"Of what am I accused?"
"You will hear in good time. Isidore, where is your rope?"
His colleague produced the long thin cord that serves instead of handcuffs in France.
"Must we tie you?"
"No, no! I am ready to submit, but under protest. You shall answer for this outrage. I am an Englishman. I will appeal to our ambassador."
"With all my heart! We are not afraid. But enough said. Come."
The three—police-agents and their prisoner—went out together. On the threshold of No. 43 the officer named Jules said—
"Your key, monsieur—the key of your room. I will take charge of it. Monsieur the Judge will no doubt make a searching perquisition, and no one must enter it till then."
The door was locked, M. Jules put the key in his pocket, and the party went down to the cab, which was driven off rapidly to the depôt of the Préfecture.
Here the usual formalities were gone through. Rupert Gascoigne, as the Englishman was called, was interrogated, searched, deprived of money, watch, penknife, and pencil-case; his description was noted down, and then he was asked whether he would go into the common prison, or pay for the accommodation of the pistole or private "side."