“Ten million pardons, m’sieur; but I was absent when the message he shall be deliver,” exclaimed Ducroix in broken English. “I shall come and shall bring my men as soon as he shall be receive. M’sieur, who shall it be this great criminal you demand of me to arrest? Is he here?”
“No, no. A moment, Ducroix. Do you know a place called the Inn of the Seven Sinners?”
“Perfectly. It is but a stone’s throw distant—on the Quai d’Lorme.”
“Come with me to it, then. I’ll make you the most envied man in France, Ducroix: I’ll deliver into your hands that witch of the underworld, Margot, the Queen of the Apaches!”
Ducroix’s face lit up like a face transfigured.
“M’sieur!” he cried. “That woman? You can give me that woman? You know her? You can recognize her? But, yes, I remember! You shall have her in your hands once in your own country, but she shall slip you, as she shall slip everybody!”
“She won’t slip you, then, I promise you that!” said Narkom. “Reward and glory, both shall be yours. I have followed her across the channel, Ducroix. I know where she is to be found for a certainty. She is at the Inn of the Seven Sinners. Just take me there and I’ll turn the Jezebel over to you.”
Ducroix needed no urging. The prospect of such a capture made him fairly beside himself with delight. In twenty swift words he translated this glorious news to his men—setting them as wild with excitement as he was himself—then with a sharp, “Come, m’sieur!” he turned on his heel and led the breathless race for the goal.
Halfway down the narrow, ink-black street that led to the inn they encountered Dollops pelting back at full speed.
“Come on, guv’ner, come on, all of you!” he broke out as he came abreast of them. “She’s there—they’re all there—kickin’ up Meg’s diversions, sir, and singin’ and dancin’ like mad. And, sir, he’s there, too—the pedler chap! I see him come up and sneak in with the rest. Come on! This way, all of you.”