The clock struck nine. A few minutes later, the garden gate creaked upon its hinges. I confess that I was greatly agitated. I was about to learn the key to the mystery. The startling events of the last few weeks were about to be explained, and, under my eyes, the last battle was going to be fought. Daspry seized the hand of Madame Andermatt, and said to her:

“Not a word, not a movement! Whatever you may see or hear, keep quiet!”

Someone entered. It was Alfred Varin. I recognized him at once, owing to the close resemblance he bore to his brother Étienne. There was the same slouching gait; the same cadaverous face covered with a black beard.