Presently another iron door was reached, and, being opened, revealed a room about five yards by four in area. High up in one wall was a narrow, strongly barred window, that was little more than a slit, and communicated to the outer air by a sort of funnel, for even the cell's vaulted roof was below the surface of the ground. A small fireplace faced this window, and, to prevent the possibility of a prisoner's escape that way, a strong iron grating was fixed in the lower part of the chimney.
A low wooden bedstead a yard in width, a small deal table and a wooden stool comprised the furniture of this inhospitable apartment. At the sight of it St. Just's heart sank.
When the door of what was to be St. Just's home until he should be otherwise disposed of, had been thrown open, Vipont stood aside, and, bending before the prisoner in mock courtesy, motioned him to pass inside.
"I regret, Mons. le docteur," he said, "that we cannot offer you a more luxurious apartment; for this, I admit, is scarcely fitting for a member of the learned profession, I doubt not, you adorn. But, at any rate, you will be safe from thieves, and your scientific meditations will not be interrupted."
He wound up with a self-sufficient chuckle. St. Just made no reply, but crossed the threshold of his cell, into which the jailer had preceded him with a lantern. Then Vipont and his myrmidons withdrew. But, in a few minutes, he returned, as though he had forgotten something. He stepped quickly to the jailer's side and whispered something in his ear. Now that St. Just had had time to look at him, he saw that the jailer was a hard-featured, impassive, honest-looking fellow, with nothing in his countenance that augured cruelty or ill-nature, for the mere love of it. Whatever Vipont had said to him, the jailer raised the lantern and turned its light upon St. Just at the same time bestowing a keen glance on him. It will be borne in mind that St. Just was got up to pass for a serious, middle-aged member of a learned profession. The result of the jailer's scrutiny, which was made with much deliberation, was the muttered reply to his companion, "I am of your opinion."
Then he placed the lantern on the table and moved round behind St. Just, who, though suspicious of the glances cast at him, had no idea what they portended; but he was soon to know, for the man suddenly threw himself upon him, pinioning his arms behind him, so that he could not move.
Indeed St. Just made no attempt to do so, for the whole movement had been so rapid that he was taken quite aback. Before he had recovered his composure, Vipont had made a dash at his beard and plucked it off; when, instead of a middle-aged doctor, there stood before them a man clean-shaven and with youthful lineaments. The change it made in him was wonderful; even his frame seemed to have become more upright and muscular, so powerful is the influence of association.
Retaining in his grasp the beard, Vipont stepped back a pace and, advancing the lantern towards the prisoner's face, seemed to be diving into his memory for a clue that should enable him to fix the personality of the man in front of him; for the latter could see by the police agent's expression that he was convinced that they had met before.
Vipont looked long and earnestly at the captive, but to little purpose; he could not put a name to him.
All at once he in the book of memory found the page that contained the name he was in search of. A smile formed itself upon his face, the prelude to a mocking laugh, that rang loudly through the cell. He removed his hat and bent in mock courtesy before St. Just.