They would have passed Vernet hurriedly, but he put out his hand and said:
“Look here, my good souls, don’t you know that this is no place for beggars? You can’t be very old in the business or you’d never trouble a house where you see that on the door.” And pointing to the badge of mourning, he concluded his oration: “Be off, now, and thank fortune that I’m a good-natured fellow.”
The woman muttered something after the usual mendicant fashion, and hastened away down the street.
At the same moment the prancing horses, held to a walk by the firm hand of their stout driver, came opposite the mansion, and a face muffled in folds of crape looked out from the carriage.
But Van Vernet had now no eyes for the horses, the carriage, or its occupant.
Noting, with a hasty glance, the direction taken by the two women, he sprang down the basement-steps and rang the bell.
The servant who had opened to the women, again appeared at the door.
“What do you want?” she asked, crossly; for being an honest servant she had no fear of the blue coat and brass buttons of the law.
The bogus policeman touched his hat and greeted her with an affable smile.
“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I thought you might be annoyed by those beggars. I can remove them if you enter a complaint. I saw that they gave you some kind of a paper; a begging letter, probably. Just give it to me, and I will see that they don’t intrude again upon people who are in trouble enough.”