A violent ringing of the bell awakened the concierge of number nine, avenue Hoche. She pulled the doorstring, grumbling:

“I thought everybody was in. It must be three o’clock!”

“Perhaps it is some one for the doctor,” muttered her husband.

At that moment, a voice inquired:

“Doctor Harel .... what floor?”

“Third floor, left. But the doctor won’t go out at night.”

“He must go to-night.”

The visitor entered the vestibule, ascended to the first floor, the second, the third, and, without stopping at the doctor’s door, he continued to the fifth floor. There, he tried two keys. One of them fitted the lock.

“Ah! good!” he murmured, “that simplifies the business wonderfully. But before I commence work I had better arrange for my retreat. Let me see.... have I had sufficient time to rouse the doctor and be dismissed by him? Not yet.... a few minutes more.”

At the end of ten minutes, he descended the stairs, grumbling noisily about the doctor. The concierge opened the door for him and heard it click behind him. But the door did not lock, as the man had quickly inserted a piece of iron in the lock in such a manner that the bolt could not enter. Then, quietly, he entered the house again, unknown to the concierge. In case of alarm, his retreat was assured. Noiselessly, he ascended to the fifth floor once more. In the antechamber, by the light of his electric lantern, he placed his hat and overcoat on one of the chairs, took a seat on another, and covered his heavy shoes with felt

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