“Yes, yes!” cried Bonavent.
“Let him have his way!” cried another.
“Give him his pocket-book!” cried a third.
“Never!” howled Guerchard.
“It’s in his pocket—his breast-pocket! Be smart!” roared Lupin.
“Come, come, it’s got to be given to him,” cried Bonavent. “Hold the master tight!” And he thrust his hand into the breast of Guerchard’s coat, and tore out the pocket-book.
“Throw it on the table!” cried Lupin.
Bonavent threw it on to the table; and it slid along it right to Lupin. He caught it in his left hand, and slipped it into his pocket. “Good!” he said. And then he yelled ferociously, “Look out for the bomb!” and made a feint of throwing it.
The whole group fell back with an odd, unanimous, sighing groan.
Lupin sprang into the lift, and the doors closed over the opening. There was a great sigh of relief from the frightened detectives, and then the chunking of machinery as the lift sank.