There was no question in his mind; some neighborhood swain, in an amorous mood, had enticed the giggling and subnormal object of his sordid affections to the wine cellar. No doubt the pair were fairly wallowing in depravity amongst the bins at this very moment. The cheek of the young devil! And the girl! Getting drunk on wine that was not hers and singing about it! Certainly she was no better than she should be, and probably so much worse as to be beyond conception.
Marc quitted the steps, picked his way over a heap of rubble and presented himself solidly in the ragged patch of moonlight that described the hole left in the wall by the explosion. He planted his feet ominously apart and doubled his fists.
"All right, you two," he said in a level, distinct voice. "Show yourselves. If you're in any condition."
The silence filled in quickly in the wake of his voice. Marc pursed his lips and peered into the deep shadows of the wine cellar.
"If you don't come out," he said, "I'll damn well come in here and drag you out. How would you like that?"
Then he started as his question was answered with a muffled giggle.
Marc bristled. "Very well," he announced, "here I come!"
He strode to the wine cellar and presented himself firmly in the doorway. "One last chance," he said. "Are you coming out?"
He waited in the ensuing silence, suddenly assailed by a strange feeling of indecision. Then he cried out with dismay as a slender arm suddenly darted out into the moonlight and coiled gracefully about his neck.
"Now, just a minute!" Marc gasped.