“Sit down, M. le Moyne,” he continued, and I fancied I detected a trace of kindness in his voice. “I should be glad to hear your story of your connection with Mlle. Ribaut.”
“May I ask first, Monsieur,” I questioned, “why I have been arrested?”
“You are charged with the abduction and detention of the girl, with drawing your sword against her legal guardian, M. Jacques Ribaut, and with subsequently assaulting him and his friend, M. Jean Briquet, at his residence in the Rue des Moulins. Luckily, they were not injured seriously, and so could lodge complaint against you without delay.”
“But they did not know my lodging,” I protested, looking at him with bewildered eyes. “How was I found so speedily?”
D’Argenson smiled and turned to a great book which lay beside him on the table.
“Listen,” he said, and opened it. “Ah, here it is,” he added, after turning a page or two. “An entry on this page reads as follows, under date of July 10: ‘Pierre le Moyne, age about twenty, brown hair, brown eyes, well built, entered by the Porte St. Antoine at sunrise. Found lodging at the Epée Flamboyante, Rue du Chantre. A Gascon, Mont-de-Marsan. Unsuspected.’”
He smiled again as he glanced at my astonished face.
“It is our record,” he said, “of all strangers who enter Paris. We have agents at every gate—a simple thing. You see we had you under our hand.”
Still I could not speak. It was incredible. But I began to understand how no one could escape M. D’Argenson.
“As to the charges,” he added more gravely, “I trust they are not true, M. le Moyne, for they are of a most serious nature.”