"I have not kept count, but I suppose it is all written down there." And he jerked his thumb towards the conviction book on the commissary's desk.
"You are a noted thief, and you obtained your nickname by reason of your dexterity in picking locks and climbing through scullery windows?"
"If you say so, monsieur, your words cannot be disputed."
"Very well." The commissary scratched a few lines on a memorandum tablet. Then he suddenly raised his quick eyes and fastened them on the prisoner with the direct question—
"How came you to be detained in such an extraordinary manner in the house, No. 11, Rue Barbette, yesterday?"
A vacant and stolid expression intended to convey an idea of utter innocence came over "The Worm's" face.
"Believe me, monsieur," he said, "I cannot give you the slightest explanation of that extraordinary incident."
"Indeed! You surprise me. I suppose you wish me to understand that you casually strolled in out of the street and were set upon by three Turks, who gagged you and bound you with leather thongs, leaving you to starve quietly to death if you had not been rescued by reason of a chance visit paid to the place by myself and others?"
"I assure you, monsieur, that, strange as it may seem, you have almost related the facts. I went to the place in question with a very ordinary message from a Turkish gentleman with whom I have a slight acquaintance. The other Turks listened to me with the gravity peculiar to their nation, and then, before I could offer a word of remonstrance, treated me exactly as you saw."
"At what time did you go there?"