La Boulaye awakened betimes next morning. It may be that the matter on his mind and the business that was toward aroused him; certainly it was none of the sounds that are common to an inn at early morn, for the place was as silent as a tomb. Some seconds he remained on his back, staring at the whitewashed ceiling and listening to the patter of the rain against his window. Then, as his mind gathered up the threads of recollection, he leapt from his bed and made haste to assume a garment or two. He stood a moment at his casement, looking out into the empty courtyard. From a leaden sky the rain was descending in sheets, and the gargoyle at the end of the eaves overhead was discharging a steady column of water into the yard. Caron shivered with the cold of that gloomy February morning, and turned away from the window. A few moments later he was in Tardivet's bedchamber, vigorously shaking the sleeping Captain. “Up, Charlot! Awake!” he roared in the man's ear. “What o'clock?” he asked with a yawn. Then a sudden groan escaped him, and he put his hand to his head. “Thousand devils!” he swore, “what a headache!” But La Boulaye was not there on any mission of sympathy, nor did he waste words in conveying his news. “The coach is gone,” he announced emphatically. “Coach? What coach?” asked the Captain, knitting his brows. “What coach?” echoed La Boulaye testily. “How many coaches were there? Why, the Bellecour coach; the coach with the treasure.” At that Charlot grew very wide-awake. He forgot his headache and his interest in the time of day. “Gone?” he bellowed. “How gone? Pardieu, it is not possible!” “Look for yourself,” was La Boulaye's answer as he waved his hand in the direction of the window. “I don't know what manner of watch your men can have kept that such a thing should have come about. Probably, knowing you ill a-bed, they abused the occasion by getting drunk, and probably they are still sleeping it off. The place is silent enough.” But Tardivet scarcely heard him. From his window he was staring into the yard below, too thunderstruck by its emptiness to even have recourse to profanity. Stable door and porte-cochere alike stood open. He turned suddenly and made for his coat. Seizing it, he thrust his hand in one pocket after another. At last: “Treachery!” he cried, and letting the garment fall to the ground, he turned upon La Boulaye a face so transfigured by anger that it looked little like the usually good-humoured countenance of Captain Tardivet “My keys have been stolen. By St. Guillotine, I'll have the thief hanged.” “Did anybody know that the keys were in your pocket?” asked the ingenuous Caron. “I told you last night.” “Yes, yes; I remember that. But did anybody else know?” “The ostler knew. He saw me lock the doors.” “Why, then, let us find the ostler,” urged Caron. “Put on some clothes and we will go below.”