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The shout ended in a shriek; the last sounds came from the yard;

all was still. But at the same instant several men talking loud

and fast began noisily mounting the stairs. There were three or

four of them. He distinguished the ringing voice of the young

man. "Hey!"

Filled with despair he went straight to meet them, feeling "come

what must!" If they stopped him--all was lost; if they let him

pass--all was lost too; they would remember him. They were

approaching; they were only a flight from him--and suddenly

deliverance! A few steps from him on the right, there was an

empty flat with the door wide open, the flat on the second floor

where the painters had been at work, and which, as though for his

benefit, they had just left. It was they, no doubt, who had just

run down, shouting. The floor had only just been painted, in the

middle of the room stood a pail and a broken pot with paint and

brushes. In one instant he had whisked in at the open door and

hidden behind the wall and only in the nick of time; they had

already reached the landing. Then they turned and went on up to

the fourth floor, talking loudly. He waited, went out on tiptoe

and ran down the stairs.