"Drive at once to the poste of the quarter."
The Nubian skilfully wheeled the animals about and in a few minutes Monte-Cristo had reached his destination.
At the door of the poste a gardien received him and, at the mention of his name, obsequiously conducted him to the officer in charge. The latter, a short, determined-looking man with a bristling gray moustache and gray hair that stood almost on end upon his little round head, recognized his illustrious visitor at a glance. He hastily arose from the desk at which he was seated, engaged in examining the reports of his subordinates, and politely offered him a chair. Then he asked, deferentially:
"To what am I indebted for so distinguished an honor as a call from the Count of Monte-Cristo?"
"Monsieur," replied the Count, taking the proffered seat, "two Italians were arrested a short time ago on the Champs-Elysées and brought hither."
"Yes," said the chief of the poste, "and great scoundrels they are, too! We have been shadowing them for some time, but could never detect them in any overt act until to-day. They belong to a very dangerous gang of prowlers, led by a shrewd German named Waldmann, whose headquarters are in a wretched caboulot of the Cité d' Antin."
"Of what are these Italians accused, that is what is the present specific charge against them?"
"They were caught picking pockets in the crowd thronging about a marionette show."
"Is the evidence against them conclusive?"
"It is."