the angle of the narrow street which abuts
on the canal at its further end; from this point of vantage he could
command a view of the gate and of the life and bustle around it.

He was dog-tired. After the emotions of the past twenty-four hours, a
day's hard manual toil to which he was unaccustomed had caused him to
ache in every limb. As soon as he had arrived at the canal wharf in the
early morning he had obtained the kind of casual work that ruled about
here, and soon was told off to unload a cargo of coal which had arrived
by barge overnight. He had set-to with a will, half hoping to kill
his anxiety by dint of heavy bodily exertion. During the course of the
morning he had suddenly become aware of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and of Lord
Anthony Dewhurst working not far away from him, and as fine a pair of
coalheavers as any shipper could desire.

It was not very difficult in the midst of the noise and activity that
reigned all about the wharf for the three men to exchange a few words
together, and Armand soon communicated the chief's new instructions
to my Lord Tony, who effectually slipped away from his work some time
during the day. Armand did not even see him go, it had all been so
neatly done.

Just before five o'clock in the afternoon the labourers were paid off.
It was then too dark to continue work. Armand would have liked to talk
to Sir Andrew, if only for a moment. He felt lonely and desperately
anxious. He had hoped to tire out his nerves as well as his body, but
in this he had not succeeded. As soon as he had given up his tools, his
brain began to work again more busily than ever. It followed Percy in
his peregrinations through the city, trying to discover where those
brutes were keeping Jeanne.

That task had suddenly loomed up before Armand's mind with all its
terrible difficulties. How could Percy--a marked man if ever there was
one--go from prison to prison to inquire about Jeanne? The very idea
seemed preposterous. Armand ought never to have consented to such an
insensate plan. The more he thought of it, the more impossible did it
seem that Blakeney could find anything out.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was nowhere to be seen. St. Just wandered about in
the dark, lonely streets of this outlying quarter vainly trying to find
the friend in whom he could confide, who, no doubt, would reassure
him as to Blakeney's probable movements in Paris. Then as the hour
approached for the closing of the city gates Armand took