'Do you know my friend here?'
'I do not know his name,' replied the garçon, 'but I have seen him many times at this café. He is usually in this state when he has money.'
'Do you know where he lives? He promised to take me with him, and I am a stranger in Paris.'
'Have no discontent, monsieur. Rest tranquil; I will intervene.'
With this he stepped across the pavement in front of the café, into the street, and gave utterance to a low, peculiar whistle. The café was now nearly deserted, for the hour was very late, or, rather, very early. When the waiter returned I whispered to him in some anxiety,—
'Not the police, surely?'
'But no!' he cried in scorn; 'certainly not the police.'
He went on unconcernedly taking in the empty chairs and tables. A few minutes later there swaggered up to the café two of the most disreputable, low-browed scoundrels I had ever seen, each wearing a dark-blue cap, with a glazed peak over the eyes; caps exactly similar to the one which lay in front of Simard. The band of Apaches which now permeates all Paris has risen since my time, and Simard had been mistaken an hour before in asserting that Valmont was familiar with their haunts. The present Chief of Police in Paris and some of his predecessors confess there is a difficulty in dealing with these picked assassins, but I should very much like to take a hand in the game on the side of law and order. However, that is not to be; therefore, the Apaches increase and prosper.
The two vagabonds roughly smote Simard's cap on his prone head, and as roughly raised him to his feet.
'He is a friend of mine,' I interposed, 'and promised to take me home with him.'