The murder and robbery accomplished, the horrible old woman opened the glass-door, disappeared rapidly in the green alley, went out by the small door, and reached the waste ground. Near the Observatory, she took a cab, which conveyed her to Bras-Rouge's. Widow Martial, Nicholas, Calabash, and Barbillon had, as the reader knows, made an appointment to meet La Chouette in this den, to rob and kill the diamond broker.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE DETECTIVE.
The "Bleeding Heart Tavern" was situated on the Champs Elysees, near the Cours la Reine, in one of the vast moats which bounded this promenade some years since. The inhabitants of the island had not yet appeared. Since the departure of Bradamanti, who had accompanied the step-mother of Madame d'Harville to Normandy, Tortillard had returned to his father's house.
Placed as lookout on the top of the staircase leading down to the inn, the little cripple was to notify the arrival of the Martials by a concerted signal, Bras-Rouge being then in secret conference with Narcisse Borel, a police-officer.
This man, about forty years, strong and thickset, had his skin stained, a sharp and piercing eye, and face completely shaved, so as to be able to assume the different disguises necessary to his dangerous expeditions; for it was often necessary for him to unite the sudden transformations of a comedian with the energy and courage of the soldier, to surprise certain bandits whom he was obliged to match in courage and determination. Narcisse Borel was, in a word, one of the most useful, the most active instruments of the providence, on a small scale, modestly and vulgarly called the police.
Let us return to the interview between Borel and Bras-Rouge. Their conversation seemed very animated.
"Yes," said the plain-clothes constable, "you are accused of profiting by your position in a double manner, by taking part with impunity in the robberies of a band of very dangerous malefactors, and of giving false information concerning them to the police. Take care, Bras-Rouge; if this should be proved, they would have no mercy on you."
"Alas! I know I am accused of this; and it is afflicting, my good M. Narcisse," replied Bras-Rouge, giving to his weasel face an expression of hypocritical sorrow. "But I hope that to-day they will render me justice, and that my good faith will be certainly acknowledged."
"We shall see."