It was a parlour meanly furnished.
Hanaud touched him on the arm and pointed to the table.
Ricardo had seen the objects at which Hanaud pointed often enough without uneasiness; but now, in this silent house of crime, they had the most sinister and appalling aspect.

There was a tiny phial half full of a dark-brown liquid, beside it a little leather case lay open, and across the case, ready for use or waiting to be filled, was a bright morphia needle.

Ricardo felt the cold creep along his spine, and shivered.
"Come," whispered Hanaud.
They reached the foot of a flight of stairs, and cautiously mounted it.
They came out in a passage which ran along the side of the house from the back to the front.

It was unlighted, but they were now on the level of the street, and a fan-shaped glass window over the front door admitted a pale light.

There was a street lamp near to the door, Ricardo remembered.