"No, sir. I walked him up to my house quite quiet."
"That all?"
"Yes, sir."
"You can stand down."
The prisoners had pleaded guilty and there was no other evidence. Simon began to see light. He could perceive at once that it would be a question of a fine, that the magistrates and Press had swallowed him as specified by Pugeot, that his name was saved. But he reckoned without Pugeot.
Pugeot had done everything in life except act as an advocate, and he was determined not to let the chance escape. Several brandies-and-sodas at the hotel had not lessened his enthusiasm for Publicity, and he rose.
"Mr. Chairman and Justices," said Pugeot. "I would like to say a few words on behalf of my friend, the prisoner, whom I have known for many years and who now finds himself in this unfortunate position through no fault of his own."
"How do you make that out?" asked Colonel Grouse.
"I beg your pardon?" said Pugeot, checked in his eloquence. "Oh yes, I see what you mean. Well, as a matter of fact, as a matter of fact—well, not to put too fine a point upon it, leaving aside the fact that he is the last man to do a thing of this sort, he has had money troubles in France."