For a moment the old woman turned, and gazed with eyes of terror at the coming of sudden death—and her tongue went dry in her mouth—no sound. At the next there fell the weighted sand-bag swung by Gavroche’s skilled hand of villainy, aimed by his murderous eyes, and struck the ancient skull, sending the old woman’s life jigging into the shabby room and out into the void; and at the stroke the body, half-risen from the chair, fell across the table amongst her moneys, sprawled ungainly midst the coins before it further fell, and sideways lurched in a dead huddle upon the floor.
To the door of the sleeping girl stepped Hiéne, and stood, tall, slouching, pallid of countenance. And he so stood whilst they all searched stealthily every nook and cranny of the room.
Gavroche rose from his stooping survey of the fallen woman, and glanced at a little mirror he held in his hand. There was no damp of breath upon it.
“That is the end of her romance,” said he.
He laughed low. He was a man that loved his joke.
He signed to the others to bring their plunder; and as they came empty-handed except for papers, he uttered a harsh dog’s laugh that showed embarrassment.
Save for the silver that lay about, the rest was the scrip of the widow’s investments! Of considerable value, but—useless—dangerous to them.
“Curse it!” said Gavroche. “She had a banking account.”
There was a low whistle from the fellow who barred the entrance at the outer door.
“Quick!” said Gavroche. “Pocket what there is of money, and we will divide later.”