There was a narrow lawn in front of Mr. Desmond's house, and between
that and the street an ornate iron fence. As I opened the gate that
permitted egress, I saw Belfort and Schwarzfelder leaning upon the
fence, while Waters hovered near. The two officers were twirling their
mustaches after the most approved style of Old World dandies, and were
looking at me in a manner that I could interpret only as insolent. I
inferred at once that they and the Frenchman Waters were responsible for
the search, and had gone there to enjoy a triumph containing the
sweetest of flavor, my exposure and disgrace compelled by my own act. I
became sure of it when I saw the look of triumph on the faces of Belfort
and Schwarzfelder give way to one of surprise and disappointment.
"Where is your prisoner, Lieutenant Melville?" exclaimed Belfort, unable
to control himself.