The journalist's words made no impression on the sleeping monarch, so, ignoring all formality, he laid hands upon the King and gave him a violent shaking.
"For Heaven's sake, try to recognize me ... speak to me ... I am Jerome Fandor ... I've come to save you."
In leaning over the sleeping man, Fandor suddenly got a whiff of his breath and then drew back, amazed.
"Why, he's drunk! As drunk as a lord! Where the deuce did he get it?... Ah, these empty bottles!... Wine!... and ham ... no wonder! What on earth shall I do with him now? How can I get him out of here? I can't leave him in the hands of the cutthroats who have imprisoned him.... But if I do take him away, how the devil will Juve and I be able to catch the accomplices of Fantômas, if he has any?"
"Juve!"
The very name of the detective gave him an inspiration.
"Yes, that's the only way out of it ... first of all, I must save the King, get him out of danger, and then arrange a trap to catch my gang." Fandor deliberated a moment.
"There's no doubt I shall run the risk of being killed in his place, but that's a risk I shall have to take."
And then a smile spread over the journalist's features.
"What an idiot I am! After all, there's no danger ... it was a happy thought of mine leaving that note for Juve ... he'll come to-morrow at the latest ... that gives me the rest of the night."