"No—one, m'sieur." He closed his eyes.
"Think, Jussieu!" I growled. "Where is Beudant, your brother negro?"
He did not reply.
"My hand is getting tired," I said coldly. "Let me remind you, Jussieu, that the pistol is furnished with a hair trigger."
The threats galvanised him.
"Beudant sleeps downstairs, on the ground floor," he cried.
"And the others?"
"There are no others, m'sieur."
"You do badly to lie to me, Jussieu. Say your prayers, my man; you have just a minute to live."
His face went grey, and his eyes almost started from his head. "Mercy, mercy!" he groaned. "I shall tell you the whole truth."