Three more of these narrow slits in his prison walls he found before he came back again to the door.

They reminded him of the hole through which he had looked out on the plague-stricken cabin at the _Maison de Mort Rouge_, and he guessed that through them came what little fresh air found its way into the dungeon.
Near the table on which he replaced the candle was a stool, and he sat down.

Carefully he went through his pockets.

His belt and revolver were gone.

He had been stripped of letters and papers.