“This way, monsieur,” said Deschamps, at last. “Come! I will show you the pig of a Newfoundlander who half killed a gendarme. He is a terrible fellow.”
He had Skipper Bill safe enough––thrown 161 into a foul-aired, windowless cell with an iron-bound door, from which there was no escape. To release him was impossible, whatever the condition of the jail in other parts. Archie had hoped to find a way; but when he saw the cell in which Skipper Bill was confined he gave up all idea of a rescue. And at that moment the skipper came to the narrow grating in the door. He scowled at the jailer and looked the boy over blankly.
“Pah!” exclaimed Deschamps, screwing his face into a look of disgust.
“You wait ’til I cotches you!” the skipper growled.
“What does the pig say, monsieur?” Deschamps asked.
“He has not yet repented,” Archie replied, evasively.
“Pah!” said Deschamps again. “Come, monsieur; we shall continue the inspection.”
Archie was taken to the furthermost cell of the corridor. It was isolated from that part of the building where the jailer had his living quarters, and it was a light, roomy place on the ground floor. The window bars were rusted thin and the masonry in which they were sunk 162 was falling away. It seemed to Archie that he himself could wrench the bars away with his hands; but he found that he could not when he tried them. He looked out; and what he saw made him regret that Skipper Bill had not been confined in that particular cell.
“This cell, monsieur,” said Deschamps, importantly, “is where I confine the drunken Newfoundland sailors when–––”
Archie looked up with interest.