I would have preferred to take a part in the chase, but I swallowed my disappointment and returned along the balcony. The pistol-shot had raised some clamor in the neighborhood. I could hear men shouting, and several lights were moving in the opposite house. I climbed through the window into the room, where I found Monsieur and Madame Ragoul and their three servants all in a state of excitement. Miss Hatherton had by this time put on a dressing-gown and slippers, and seemed to have entirely recovered from her fright. She blushed prettily as she saw me.
“You have not killed him. Mr. Carew?” she asked.
“I fear not,” I replied; “but Captain Rudstone hopes to take him.”
“It will be a shame if he escapes,” cried Madame Ragoul. “Oh, the pig—the wicked robber! He might have strangled the pretty English mademoiselle!”
The servants were rolling their eyes and shivering with fear, and Monsieur Ragoul was dancing about, with his red nightcap hanging to one ear.
“I am ruined!” he wailed. “The good name of my house is gone! Never—never did such a thing happen before! The officers of the law will enter—they will demand why a pistol is fired to waken the quarter!”
“Coward, be quiet!” snapped his wife. “The affair is no fault of ours.”
I judged it was time to interfere. The distant clamor had not perceptibly increased, and I saw some chance of keeping the matter a secret, which was a thing greatly to be desired.
“Monsieur Ragoul, I think there need be no publicity,” said I. “Will you be so good as to close the window and draw the curtains, and also put out that candle you are holding?”
He obeyed me promptly, and just as the room was darkened Baptiste made a tardy appearance. I explained the situation to him in a few words, and then I turned to Miss Hatherton.