But before actually crossing the threshold, the magistrate called a halt, to point out to Ascott the consequences implied by his visit.
“All this, sir, makes it my duty,” he announced sternly, “to draw up an official report; you must be aware that the position in which you have placed yourself is a very serious one; it is a matter for the Criminal Assize, involving as it does, abduction of a minor, further aggravated by violation and rape. I ought, properly speaking, to arrest you. Be very grateful I do not do so, and hold yourself at the disposition of the Court.”
“What is that you say, sir?” cried Ascott, in sudden alarm. But the magistrate merely bowed to the Englishman without another word and made his exit.
For a moment the young man was left alone in the room, but presently, plucking up his spirits, he sprang hurriedly to the door of the ante-room:
“Moche, Monsieur Moche!” he called the old man back in a voice choked with agitation. Moche was already half-way down the stairs, but he turned back and re-entered the room:
“What do you want with me, sir?” he asked, eyeing the Englishman haughtily up and down.
“Moche, come here,” said the latter, and hurriedly catching the other by the sleeve of his coat, he led him into an adjoining room, his library and study. In feverish haste he pulled open a drawer and took out a cheque-book. Dipping a pen in the ink, he paused before writing to ask:
“Monsieur Moche, how much?”
“Beg pardon!” said the old brigand.
Ascott, mastering his nerves, repeated once more: