From a further distance came the faint, muffled voices of promenaders, and the echo of the guns from the Tir du Pigeons.
But through it all, Selingman, lying on his back and snoring loudly, slept.

He was awakened at last by the feeling that some one had entered the room.

He sat up and blinked.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed.
A man in the weird disguise of a motor-cyclist was standing at the foot of the bed.

Selingman continued to blink.

He was not wholly awake and his visitor's appearance was unpleasant.
"Who the devil are you ?" he enquired.
The visitor took off his disfiguring spectacles.
"Jean Coulois--behold!" was the soft reply.
Selingman raised himself and slid off the bed.