“These burghers are fools: you know the sort, Pascal. Babblers, gabblers, brawlers, windbags, with never an ounce of resolution in the lot,” he said in reply to Pascal’s question as to how he had fared with them. “A cataract of talk and nothing else.”
“Well, I want one of them to come and talk now,” and Pascal told him what had occurred and what was needed.
“They’ll come and make you a speech, a round hundred of ’em,” said Dubois, with a gesture of contempt. “But I would not trust to one of them to act like a sensible man.”
“But can you find one to identify Gerard and get him away?”
“No. They’d think I had some underhand plan and waste half the day in talking about it, and another half in making up their minds and——”
“Stay, man, don’t take example by them or you’ll split my ear drums with your growling. Can it be done?”
“Babillon might do it.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you going?”