Part 50 (1/2)

”What are these for?” muttered the Lizard, sullenly.

”For your beaux yeux, imbecile!” cried Tric-Trac, gayly. ”Come back when you want more. My comrade, Citizen Buckhurst, will be glad to see you next Monday. Adieu, my friend. Don't chatter to the Flics!”

He picked up his box and the packet of provisions, dropped his revolver into the side-pocket of his jacket, c.o.c.ked his greasy cap, blew a kiss to the Lizard, and started off straight into the forest.

After a dozen steps he hesitated, turned, and looked back at the poacher for a moment in silence. Then he made a friendly grimace.

”You are not a fool,” he said, ”so you won't follow me. Come again Monday. It will really be worth while, dear friend.” Then, as on an impulse, he came all the way back, caught the Lizard by the sleeve, raised his meagre body on tip-toe, and whispered.

The Lizard turned perfectly white; Tric-Trac trotted away into the woods, hugging his box and smirking.

The Lizard and I walked back together. By the time we reached Paradise bridge I understood him better, and he understood me. And when we arrived at the circus tent, and when Speed came up, handing me a telegram from Chanzy refusing my services, the Lizard turned to me like an obedient hound to take my orders--now that I was not to re-enter the Military Police.

I ordered him to disobey the orders from Lorient and from the mayor of Paradise; to take to the woods as though to avoid the conscription; to join Buckhurst's franc-company of ruffians, and to keep me fully informed.

”And, Lizard,” I said, ”you may be caught and hanged for it by the police, or stabbed by Tric-Trac.”

”Bien,” he said, coolly.

”But it is a brave thing you do; a soldierly thing!”

He was silent.

”It is for France,” I said.

He shrugged his shoulders.

”And we'll catch this Tric-Trac red-handed,” I suggested.

”Ah--yes!” His eyes glowed as though lighted up from behind. ”And another who is high in the police, and a friend of this Tric-Trac!”

”Was it that man's name he whispered to you when you turned so white?” I said, suddenly.

The Lizard turned his glowing eyes on me.

”Was the man's name--Mornac?” I asked, at a hopeless venture.

The Lizard s.h.i.+vered; I needed no reply, not even his hoa.r.s.e, ”Are you the devil, that you know all things?”

I looked at him wonderingly. What wrong could Mornac have done a ragged outcast here on the Breton coast? And where was Mornac? Had he left Paris in time to avoid the Prussian trap? Was he here in this country, rubbing elbows with Buckhurst?

”Did Tric-Trac tell you that Mornac was at the head of that band?” I demanded.

”Why do you ask me?” stammered the Lizard; ”you know everything--even when it is scarcely whispered!”

The superst.i.tious astonishment of the man, his utter collapse and his evident fear of me, did not suit me. Treachery comes through that kind of fear; I meant to rule him in another and safer manner. I meant to be absolutely honest with him.

It was difficult to persuade him that I had only guessed the name whispered; that, naturally, I should think of Mornac as a high officer of police, and particularly so since I knew him to be a villain, and had also divined his relations with Buckhurst.