“Well, Monsieur le Lieutenant”—he took a petty spite in disregarding my title of Chevalier—“what brings you here away from your post?”
“Only the definite intention, M. le Commissaire, of seeing that you obey orders. I require stores for my colonel; there is his order, and if you try any of your devil's tricks with me, sir, I will make no more of running you through than I would a rat.”
He turned as white as a piece of dried plaster.
“Come, sir, none of your shuffling. I want an answer at once.”
“You'll get no answer from me, sir, other than I have sent. I have no stores; the magazines are empty.”
“I know you to be a thief, M. le Commissaire, and it is no great stretch of imagination to believe you a liar. Show me your vaults.”
“Very well, very well. We shall see who is right. We shall see who is a liar,” and he started off with alacrity.
“Wait, sir! Where are you going?”
“Only into the next room to get my keys.”
“Very well; I'll go with you,” and I followed him into the next room.