“Detectives or thieves?” Camaroncocido asked himself and immediately shrugged his shoulders. “But what is it to me?”
The lamp of a carriage that drove up lighted in passing a group of four or five of these individuals talking with a man who appeared to be an army officer.
“Detectives! It must be a new corps,” he muttered with his shrug of indifference. Soon, however, he noticed that the officer, after speaking to two or three more groups, approached a carriage and seemed to be talking vigorously with some person inside. Camaroncocido took a few steps [[203]]forward and without surprise thought that he recognized the jeweler Simoun, while his sharp ears caught this short dialogue.
“The signal will be a gunshot!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t worry—it’s the General who is ordering it, but be careful about saying so. If you follow my instructions, you’ll get a promotion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, be ready!”
The voice ceased and a second later the carriage drove away. In spite of his indifference Camaroncocido could not but mutter, “Something’s afoot—hands on pockets!”
But feeling his own to be empty, he again shrugged his shoulders. What did it matter to him, even though the heavens should fall?