Gaillard knew that as soon as he was arrested his rooms would be searched for any evidence of a suspicious nature. In all the house there was only one document which could possibly compromise either himself or Tournay, and that was the letter his friend had received that same afternoon, and which was now lying upon the chimney-piece.
"Here we are at No. 15; I live on the fourth floor," he said, as they came to the door.
"Whew!" exclaimed the stout gendarme. "You'll have to give us half a dozen of the best jokes if we go way up there."
"You shall have as many as you can stand," answered Gaillard. "Now, citizen officers, mind the angle in the wall, that's it. It's not a hard climb when you're used to it."
"Whew!" exclaimed the stout man as they entered Gaillard's apartment, "I could not climb that every day." He sank down in a chair and mopped the perspiration from his brow.
"I wish I was sure of climbing it every day of my life," said Gaillard. "It's thirsty work, however, so let us have something to refresh ourselves with;" and he took out from the closet a bottle of the choice Burgundy and three glasses.
"Here's to the gendarmerie," he said as he filled the glasses.
A moment later two pairs of lips smacked approvingly in concert.
"That's a vintage for you," said the short gendarme approvingly.
"I never drank but one glass of better wine than this in my life," said the tall gendarme meditatively.