My cousin began to get angry:
"You idiot, Alfred. How do you imagine they'll suspect anything of the kind! You must send Machurot to them."
He was the local policeman.
"He'll be having a drink."
"At Tronquière's?"
"Probably."
A boy, who stuck his nose in, was sent to look for him. My cousin undertook to draw up the proclamation destined for the neighbouring populace.
He dashed it down without any scratchings out, and gave it to me to run through.
"Excellent!" I exclaimed.