"All that's none of your business," replied the little man in his cracked voice. "I shall not answer."
"In that case, forward, march," ordered the burgomaster, who grasped him firmly by the nape of the neck; "you are going to sleep in prison."
The little man writhed like a weasel; he even tried to bite, and the dog was sniffing at the calves of his legs, when, quite exhausted, he said, not without a certain dignity:
"Let go, sir, I surrender to superior force—I'm yours!"
The burgomaster, who was not entirely lacking in good breeding, became calmer.
"Do you promise?" said he.
"I promise!"
"Very well—walk in front."
And that is how, on the night of the 29th of July, 1835, the burgomaster took captive a little red-haired man, issuing from the cavern of Geierstein.
Upon arriving at Hirschwiller the rural guard ran to find the key of the prison and the vagabond was locked in and double-locked, not to forget the outside bolt and padlock.