At the name of Fandor, Paulet sprang up and ranged himself instinctively by the journalist’s side; while Père Moche realized the time was not come to continue the discussion. Besides which, the landlord of The Orange Blossom now came running up from the penetralia of his establishment with very natural curiosity:
“What is up now?” he demanded, “I seem to have heard an explosion, like a revolver shot.”
Mine host looked hard at the three men, standing there with torn clothes, all filthy and smothered in dust; but Fandor was ready with a plausible explanation. He gave his account with perfect self-possession:
“It’s nothing, landlord, only the customer’s car burst a tyre just now and we’ve been helping to mend it; it was a case of creeping in under the chassis, that’s how we’re a bit dirty, but a clothes brush’ll soon put that to rights!”
The landlord asked no more questions, and the four men returned quietly to the restaurant, but three of them were well aware that this tranquillity was only apparent. It was but a truce before the battle, for war seemed henceforth to be definitely declared.
CHAPTER XXIV
PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS
It was nine o’clock, and the storm was at its height. The rain came down in torrents, the wind blew fiercely, lightning blazed and thunder bellowed. The streets were deserted, for a man must indeed have had urgent business to call him abroad on such a night.
Apparently such was Jérôme Fandor’s case, for the journalist was walking fast and resolutely under the pitiless downpour along the quays bordering the Seine in the direction of Charenton. As he fought his way against the gale, the belated pedestrian was growling between his teeth:
“Good lord! how my ears sting with the cold! and how pitch dark it is! Screw up my eyes as I will, I can’t see a thing. All the same, I’ve got to get to Alfort; but shall I ever find the rendez-vous in this darkness, I wonder! All the same, how right I was to attend the marriage of that fool Ascott with the unspeakable Nini Guinon! What a wedding! and what a crew! And old Moche! what a clever fellow he must be to keep this gang of scoundrels on the job, always promising the fellows money and never giving them the pay for the crimes they do at his bidding! Oh! he’s one in a thousand, he is, the old money-lender of the Rue Saint-Fargeau! If I hadn’t important reasons for not wishing him to see me, I’d just go straight, fair and square, to the abandoned quarry where the confabulation’s to be between the ‘Gasman,’ ‘Bull’s-eye,’
Paulet and the rest of that gang of ruffians. But surely I hear footsteps coming up behind me. Best turn off the road now and make to the right to get time to find a hiding place. Mustn’t let yourself be seen, friend Fandor. True, all these chaps are your ‘pals’ and more or less well disposed; but ’ware Moche, if he spotted you, especially after yesterday’s business, there’d be trouble, and that wouldn’t help on poor Juve’s affairs!”