“
And then Père Moche, he out with it:
“‘Must come along with me to the Commissary, my lads, and tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; else you may be certain sure you’re in for a hatful of trouble!’
So there you are, sir, that’s what we did!”
The apache broke off, then suddenly, with a superb gesture, drawing four gold louis from his pocket, he spread them out in the hollow of his hand, and marching up to Ascott, he made a proposal to the rich Englishman that astounded the latter more than ever.
“Would it hurt you, sir, to take back your money? The tin was not honestly earned, and it burns our fingers!”
With a look of disgust the apache tossed on to the young man’s knees the four gold coins, which rolled under the bed.
Père Moche broke in: “Such, Monsieur le Commissaire, are the facts as they occurred—you know them yourself, sir; indeed, M. Ascott does not deny them. Besides which, the presence in his house of my unhappy niece, a mere child, sir, barely sixteen years of age, whom he has odiously wronged, is surely the best proof of guilt ...”
But Moche never finished his sentence. At last Ascott was master of the situation; a grim passion of indignation was rising in his breast, the blazing anger only men of a cold, calm temperament are capable of. With never a thought of the dignity of the functionary he addressed, he pointed to the door, and: “Out of the room, sir!” he ordered the Commissary. With majestic mien, the magistrate turned on his heel, still holding, however, his tricolour scarf in his hand.
“Moderate your language, sir!” he protested, in haughty accents; “do not forget you are speaking to the representative of law and order. However, I obey your wish, deeming my duty to be completed in this house.” Then, turning to the two apaches: