between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket
of his overcoat, he went out.




CHAPTER XII

THE CRUCIAL MOMENT

When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the
streets were not yet lighted.

The better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the 'porte-
cochere' across the street; from there he could watch the 'concierge',
who would not be able to go out without being seen by him. But though
the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed him.
Next to this 'porte-cochere' was a small 'cafe', whose brilliant lights
would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked on,
but soon returned.

All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on
which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found
himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he was
certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be;
experience confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than
his will.

As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of her
lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket. In