“Well, I stayed there to wait for M. Goefle; I was in M. Stenson’s room, where there was a fire, and M. Goefle was in the office next to it, talking loud to M. Stenson.”
“What were they saying?”
“I don’t know, I did not listen; I was playing making a fire in the chimney. And then, all at once, some men came into the office, and they said: ‘Monsieur Stenson, his lordship has been waiting for you for an hour. Why do you not come? You must come at once!’ And then they quarrelled about it, and M. Goefle said: ‘M. Stenson cannot go; he has no time.’ And M. Stenson said: ‘I must go—I am not afraid of anything—I will go at once.’ And then M. Goefle said: ‘I will go with you.’ Then I went into the office because I was afraid they were going to hurt M. Goefle, and there I saw three—or six men, dressed in very nice livery.”
“Three—or six?”
“Or four—I could not count; I was afraid. But M. Goefle cried out, ‘Go away with you!’ and he pushed me on to the staircase, and threw this bundle of papers after me without any one seeing him. Perhaps he did not want them to know that he gave it to me so, and then I picked it up, and ran away, and that is all!”
“And you did not tell me, idiot! What if M. Goefle—”
Christian paused, knowing that it was useless to complain, and, gathering up the papers as quickly as possible, he shut them up in his box, took the key, and hastened out. The events thickening around him were becoming more and more incomprehensible, and he felt very anxious about the lawyer’s situation.
Nils had already burst into a roar at being left alone with the marionettes, which frightened him a little, fascinating as they were, when M. Goefle met Christian in the passage, and brought him back into the bear-room. He was pale and agitated.
“Yes, yes,” he said to Christian, who assailed him with questions, “fasten the doors. Something serious is going on here. Where is Nils? Ah, there you are, little one! Where did you put the bundle of papers?”
“He was cutting them up into boats,” said Christian; “here they are, all torn, but nothing is wanting. I picked up every scrap. But what are these strange letters about me, Monsieur Goefle?”