“Then you see, Marescal, your objection falls to the ground. The silence of the victim, this silence which left you still suspicious, is on the contrary a [[241]]proof in her favor. For the second time I ask you to let her go.”
“No!” said Marescal stamping his foot.
“Why not?”
Of a sudden Marescal’s rage burst forth and he shouted: “Because I wish to avenge myself! I want the scandal! I want everybody to know that whole business, her flight with William, her arrest, Bregeac’s crime! I want her to be dishonored and shamed. She has rejected me. Let her pay! And let Bregeac pay too! You’ve been stupid enough to give me the damning details I had missed. I hold Bregeac and the young woman more firmly than I thought—and Jodot and the Ancivels and the whole band! Not one of them shall escape me; and Aurelie is one of the gang!”
He was raving with rage, and came to a stop for sheer lack of breath, and leaned back against the door. In the silence that followed they heard Tony and Labonce talking on the landing.
Ralph picked up from the table a scrap of paper taken from the bottle, a scrap on which was written: “Marescal is a blockhead.” He unfolded it with a careless air and handed it to Marescal.
“Take it, old chap, have it framed, and hang it up at the foot of your bed,” he said in the kindest accents, smiling amiably.
“Yes, yes: go on fooling!” snarled Marescal. “Go on fooling as much as you like. It doesn’t alter the [[242]]fact that I’ve got you too! You showed me the truth at the very beginning! That business of the cigarette! ‘Could you oblige me with a light.’ I’ll oblige you with a light all right! A light that will last you the rest of your life—in prison! Yes, in prison from which you came, and to which you’re going back straight away. In prison, I repeat—in prison! If you think that during my struggle with you I have not pierced your disguise; if you think that I do not know who you are and that I haven’t already all the necessary proofs to strip the mask off you, you’re wrong. Look at him, Aurelie, look at your sweetheart; and if you wish to know who he is, think for a moment of the king of crooks, of the most gentlemanly of burglars, of the master of masters, and say to yourself that Baron de Limézy, pseudo-nobleman and pseudo-explorer is no other man than——”
The front door bell rang loudly and cut him short. It was Philippe and his two big policemen. It could be no one else.
Marescal rubbed his hands and took a long breath.