The next moment Rondeau had entered the room.  No need for a signal or an order this time.  Ffoulkes knew by instinct what his chief’s bold scheme would mean to them both if it succeeded.  He retired into the darkest corner of the room as Rondeau shuffled across to the writing-desk.  It was all done in a moment.  In less time than it had taken to bind and gag Heriot, his henchman was laid out on the floor, his coat had been taken off him, and he was tied into a mummy-like bundle with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes’ elegant coat fastened securely round his arms and chest.  It had all been done in silence.  The men in the next room were noisy and intent on their game; the slight scuffle, the quickly smothered cries had remained unheeded.

“Now, what next?” queried Sir Andrew Ffoulkes once more.

“The impudence of the d—–­l, my good Ffoulkes,” replied Blakeney in a whisper, “and may our stars not play us false.  Now let me make you look as like Rondeau as possible—­there!  Slip on his coat—­now your hair over your forehead—­your coat-collar up—­your knees bent—­that’s better!” he added as he surveyed the transformation which a few deft strokes had made in Sir Andrew Ffoulkes’ appearance.  “Now all you have to do is to shuffle across the room—­here’s your prototype’s handkerchief—­of dubious cleanliness, it is true, but it will serve—­blow your nose as you cross the room, it will hide your face.  They’ll not heed you—­keep in the shadows and God guard you—­I’ll follow in a moment or two...but don’t wait for me.”

He opened the door, and before Sir Andrew could protest his chief had pushed him out into the room where the four men were still intent on their game.  Through the open door Sir Percy now watched his friend who, keeping well within the shadows, shuffled quietly across the room.  The next moment Sir Andrew was through and in the antichambre.  Blakeney’s acutely sensitive ears caught the sound of the opening of the outer door.  He waited for a while, then he drew out of his pocket the bundle of letters which he had risked so much to obtain.  There they were neatly docketed and marked:  “The affairs of Arnould Fabrice.”

Well! if he got away to-night Agnes de Lucines would be happy and free from the importunities of that brute Heriot; after that he must persuade her and Fabrice to go to England and to freedom.

For the moment his own safety was terribly in jeopardy; one false move—­ one look from those players round the table....Bah! even then—!

With an inward laugh he pushed open the door once more and stepped into the room.  For the moment no one noticed him; the game was at its most palpitating stage; four shaggy heads met beneath the lamp and four pairs of eyes were gazing with rapt attention upon the intricate maze of the dominoes.

Blakeney walked quietly across the room; he was just midway and on a level with the centre table when a voice was suddenly raised from that tense group beneath the lamp:  “Is it thou, friend Heriot?”