The master-carpenter was defiant and insolent, yet there was a devilish kind of humour in his tone as in his attitude.
“You will not heed the warning I give?” The little Clerk pointed to the open page of the Victorian statutes before him.
“Not at all.”
“Then I shall, with profound regret—”
Suddenly George Masson thrust his face forward near that of M. Fille, who did not draw back.
“You will inform the Court that the prisoner refuses to incriminate himself, eh?” he interjected.
“No, monsieur, I will inform Monsieur Barbille of what I saw. I will do this without delay. It is the one thing left me to do.”
In quite a grand kind of way he stood up and bowed, as though to dismiss his visitor.
As George Masson did not move, the other went to the door and opened it. “It is the only thing left to do,” he repeated, as he made a gentle gesture of dismissal.
“Not at all, my legal bombardier. Not at all, I say. All you know Jean Jacques knows, and a good deal more—what he has seen with his own eyes, and understood with his own mind, without legal help. So, you see, you’ve kept me here talking when there’s no need and while my business waits. It is urgent, M’sieu’ la Fillette—your business is stale. It belongs to last session of the Court.” He laughed at his joke. “M’sieu’ Jean Jacques and I understand each other.” He laughed grimly now. “We know each other like a book, and the Clerk of the Court couldn’t get in an adjective that would make the sense of it all clearer.”