"No, Jurgens ees not here, m'sieu."
"He's talking double, Matt," struck in Dick; "I can see it in his eyes."
"Zere ees no sooch man," cried Rigollette, "non, I swear eet!"
"Or Proctor?"
Rigolette quailed under Matt's steady look. The creole, with a groan, flung out his hands.
"Oui—yes," he murmured, "zey was here, mais not no more. Zat ees ze trut'."
"Where are they? And where is the German boy who came with Proctor? And the iron chest they brought with them?"
"Zat ees ze puzzle—ze riddle, wat you call. Ze chest, ah, ha, I show heem; mais ze boy, Proctair an' Jurgens, zey haf gone. One by one zey go, run down ze stairs lak ze wild man, zen t'roo de court and out ze door, and away. Zey was cr-r-razy, an' zey keel ze P'tit Joujou!" Rigolette wrung his hands. "Ze P'tit Joujou," he wailed.
"The more he talks," said Dick, "the less we know."
"Take us to the chest," ordered Matt, turning to the creole.