"Well?" he said, controlling himself. "What's all this about?
Where are you?"
"At my house, above the iron curtain, in the ceiling of my study."
"In the ceiling!" repeated the Prefect, not knowing what to think.
"Yes; and more or less done for, I confess."
"We'll send and help you out," said M. Desmalions, who was beginning to enjoy himself.
"Later on, Monsieur le Préfet. First answer me. Quickly! If not, I don't know that I shall have the strength. What's the time?"
"Oh, look here!"
"I beg of you—"
"It's twenty minutes to three."
"Twenty minutes to three!"