He nodded.
“Soldiers of the Empire are cheap in Paris just now.”
“So cheap that public opinion would be content if all the messieurs Champdivers were to kill all the messieurs Goguelat and be shot or guillotined for it. I forget which your case demands, and doubt if public opinion would inquire.”
“And yet,” I mused, “there must be preliminaries; some form of trial, for instance, with witnesses. It is even possible that I might be found innocent.”
“I have allowed for that unlikely chance, and I look beyond it. To be frank, it does not strike me as probable that a British jury will hand over the estates of the Comte de Kéroual de Saint-Yves to an escaped Buonapartist prisoner who has stood his trial for the murder of a comrade, and received the benefit of the doubt.”
“Allow me,” said I, “to open the window an inch or two. No; put back your whistle. I do not propose to fling you out, at least not just yet; nor will I try to escape. To tell you the truth, you suggest the need of a little fresh air. And now, Monsieur, you assure me you hold the knave in your hand. Well then, play him. Before I tear your foolish paper up, let me have a look at your confederate.” I stepped to the door and called down the stairs, “Madame Jupille, be so good as to ask my other visitor to ascend.”
With that I turned to the window again and stood there looking out upon the foul gutter along which the refuse of some dye-works at the head of the street found its way down to the Seine. And standing so, I heard the expected footsteps mounting the stairs.
“I must ask your pardon, Monsieur, for this intrusion——”
“Hey!” If the words had been a charge of shot fired into my back, I could not have spun round on them more suddenly. “Mr. Romaine!”
For indeed it was he, and not Clausel, who stood in the doorway. And to this day I do not know if Alain or I stared at him with the blanker bewilderment; though I believe there was a significant difference in our complexions.