He was wearing the same costume that he had worn when I first saw him on the road in front of the Donjon Inn.

There was no doubt about his being the keeper.

As the cry of the Bete du Bon Dieu came for the third time, he put down the package and went to the second window, counting from the dark closet.

I dared not risk making any movement, fearing I might betray my presence.
Arriving at the window, he peered out on to the park.

The night was now light, the moon showing at intervals.