"I do," and M. Étienne made a motion to return the coins to their place.
"Since you know so much, it's strange you don't know a little more," the old chap growled. "Well, Lord knows if it is really his, but he goes by the name of Peyrot."
"And where does he lodge?"
"How should I know? I have trouble enough keeping track of my own lodgers, without bothering my head about other people's."
"Now rack your brains, my friend, over this fellow," M. Étienne said patiently, with a persuasive chink of his pouch. "Recollect now; you have been sent to this monsieur with a message."
"Well, Rue des Tournelles, sign of the Gilded Shears," the old carl spat out at last.
"You are sure?"
"Hang me else."
"If you are lying to me, I will come back and beat you to a jelly with your own broom."
"It's the truth, monsieur," he said, with some proper show of respect at last. "Peyrot, at the Gilded Shears, Rue des Tournelles. You may beat me to a jelly if I lie."