"Failed!" he said, and immediately began to whistle the air of a popular song, which probably conveyed some information to the dwarf.
Muttering savagely, Pillot ordered the messenger to bring the carriage round, and, turning to me, said more calmly, "Monsieur, the plot has miscarried, and you must leave Paris. I cannot explain further, but you have no choice. Come with me quietly, or——" and he raised his pistol.
My head began to swim again. The plot had failed! What plot? What had I to do with it? Why should these people wish to carry me off? Afterwards, when the truth came out, the affair seemed simple, so simple, that I was ready to laugh at my own stupidity. I tried to obtain some information, but Pillot stopped me promptly. I had never seen him so thoroughly roused; he dug his nails viciously into the palms of his hands; his eyes looked like those of a hunted animal.
"Quick! There is no time to argue. It is a case of life and death for you and me, and perhaps for many besides. I wish you no harm, monsieur! I will save your life if you will let me."
"Set me free," said I, "and I will save my own."
"I cannot do that—for the sake of others."
François had disappeared, but Pierre was in the room, and he toyed nervously with his club. I do not know how the dwarf would have acted, but there was no mistaking his companion's purpose.
"An end to this," he exclaimed. "Come, monsieur—or stay!" and he flourished his huge weapon threateningly.
"It is best, monsieur; it is really best," cried the dwarf. "Ah, corbleu, it is too late! Listen! There are the soldiers! Oh, monsieur, what can I do?"
"Bah!" said Pierre, raising his club, "it is his life or ours."