Then he heard the sound of voices from the direction of the station. They grew louder. Then he heard Marescal, who was leaning out of a window of the corridor, cry out:
“Who is it? Ah, excellent! It’s the police, isn’t it?”
A voice replied: “Yes, Monsieur Commissary. The station master sent us to you.”
“Good. Have you made any arrests, inspector?” said Marescal.
“Only one, sir. One of the robbers they were hunting dropped on the turf by the high road, utterly done. We picked him up about a mile away. But the other managed to escape.”
“That’s a pity. What about the doctor?” said Marescal.
“He was having his horse harnessed as we came by his house. He had just had a night call; but he’ll be here in about forty minutes,” said the inspector.
Marescal paused; then he asked: “Did you catch the smaller of the two robbers?”
“Yes. A pale-faced lad, wearing a hat much too big for him. He’s crying and making promises and whining: [[48]]“I’ll tell the truth, but only to the examining magistrate. Where is the magistrate?” said the inspector.
“Have you left him at the station?”