Both of us forgot to be surprised at the peculiarity of the scene. It appeared quite natural that he should have supervened so dramatically at precisely the correct moment, and I asked him for no more information. He evidently did know the place, for he crept immediately to the ledge, and looked into the room above. I followed, and stood by his side. The two women were still talking.

“Can’t we get into the room, or do something?” I murmured.

“Not yet. How do we know that Deschamps means harm? Let us wait. Have you a weapon?”

Sir Cyril spoke as one in command, and I accepted the assumption of authority.

“Yes,” I said; “I’ve got a revolver, and a little dagger.”