The two police-officers, Aristide and Madame Coquereau turned the corner. At the sight of the police the guilty couple started to their feet. Madame Coquereau pounced like a hawk on the masked lady’s hand.
“I identify it,” she cried. “Brigadier, give these people in charge for theft.”
The white masked crowd surged around the group, in the midst of which stood Aristide transfigured. It was his supreme moment. He flourished in one hand his red mask and in the other a pompon which he had extracted from his pocket.
“This I found,” said he, “beneath the wall of Monsieur le Maire’s garden. Behold the shoe of the accused.”
The crowd murmured their applause and admiration. Neither of the prisoners stirred. The pig’s head grinned at the world with its inane, painted leer. A rumbling voice beneath it said:
“We will go quietly.”
“Attention s’il vous plaît,” said the policemen, and each holding a prisoner by the arm they made a way through the crowd. Madame Coquereau and Aristide followed close behind.
“What did I tell you?” cried Aristide to the brigadier.
“It’s Puégas, all the same,” said the brigadier, over his shoulder.
“I bet you it’s not,” said Aristide, and striding swiftly to the back of the male prisoner whipped off the pig’s head, and revealed to the petrified throng the familiar features of the Mayor of Perpignan.