Shears was trembling with rage. Wilson stammered, piteously:
"What do you mean? That gentleman...?"
"Was a confederate of Lupin's, like the workmen who flung that bag at our heads."
"It's not credible!"
"Credible or not, there was a means handy of obtaining a proof."
"By killing that gentleman?"
"By simply bringing down his horse. But for you, I should have got one of Lupin's pals. Do you see now what a fool you've been?"
The afternoon was passed in a very sullen fashion. Shears and Wilson did not exchange a word. At five o'clock, as they were pacing up and down the Rue Clapeyron, taking care, however, to keep away from the houses, three young workingmen came along the pavement singing, arm-in-arm, knocked up against them and tried to continue their road without separating. Shears, who was in a bad temper, pushed them back. There was a short scuffle. Shears put up his fists, struck one of the men in the chest and gave another a blow in the face, whereupon the men desisted and walked away with the third.
"Ah," cried Shears, "I feel all the better for that!... My nerves were a bit strained.... Good business!..."
But he saw Wilson leaning against the wall: