When they reached Monaco the night was at its darkest, the harbour deserted and the rock merely a towering black mass. They then did a curious thing. Without a word they parted. The armed men crept along the foot of the cliff and were at once lost to sight. The monk, left alone, sat down by the water’s edge and listened. He was listening for the sound of a church bell. It would be the bell of St. Nicolas in Monaco rung to announce the midnight Mass. As he waited he drew something from the folds of his gown. It was not a rosary nor a crucifix. It was a dagger with a long blade which he fingered affectionately. When the first sound of the bell rang over the sea he rose and commenced to ascend the steep path which led to the gate of the town. He walked with his head bowed and with leisurely steps. His habit was that of the Priory of St. Dévote, the little church which looked across the harbour. Any who went by passed him unnoticed. If he stumbled on the path in the dark he swore which is unusual among men of his cloth. Before the gate was the sentinel, who recognising the garb of the priest, merely inclined his head with a gesture of respect. The monk responded by commending him to God. Before long this guardian of the gate had need of that commendation. The monk, apparently deep in thought, passed through the courtyard occupied by the guard. They were sitting around a small fire on the ground and were playing at _minchiate_ or _tresetti_ or some such game of cards. [Illustration: MONACO: THE PALACE.] He walked on unchallenged and entered the great square before the palace. He drew a sigh of relief. It might have implied relief at having reached the top of a steep hill. It might have implied more. He turned to the left and, walking with the solemn step, appropriate to a priest going to Mass, entered one of the narrow streets of the town that led to the church. There were lights in some upper windows and people were leaving their houses to attend the evening service. When he came upon the last cross street he turned down it. It led not to the church but to the ramparts. On reaching the ramparts his manner suddenly changed; he became intensely alert. He leaned eagerly over the wall and whistled. A response came out of the black shadows into which he gazed. His friends from Nice had kept their tryst. How these armed men got over the wall into the town is not known. Very possibly the monk had a rope concealed under his habit. In a few moments all his followers were around him. The bell of the church had ceased to toll and the celebration of the Mass had begun. There was now no need for further disguise. The party rushed back through the very street that the monk had traversed. They may have passed a belated worshipper on his way to St. Nicolas who, as they tore by, would fall back against the wall. They pressed on, headed by the monk, who had now a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.