CHAPTER II.
THE NUMBERS.
ON a raw and snowy evening toward the latter part of January, 1817, a gentleman, walking along the Strand, turned into the street in which Doctor Lagarde lived, and knocked at the physician's door.
He was admitted by an elderly male servant to a waiting-room on the first floor.

The light of one little lamp, placed on a bracket fixed to the wall, was so obscured by a dark green shade as to make it difficult, if not impossible, for visitors meeting by accident to recognize each other.

The metal money-box fixed to the table was just visible.

In the flickering light of a small fire, the stranger perceived the figures of three men seated, apart and silent, who were the only occupants of the room beside himself.
So far as objects were to be seen, there was nothing to attract attention in the waiting-room.

The furniture was plain and neat, and nothing more.