floor was merely hard earth, the furniture consisted of a stove, a
stool and a small deal table. And as Faversham took in the poverty of
this underground habitation, he suddenly found himself in darkness
again. The explanation came to him at once, the entrance to the cellar
had been blocked from the light. Yet he had heard no sound except the
footsteps of people in the street above his head. He turned and faced
the stair steps. As he did so, the light streamed down again; the
obstruction had been removed, and that obstruction had not been the
trap-door as Faversham had suspected, but merely the body of some
inquisitive passer-by. He recognised this with relief and immediately
heard voices speaking together, and as it seemed to him in lowered
tones.

A sword rattled on the pavement, the entrance was again darkened, but
Faversham had just time to see that the man who stooped down wore
the buttons of a uniform and a soldier's kepi. He kept quite still,
holding his breath while the man peered down into the cellar. He
remembered with a throb of hope that he had himself been unable to
distinguish a thing in the gloom. And then the landlord knocked
against the table and spoke aloud. At once the man at the head of
the steps stood up. Faversham heard him cry out in French, "They are
here," and he detected a note of exultation in the cry. At the same
moment a picture flashed before his eyes, the picture of that dusty
desolate dining-room up the steps, and of a long table surrounded
by chairs, upon which lay a sword and a revolver,--his sword, his
revolver. He had dismissed his sixty soldiers, he was alone.

"This is a trap," he blurted out.

"But, Sir, I do not understand," began the landlord, but Faversham cut