He went on up the drive. Presently, as the drive curved, he slipped into the shrubbery and so continued his way unseen from the house. Suddenly he stood still, peering out through the leaves. Some distance away a dog was barking, but it was a sound nearer at hand that had attracted Anthony’s attention. His keen hearing had not been mistaken. A man came rapidly round the corner of the house, a short square, thickset man, foreign in appearance. He did not pause but walked steadily on, circling the house and disappearing again. Anthony nodded to himself. “Sentry,” he murmured. “They do the thing quite well.” As soon as he had passed, Anthony went on, diverging to the left, and so following in the footsteps of the sentry. His own footsteps were quite noiseless. The wall of the house was on his right, and presently he came to where a broad blur of light fell on the gravelled walk. The sound of several men talking together was clearly audible. “My God! what double-dyed idiots,” murmured Anthony to himself. “It would serve them right to be given a fright.” He stole up to the window, stooping a little so that he should not be seen. Presently he lifted his head very carefully to the level of the sill and looked in. Half a dozen men were sprawling round a table. Four of them were big thickset men, with high cheek-bones, and eyes set in Magyar slanting fashion. The other two were rat-like little men with quick gestures. The language that was being spoken was French, but the four big men spoke it with uncertainty and a hoarse guttural intonation. “The Boss?” growled one of these. “When will he be here?” One of the smaller men shrugged his shoulders. “Any time now.” “About time, too,” growled the first man. “I have never seen him, this Boss of yours, but, oh, what great and glorious work might we not have accomplished in these days of idle waiting!” “Fool,” said the other little man bitingly. “Getting nabbed by the police is all the great and glorious work you and your precious lot would have been likely to accomplish. A lot of blundering gorillas?” “Aha!” roared another big thickset fellow. “You insult the Comrades? I will soon set the sign of the Red Hand round your throat.” He half rose, glaring ferociously at the Frenchman, but one of his companions pulled him back again. “No quarreling,” he grunted. “We’re to work together. From all I heard this King Victor doesn’t stand for being disobeyed.” In the darkness, Anthony heard the footsteps of the sentry coming his round again, and he drew back behind a bush. “Who’s that?” said one of the men inside. “Carlo—going his rounds.” “Oh! What about the prisoner?” “He’s all right—coming round pretty fast now. He’s recovered well from the crack on the head we gave him.” Anthony moved gently away.