That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a brisk pace, and he
was so completely occupied in his angry thoughts that he never so
much as cast a look behind him till he reached his own door.
His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commanding a view of all
Paris and enjoying the pure air of the heights. It was two storeys
high, with green blinds and shutters; and all the windows looking
on the street were hermetically closed. Tops of trees showed over
the high garden wall, and the wall was protected by CHEVAUX-DE-
FRISE. The Dictator paused a moment while he searched his pocket
for a key; and then, opening a gate, disappeared within the
enclosure.
Francis looked about him; the neighbourhood was very lonely, the
house isolated in its garden. It seemed as if his observation must
here come to an abrupt end. A second glance, however, showed him a
tall house next door presenting a gable to the garden, and in this
gable a single window. He passed to the front and saw a ticket
offering unfurnished lodgings by the month; and, on inquiry, the
room which commanded the Dictator's garden proved to be one of
those to let. Francis did not hesitate a moment; he took the room,
paid an advance upon the rent, and returned to his hotel to seek
his baggage.
The old man with the sabre-cut might or might not be his father; he
might or he might not be upon the true scent; but he was certainly
on the edge of an exciting mystery, and he promised himself that he
would not relax his observation until he had got to the bottom of
the secret.
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