"Evidently," thought Fandor, "the driver wants to know whether his human packages are damaged or not! We have collided with another vehicle!... Cheerful!"
Fandor's cell was now at such an angle that he could only suppose that the Salad Basket had had one of its wheels broken.
"What a nuisance!" he murmured. "Before they have finished their palaver as to how the accident happened and have repaired the damage, we shall have been here a full half-hour.... Jules will be in a temper!"
Minute succeeded minute, long, interminable minutes, and Fandor could not hear clearly what was said, what was being done to put the Salad Basket on its legs again.... The atmosphere in the little cell was becoming intolerable; for the movement of the vehicle had driven fresh air inside the shutter, and now that the Salad Basket was stationary, the air was becoming almost unbreathable.
Fandor's nerves were on edge.
"It cannot be that they are going to leave us stranded here!" thought he.... "Ah, now they have started repairs!" Fandor noticed that his cell was gradually regaining its ordinary level.... A lifting-jack must have been slipped under the vehicle, for there was a melancholy creaking sound. They must be putting the wheel on again!...
"No," thought Fandor, after some time had passed. "Never would I have supposed that it could have taken so much time to repair a Salad Basket!... Why we shall soon have been stuck here for two mortal hours!... I hope it won't make any difference to our going to the Dépôt, nor stop my getting into close touch with that villain Jules!"
There was a further period of waiting. Then our exasperated journalist heard the driver pass down the centre of the van. The van door slammed.... Once more the Salad Basket was loosed from its moorings.
"Something queer is going on!" said Fandor suddenly. He felt certain the van had turned completely round and was going in the direction it came from.
"Now where in the world are we going?... By what kind of a route are we making for that blessed police station?"