At The Villa Rose

"If only we are in time!" said Hanaud, catching his breath.

"Yes," answered Lemerre; and in both their voices there was a

strange note of gravity.

Lemerre gave a signal after a while, and the boat turned to the

shore and reduced its speed. They had passed the big villas. On

the bank the gardens of houses--narrow, long gardens of a street

of small houses--reached down to the lake, and to almost each

garden there was a rickety landing-stage of wood projecting into

the lake. Again Lemerre gave a signal, and the boat's speed was so

much reduced that not a sound of its coming could be heard. It

moved over the water like a shadow, with not so much as a curl of

white at its bows.

Lemerre touched Hanaud on the shoulder and pointed to a house in a

row of houses. All the windows except two upon the second floor

and one upon the ground floor were in absolute darkness, and over

those upper two the wooden shutters were closed. But in the

shutters there were diamond-shaped holes, and from these holes two

yellow beams of light, like glowing eyes upon the watch, streamed

out and melted in the air.

"You are sure that the front of the house is guarded?" asked

Hanaud anxiously.

"Yes," replied Lemerre.

Ricardo shivered with excitement. The launch slid noiselessly into

the bank and lay hidden under its shadow. Hanaud turned to his

associates with his finger to his lips. Something gleamed darkly

in his hand. It was the barrel of his revolver. Cautiously the men

disembarked and crept up the bank. First came Lemerre, then

Hanaud; Ricardo followed him, and the fourth man, who had struck

the match under the trees, brought up the rear. The other three

officers remained in the boat.

Stooping under the shadow of the side wall of the garden, the

invaders stole towards the house. When a bush rustled or a tree

whispered in the light wind, Ricardo's heart jumped to his throat.

Once Lemerre stopped, as though his ears heard a sound which

warned him of danger. Then cautiously he crept on again. The

garden was a ragged place of unmown lawn and straggling bushes.

Behind each one Mr. Ricardo seemed to feel an enemy. Never had he

been in so strait a predicament. He, the cultured host of

Grosvenor Square, was creeping along under a wall with Continental

policemen; he was going to raid a sinister house by the Lake of

Geneva. It was thrilling. Fear and excitement gripped him in turn

and let him go, but always he was sustained by the pride of the

man doing an out-of-the-way thing. "If only my friends could see

me now!" The ancient vanity was loud in his bosom. Poor fellows,

they were upon yachts in the Solent or on grouse-moors in

Scotland, or on golf-links at North Berwick. He alone of them all

was tracking malefactors to their doom by Leman's Lake.