"You damned ass! You're always doing it! No petrol. . . . Where do you think we shall find petrol in the middle of the night? There's some in the garage, is there? Then run and fetch it, you fat-head! . . . And where's my fur-coat? You've forgotten it? Go and get it at once. I shall drive the car myself. I've no use for fools like you! . . ." The soldier started running. And Paul at once observed that he himself would be able to reach the garage, of which he saw the lights, without having to leave the protecting darkness. "Come," he said to Bernard. "I have an idea: you'll see what it is." With the sound of their footsteps deadened by a grassy lawn, they made for that part of the out-houses containing the stables and motor-sheds, which they were able to enter unseen by those without. The soldier was in a back-room, the door of which was open. From their hiding-place they saw him take from a peg a great goat-skin coat, which he threw over his shoulder, and lay hold of four tins of petrol. Thus laden, he left the back-room and passed in front of Paul and Bernard. The trick was soon done. Before he had time to cry out, he was knocked down, rendered motionless and gagged. "That's that," said Paul. "Now give me his great-coat and his cap. I would rather have avoided this disguise; but, if you want to be sure of a thing, you mustn't stick at the means." "Then you're going to risk it?" asked Bernard. "Suppose Karl doesn't recognize his chauffeur?" "He won't even think of looking at him." "But if he speaks to you?" "I shan't answer. Besides, once we are outside the grounds, I shall have nothing to fear from him." "And what am I to do?" "You? Bind your prisoner carefully and lock him up in some safe place. Then go back to the shrubbery beyond the window with the balcony. I hope to join you there with Élisabeth some time during the middle of the night; and we shall simply have to go back by the tunnel. If by accident you don't see me return . . ." "Well?" "Well, then go back alone before it gets light." "But . . ." Paul was already moving away. He was in the mood in which a man refuses to consider the actions which he has decided to perform. Moreover, the event seemed to prove that he was right. Karl received him with abusive language, but without paying the least attention to this supernumerary for whom he could not show enough contempt. The spy put on his fur-coat, sat down at the wheel and began to handle the levers while Paul took his seat beside him. The car was starting, when a voice from the doorstep called, in a tone of command: "Karl! Stop!" Paul felt a moment's anxiety. It was the Comtesse Hermine. She went up to the spy and, lowering her voice, said, in French: "I want you, Karl, to be sure . . . But your driver doesn't know French, does he?" "He hardly knows German, _Excellenz_. He's an idiot. You can speak freely." "What I was going to say is, don't use more than ten drops out of the bottle, else. . . ."