“Eur e’harvik rous,” he said in Breton, and I could not make out whether he meant that he had been in jail for the sake of a woman or of a “little red doe.” The Breton language bristles with double meanings, symbols, and allegories. The word for doe in Breton is karvez; or for a doe which never had a fawn, it is heiez; for a fawn the word is karvik.
I mentioned these facts to him, but he only looked dangerous and remained silent.
“Lizard,” I said, “give me your confidence as I give you mine. I will tell you now that I was once in the police—”
He started.
“And that I expect to enter that corps again. And I want your aid.”
“My aid? For the police?” His laugh was simply horrible. “I? The Lizard? Continue, m’sieu.”
“I will tell you why. Yesterday, on a visit to Point Paradise, I saw a man lying belly down in the bracken; but I didn’t let him know I saw him. I have served 236 in the police; I think I recognize that man. He is known in Belleville as Tric-Trac. He came here, I believe, to see a man called Buckhurst. Can you find this Tric-Trac for me? Do you, perhaps, know him?”
“Yes,” said the Lizard, “I knew him in prison.”
“You have seen him here?”
“Yes, but I will not betray him.”