Hanaud stepped out on to it, looked about him, and returned.
"It is as well to know that we cannot be overheard," he said.
Harry Wethermill meanwhile had thrown himself into a chair.

The mask he had worn had slipped from its fastenings for a moment.

There was a look of infinite suffering upon his face.

It was the face of a man tortured by misery to the snapping-point.
Hanaud, on the other hand, was particularly alert.

The discovery of the motor-car had raised his spirits.