It was the decisive moment. If Ralph had not been awakened but was sleeping still, Josephine’s plot would be successful. She listened. Nothing stirred. Then she stepped aside to make way for the five men and by letting the ray from the bull’s-eye fall on the bed, gave the signal to her pack. The assault was so swift that the sleeper could not have awakened before all resistance was useless. The gang had rolled him up in his blankets and pulled the mattress round him, and wound a rope round it in less than ten seconds. In less than twenty seconds the rope was securely tied. There had not been a cry; not a piece of furniture had been knocked out of its place. Once more Josephine was victorious. “Splendid!” she said in a tone of excitement which revealed the importance she attached to this victory. “Splendid! We’ve got him. And this time every precaution shall be taken to prevent him from getting away.” “What are we to do now?” Leonard asked. “Carry him to the boat.” “Suppose he shouts for help?” “Gag him. But he can’t shout. Off you go!” The four men stood up, bearing on their shoulders a burden which looked like a great bundle of linen. Leonard came to Josephine. “Aren’t you coming with us?” he asked. “No.” “Why not?” “I told you: I’m waiting for Dominique.” She lit the lamp and raised the shade of it. “How pale you’re looking,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps I am,” she said defiantly. “I suppose it’s about that girl.” “Yes.” “Dominique’s at work, is he?” She nodded. “Who knows? There may still be time to stop him!” “Even if there were, I should not change my mind. It’s made up. What will be, will be. Besides, the thing is done. Off you go!” “But why shouldn’t we wait for you?” “The only danger comes from Ralph. Once he’s safe on the boat, we’ve nothing more to fear. Be off and leave me.” She opened the window. They passed through it with their burden and disappeared in the darkness. She closed the shutters and shut the window. A few minutes passed and the church clock struck. She counted the strokes--eleven. At the eleventh stroke she went to the door of the lodge, opened it, and listened. There came a low whistle. She answered it by stamping on the tiles of the hall. Dominique came hurrying to her. They went into the bedroom. On the instant, without waiting for her to ask the question, he said: “I’ve done it.” “Oh,” she said in a shaky voice; and she was so upset that she tottered and sank into a chair. They stared at one another in silence. Then Dominique uttered: “She felt nothing.” “She felt nothing?” she repeated. “No. She was asleep.” “Are you quite sure that--that----” “That she’s dead? You may take your oath to it I am! I drove the knife into her heart--three times. Besides I had the nerve to wait to make sure. There was no need. She had stopped breathing and her hands were cold.” “Suppose they were to discover it?”