M. le préfet had coughed discreetly. The warning was well-timed. He knew every word of the Minister's letter by heart, and one phrase in it might, he feared, have escaped M. le Procureur's notice. It ordered that the bearer of the Ministerial credentials was to be taken entirely on trust—no questions were to be asked of him save those to which he desired to make reply. To disregard even the vaguest hint given by the all-powerful Minister of Police was, to say the least, hazardous. Fortunately M. de Saint-Tropèze understood the warning. He pressed his thin lips tightly together and did not pursue the subject of his visitor's name any farther.
"You propose setting to work immediately, Monsieur—er—Fernand?" he asked with frigid hauteur.
"With your permission, Monsieur le Procureur," replied the Man in Grey.
"In the matter of the highway robbery the other night, for instance?"
"In that and other matters, Monsieur le Procureur."
"You were on the coach which was attacked by those damnable Chouans, I believe?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Procureur. I picked up the coach at Argentan and sat next to the driver until the vehicle was ordered to halt."
"Then what happened?"
"A man scrambled up on the box-seat beside me, and holding a pistol to my head commanded me to descend."
"And you descended?"