“So I could do the job with no peepers to spy me. All the chickens were gone to roost. The shiners are three feet underground behind some wine-bottles. And I spread some stones and mortar over them.”
“Good,” said Jacques Collin. “And the others?”
“Ruffard’s pieces are with la Gonore in the poor woman’s bedroom, and he has her tight by that, for she might be nabbed as accessory after the fact, and end her days in Saint-Lazare.”
“The villain! The reelers teach a thief what’s what,” said Jacques.
“Godet left his pieces at his sister’s, a washerwoman; honest girl, she may be caught for five years in La Force without dreaming of it. The pal raised the tiles of the floor, put them back again, and guyed.”
“Now do you know what I want you to do?” said Jacques Collin, with a magnetizing gaze at la Pouraille.
“What?”
“I want you to take Madeleine’s job on your shoulders.”
La Pouraille started queerly; but he at once recovered himself and stood at attention under the boss’ eye.
“So you shy at that? You dare to spoil my game? Come, now! Four murders or three. Does it not come to the same thing?”