Then he left the cellar, but did not go away. Between him and the apaches now stood the heavy door secured by an outside bolt the officer had shot with his own hands.
Juve stood there listening; a posse of men was surrounding the house.
CHAPTER XXVII
JUVE’S BAG
An hour or so before these events, while it was still night, the police-officers on duty at the head Commissariat office at Alfort were roused from the peaceful doze they were indulging in by the unexpected arrival of an individual who seemed breathless and exhausted as if he had been running a great distance.
“The Commissary?” he demanded.
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.
“You may be very sure he’s not here.”
“And his deputy?”
“He’s away too, of course.”
“Who is in command here then?”