Part 167 (1/2)

”Good day, Bigrenaille! good day, Brujon! good day, Deuxmilliards!”

Then turning to the three masked men, he said to the man with the meat-axe:--

”Good day, Gueulemer!”

And to the man with the cudgel:--

”Good day, Babet!”

And to the ventriloquist:--

”Your health, Claquesous.”

At that moment, he caught sight of the ruffians' prisoner, who, ever since the entrance of the police, had not uttered a word, and had held his head down.

”Untie the gentleman!” said Javert, ”and let no one go out!”

That said, he seated himself with sovereign dignity before the table, where the candle and the writing-materials still remained, drew a stamped paper from his pocket, and began to prepare his report.

When he had written the first lines, which are formulas that never vary, he raised his eyes:--

”Let the gentleman whom these gentlemen bound step forward.”

The policemen glanced round them.

”Well,” said Javert, ”where is he?”

The prisoner of the ruffians, M. Leblanc, M. Urbain Fabre, the father of Ursule or the Lark, had disappeared.

The door was guarded, but the window was not. As soon as he had found himself released from his bonds, and while Javert was drawing up his report, he had taken advantage of confusion, the crowd, the darkness, and of a moment when the general attention was diverted from him, to dash out of the window.

An agent sprang to the opening and looked out. He saw no one outside.

The rope ladder was still shaking.

”The devil!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Javert between his teeth, ”he must have been the most valuable of the lot.”

CHAPTER XXII--THE LITTLE ONE WHO WAS CRYING IN VOLUME TWO

On the day following that on which these events took place in the house on the Boulevard de l'Hopital, a child, who seemed to be coming from the direction of the bridge of Austerlitz, was ascending the side-alley on the right in the direction of the Barriere de Fontainebleau.

Night had fully come.

This lad was pale, thin, clad in rags, with linen trousers in the month of February, and was singing at the top of his voice.

At the corner of the Rue du Pet.i.t-Banquier, a bent old woman was rummaging in a heap of refuse by the light of a street lantern; the child jostled her as he pa.s.sed, then recoiled, exclaiming:--

”h.e.l.lo! And I took it for an enormous, enormous dog!”