I opened the door again abruptly and dispatched a kick to the spine of Mister Rap that promptly sent him reeling down more than a score of stairs:
"That's what's happening!" I cried, beside myself. Then I locked the door and bolted it while the laughs of my neighbours greeted Mister Rap as he fell.
I was pleased with myself and rubbed my hands together joyfully. This adventure had put new life into me. I went back to the task in hand and was going to finish the sketch when my ears were assailed by an out of the ordinary noise.
Rifle butts were being struck against the pavement… I looked out of my window and saw three gendarmes, their carbines grounded, their cocked hats crosswise, standing on guard at the main entrance.
"Has that scoundrel Rap broken something?" I said to myself in fear and trembling.
And see what a strange thing the human mind is: I, who had wanted to cut my own throat just the previous day, shuddered to the marrow of my bones when I reflected that I might well be hanged if Rap was dead.
The stairwell filled with a hubbub of noises… There was a rising tide of muffled footfalls, the metallic clink of weapons and brief verbal exchanges.
Suddenly they tried to open my door. It was closed!
Then there was a general commotion.
"In the name of the law…open up!"