‘M. Jean Dubois?’
The man started and an expression of fear came into his eyes. But he answered civilly enough.
‘Yes, monsieur. But I don’t know you.’
‘My name is La Touche. I want a word or two with you. Will you have a drink with me and my friend here?’
He indicated the porter, Charcot, and they moved over. The fear had left Dubois’s eyes, but he still looked uneasy. In silence they sat down.
‘Now Dubois, what will you take?’
When the carter’s wants were supplied, La Touche bent towards him and began speaking in a low tone:—
‘I dare say, Dubois, you already guess what I want, and I wish to say before anything else that you have nothing to fear if you are straight with me. On the contrary, I will give you one hundred francs if you answer my questions truly. If not—well, I am connected with the police, and we’ll become better acquainted.’
Dubois moved uneasily as he stammered:—
‘I don’t know what you mean, monsieur.’