"The villain!" muttered Fanfaro to himself.
Bobichel was still holding Rolla by the arm. His gaze, roving about the room, had espied a note on the table. Rolla saw it, too, but before she could take it the clown had called Fanfaro's attention to it.
"You have swindled me," the young man read; "you have helped her to escape, confound you!"
"Thank God all is not lost yet," whispered Fanfaro, handing Bobichel the paper.
"One moment," said the clown; "I have an idea which I would like to carry out."
With a quick movement Bobichel threw Robeckal to the ground, bound him with a thick rope and threw him into a closet. He locked it and putting the key in his pocket, he turned to Rolla.
"March, away with you," he said, roughly, "and do not attempt to free him; he can ponder over his sins."
Rolla hurried to leave the house. If Robeckal died she would be the sole possessor of the twenty thousand francs. Bobichel and Fanfaro left the house likewise, and Robeckal remained crying behind.