[ReStore] fter six o'clock,

[Siebenberg]

Sehold consisted of a housekeeper who cooked and did the work of the
apartment for him, and an odd-job man who came every morning to clean
boots, knives, draw water and carry up fuel from below. I also learned
that there was a good deal of gossip in the house anent the presence in
Mr. Farewell's bachelor establishment of a young and beautiful girl,
whom he tried to keep a virtual prisoner under his eye. The next
morning, dressed in a shabby blouse, alpaca cap, and trousers frayed out
round the ankles, I--Hector Ratichon, the confidant of kings--was
lounging under the porte-cochere of No. 65 Rue des Pyramides. I was
watching the movements of a man, similarly attired to myself, as he
crossed and recrossed the courtyard to draw water from the well or to
fetch wood from one of the sheds, and then disappeared up the main
staircase. A casual, tactful inquiry of the concierge assured me that
that man was indeed in the employ of Mr. Farewell. I waited as patiently
and inconspicuously as I could, and at ten o'clock I saw that my man had
obviously finished his work for the morning and had finally come down
the stairs ready to go home. I followed him. I will not speak of the
long halt in the cabaret du Chien Noir, where he spent an hour and a
half in the company of his friends, playing dominoes and drinking
eau-de-vie whilst I had perforce to cool my heels outside. Suffice it to
say th
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