He had taken, as I supposed he would, the gallery on his right,--that is to say, the road he had prepared for his flight.

'Help, Jacques!--help, Larsan!' I cried.

He could not escape us! I raised a shout of joy, of savage victory.

The man reached the intersection of the two galleries hardly two seconds before me for the meeting which I had prepared--the fatal shock which must inevitably take place at that spot! We all rushed to the crossing-place--Monsieur Stangerson and I coming from one end of the right gallery, Daddy Jacques coming from the other end of the same gallery, and Frederic Larsan coming from the 'off-turning' gallery.
"The man was not there! "We looked at each other stupidly and with eyes terrified.

The man had vanished like a ghost.