"What are you doing here, then?"
For an instant Chacherre was off guard. He did not know how much—or little—Gramont knew; but he did know that Gramont was aware who had taken the loot of the Midnight Masquer from the luggage compartment of the car. This knowledge, very naturally, threw him back on the defence of which he was most sure.
"I came on an errand for my master," he said, and with those words gave the game into Gramont's hands.
There was a moment of silence. Gramont stood apparently in musing thought, conscious that every eye was fastened upon him, and that one false move would now spell disaster. He gave no sign of the tremendous shock that Chacherre's words had just given him; when he spoke, it was quietly and coolly:
"Then your master is evidently associated with Memphis Izzy Gumberts, who owns this place here. Is that right?"
Both Hammond and Chacherre's two friends started at this.
"I don't know anything about that," returned Chacherre, with a shrug which did not entirely conceal his uneasiness. "I know that we've got a murderer here, and that we'll have to dispose of him. Do you object?"
"Of course not," said Gramont, calmly. "Step aside and give me a moment in private with Hammond. Then by all means take him in to Houma. I'd suggest that you tie him up, or make use of handcuffs if the sheriff brought any along. Then you'd better take in the body of the sheriff also. Hammond, a word with you!"
This totally unexpected acquiescence on the part of Gramont seemed to stun Chacherre into inaction. He half moved, as though uncertain whether to bar Gramont from the prisoner, then he stepped aside as Gramont advanced. A gesture to his two companions prevented them from interfering.
"Keep 'em covered, though," he said, shifting his own rifle slightly and watching with a scowl of suspicion.