“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked, “for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.  Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for their escape.  We are at present, Doctor—­as no doubt you have divined—­in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal London banks.  Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present.”

“It is our French gold,” whispered the director.  “We have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.”

“Your French gold?”

“Yes.  We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France.  It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar.  The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil.  Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.”

“Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes.  “And now it is time that we arranged our little plans.  I expect that within an hour matters will come to a head.  In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern.”

“And sit in the dark?”

“I am afraid so.  I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your rubber after all.  But I see that the enemy’s preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light.  And, first of all, we must choose our positions.  These are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful.  I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those.  Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly.  If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down.”

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which I crouched.  Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness—­such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced.  The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice.  To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.

“They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes.  “That is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square.  I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones?”

“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”

“Then we have stopped all the holes.  And now we must be silent and wait.”