"It is I who was massacred—almost. I received a ball, here in my leg, and was invalided last month. But you also have suffered, comrade." And Anatole pointed to Hyde's arm in a sling.
"Nothing much. Only the kick of a horse; it does not prevent me moving about, as you see."
"But what brings you to Paris, my good friend?"
"I am seeking some family documents—to substantiate an inheritance. They are here in the archives of the Mairie."
"How? You were seeking the office of M. the Mayor? You?" And M. Anatole proceeded to scrutinise Hyde slowly and minutely from head to foot. "You, a veteran with your arm in a sling, and that brown beard—brown mixed with grey. It is strange—most strange."
"Well, comrade," replied Hyde, laughing a little uneasily, "you ought to know me again."
"Lose no time, friend, in getting what you want from the Mairie. Come: I will go with you. Come: you may be prevented if you delay."
These words aroused Hyde's suspicions. Had Cyprienne warned the French police to be on the look-out for him?
"But, Anatole, explain. Why do you lay such stress on this?" he asked.
"Do as I tell you—first, the papers. I will explain by-and-by."