"I know him, that's Mimile. His account is settled, he is jugged!"
The hall of the station filled once more: an old woman, dragged in forcibly, was groaning and bawling at the top of her voice:
"Pack of swine! Isn't it shameful to treat a poor woman so!"
"M. Superintendent," explained one of the men, "we caught this woman, Mother Toulouche—in the act of stowing away in her bodice a bundle of bank notes just passed to her by a man. Here they are."
The constable handed the packet to the magistrate, and Fandor, who was watching, could not repress an exclamation.
"Oh!—Notes in halves! Suppose they belong to M. Martialle! Allow me, M. Rouquelet, to look at the numbers."
"In with Mother Toulouche!" cried the Superintendent, then rubbing his hands he turned to Juve and cried:
"A fine haul, M. Inspector. What do you think?"
But Juve did not hear him; he had drawn Fandor into a corner of the office and was explaining:
"I have done no more at present than have Lady Beltham shadowed, but I do not mean to arrest her. You see, if I asked Fuselier for a warrant against Lady Beltham, a person legally dead and buried more than two months ago, that excellent functionary would swallow his clerk, stool and all, in sheer amazement."