It was the “Beadle” who undertook the prosecution. All the while brandishing before the face of the culprit, who stood impassive before him, his redoubtable clenched fists, the weight of which was familiar to all the onlookers and which without an effort could have felled the unhappy old man to the ground, he began with an artful reference that instantly won him the sympathy of his audience.
“Père Moche,” he said, “you are come, and that is well, for it behooves us once for all to understand each other, us and you. You can see for yourself, that, among the chosen few of our band, one only is missing, poor ‘Beauty Boy,’ and if he has been nabbed, if he is in the stone jug, waiting till the bigwigs send him overseas, that is entirely your fault; I don’t mean to say you sold him to the ’tecs
, but you left him without coin, without a yellow boy, without a stiver, and forced him to muck it somehow or other, so that ...”
A triple round of applause allowed the orator to take breath, which he did long and noisily, and to add another touch:
“Yes, if ‘Beauty Boy’ was pinched working the Yankees on the Trans-Atlantic boat-train, and he so clever fingered, it was because he didn’t have the usual stuff with him. If he hadn’t been forced to pick up just anything he could to fill his belly, he would never have ...”
Faces grew ugly, fists clenched, every eye glittered with murderous light. In his hiding-place Fandor congratulated himself on his presence at this unexpected scene. Moche seemed to be racking his brains to find a way to exculpate himself. Still the old ruffian managed to conceal his distress, and it was without any great difficulty he succeeded in breaking in on the “Beadle’s” eloquence and making himself heard instead.
“Come, come, you’re never going to eat me, comrades? I’ve got a tough hide, you know, and you’d only get a belly-ache. Now what makes you go howling at me that gate when I’m your best chum? What have you against me, now?”
“The infernal cheek of the chap!” snorted out “Big Ernestine,” looking as red as a poppy.
“But come now, haven’t I done everything I ought? Sure enough, Fantômas, who set us to work, don’t pay us as we hoped he would. There’s been some good business done, I admit, and without you, without us, it would never have come off. Coin’s been handled by the chief, and it’s all stuck to his fingers, we’ve not had a chance yet to touch it. But I’m not Fantômas, I’m only his lieutenant, and to pass on your complaint to him, I should have to know where he is....”
“You don’t know where Fantômas is? D’ye think we’re going to swallow that humbug?” vociferated “Big Ernestine.”