Forsyth felt a large packet pressed into his grasp, and he instantly turned with it to go towards the steps, expecting that the lamp would be switched on to guide him. This proved to be the case, and he was glad that those five scoundrels only had a back view of him as he limped across the floor and laboriously climbed the steps. Nor when he had passed through the door out of their sight was there any quickening of his halting gait to show that he was exulting in that he had so far successfully risked his life for his friend. And it was well that he kept up his part, for as he crossed under the well of the staircase to the servants’ bedrooms he caught a glimpse of Rosa, Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s French maid, watching him over the banisters. Mounting to his own room he locked the bundle of papers he had received away in one of his trunks, from which he first took a packet of similar dimensions, formidably sealed. Without wasting a moment he placed this packet under his arm, and, falling once more into Beaumanoir’s limp, retraced his steps to the crypt, where, as soon as he had passed through the door, a beam from the portable lamp shed a glare on his descent to the level of the floor. The five figures, with the white-bearded old man in advance, awaited him as before. As Forsyth approached he hoped every moment to hear those parrot-like tones order the light to be cut off, but this time no such welcome sound fell upon his ears. He had to advance quite close with the full radiance of the lamp shining on him. The light, he soon perceived, had been retained for the purpose of examining the packet, which Ziegler snatched from him with impatient vehemence; and suddenly Forsyth was confronted with a situation not wholly unforeseen, but which he had hoped to avoid in the haste of the gang to make off with their plunder. Not content with a scrutiny of the carefully taped and sealed dummy package, Ziegler was about to undo the fastenings and look at the contents, which consisted of nothing more valuable than tissue paper. It seemed an age while the lithe white fingers broke the seals and disarranged the tape, and Forsyth steadied himself for the inevitable discovery. He was not prepared to lose his life at the hands of this murderous crew without a fight for it, five to one though they were; and it occurred to him that at the first sign of violence his best plan would be to smash the electric lamp with a well-directed kick, and then try and elude them in the dark. Ziegler’s face was in shadow, the miscreant holding the lamp being behind him; but Forsyth saw at last, by the swift upward jerk of the arch-robber’s head, that the worthlessness of the bundle was known to him. It was probable, too, from the prolonged silent stare with which he gazed and gazed at the Duke’s counterfeit, that the latter’s identity was no longer a secret.