the Chamber had been so dull and uninteresting that, at a given signal, the little party had decided to adjourn to Heriot’s rooms for their habitual game of cards.  They could also hear Heriot calling to Rondeau to bring bottles and glasses, and vaguely they marvelled what Rondeau’s attitude might be like at this moment.  Was he brazening out the situation, or was he sick with terror?

Suddenly Heriot’s voice came out more distinctly.

“Make yourselves at home, friends,” he was saying; “here are cards, dominoes, and wine.  I must leave you to yourselves for ten minutes whilst I write an important letter.”

“All right, but don’t be long,” came in merry response.

“Not longer than I can help,” rejoined Heriot.  “I want my revenge against Bompard, remember.  He did fleece me last night.”

“Hurry on, then,” said one of the men.  “I’ll play Desgas that return game of dominoes until then.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll be back,” concluded Heriot.