Why yes, Juve saw no objection to sacrificing the old reprobate. “Père Moche,” he cried, “shall get nothing, that I swear.”
Another burst of acclamation; then in the pause that followed, seven or eight voices were raised.
“It was us,” they declared, “kidnapped the Minister, by your order, Fantômas; you remember, it was a devil of a job, we had to be mighty smart!...”
Calmly, impassively, Juve drew a memorandum slip from his pocket, “Your names?” he questioned coldly.
One by one, the apaches filed past the officer, giving in their names and their nicknames.
The “Gasman” made a halt before his superior: “It was me,” he said, “set afire the beggars’ refuge, while you were getting ’em aboard your car.”
“Well and good!” pronounced Juve, “... and you?” he proceeded, turning now to the “Beadle.”
“You know yourself, Fantômas, you know what I did.”
“That goes for nothing; say it over!”
“What’s the good?”