"But not so, my friend, you shall see him," cried half a dozen voices.
"See him? I'll mark him for life, the devil. Someone go for the vitriol—here!"
With dirty, scratched, and bloodstained hands, Merode threw a coin to one of the Apaches who vanished in the blue fumes of smoke and wine, while Merode slouched deeper into the shadows as there came the sound of a gendarme's clattering sword on the cobbles outside.
"Mon dieu, Margot, I mustn't be caught."
Margot gave orders swiftly. "Down with him, Jeannette, into the vaults, while I hold the fort."
Jeannette clutched Merode's arm. "Come, mon ami, through here! You know the way!"
Stumbling, cursing, praying all in one breath, Merode followed down the rickety wooden ladder, down, it seemed, into the very bowels of the earth.
Thrusting open another door, Jeannette grumblingly lighted a torch stuck in the woodwork, and as Merode's eyes fell upon the figure of Mr. Narkom an oath of triumph burst from his lips.
"Dieu, but Margot spoke the truth. It's the pig himself. I've half a mind to take him with me and make him dance with a hot iron or two! Better than vitriol——" He gave vent to a hoarse, chuckling laugh, at the sound of which the Superintendent shivered, even though the confined space was close enough on the hot summer's night.