Nor had Patrice Belval any doubt of it. The disaster was preparing. Essarès’ revenge was inevitably at hand. A man like him, a fighter as able as he appeared to be, does not so easily surrender four million francs if he has not some scheme at the back of his head. Patrice felt himself breathing heavily. His present excitement was more violent than any with which he had thrilled since the very beginning of the tragic scenes which he had been witnessing; and he saw that Coralie’s face was as anxious as his own.
Meanwhile Bournef partially recovered his composure and, holding back his companions, said:
“Don’t be such fools! He would be capable, with old Siméon, of releasing himself and running after us.”
Using only one hand, for the other was clutching a pocket-book, all four fastened Essarès’ arm to the chair, while he protested angrily:
“You idiots! You came here to rob me of a secret of immense importance, as you well knew, and you lose your heads over a trifle of four millions. Say what you like, the colonel had more backbone than that!”
They gagged him once more and Bournef gave him a smashing blow with his fist which laid him unconscious.
“That makes our retreat safe,” said Bournef.
“What about the colonel?” asked one of the others. “Are we to leave him here?”
“Why not?”
But apparently he thought this unwise; for he added: