“I heard you.”
The lad had by this time recovered his customary audacity.
“Five days ago,” he began, “I was put on to Caroline Schimmel; I have found out all about her by this time. She is as regular as clockwork in her duties at least. She wakes at ten and takes her absinthe. Then she goes to a little restaurant she knows, and has her breakfast and a game at cards with any one that will play with her. At six in the evening she goes to the Grand Turk, a restaurant and dancing-shop in the Rue des Poisonnieres. Ain’t it a swell ken just! You can eat; drink, dance, or sing, just as you like; but you must have decent togs on, or they won’t let you in.”
“Wouldn’t they let you through then?”
Toto pointed significantly to his rags as he replied,—
“This rig out wouldn’t pass muster, but I have a scheme in hand.”
Tantaine took down the address of the dancing-saloon, and then, addressing Toto with the utmost severity,—
“Do you think,” said he, “that this report is worth a hundred francs?”
Toto made a quaint grimace.
“Do you think,” asked he, “that Caroline can lead the life she does without money? No fear. Well, I have found out where the coin comes from.”