Part 39 (1/2)
”He won't get in,” she repeated, listening. ”Monsieur Benoit will never let anybody in who makes a racket like that.”
”Not even the police?”
”No,--he will not hear them.”
”Oh! ho! ho! ho!” roared Jean; ”not hear that!”
”I mean he would affect not to know that it was the police.”
She went to a window and listened at the shutter. Then, returning to her guest, who was placidly smoking,--
”It is the police, sure.”
”I knew it.”
”Now, what do you suppose the agents want at this hour?” It was one o'clock by the little bronze timepiece on the mantel.
”Me,” said Jean.
”You!” She glanced at him with a smile of incredulity.
”Yes, pet.i.te.”
He puffed continuous rings towards the ceiling, wondering whether he had better explain.
Presently came a tap at the door. The girl hastened to answer it, while Jean refilled his pipe thoughtfully. When she came back she was more excited. She whispered,--
”Monsieur Benoit, le concierge, he wants to see you,--he must let them in!”
”Well, let them in!” exclaimed the young man.
He had thought of Madeleine, chiefly, and the effect of his arrest upon her. A hearing must inevitably lead to her exposure, if not to his. But it was useless to endeavor to escape. He felt that he was trapped. Being in that fix, he may as well face the music.
”But he wants to see you personally,” said the girl.
Jean went to the door, where the saturnine Benoit stood with his flaring candle. The man cautiously closed the inner vestibule door.
”S-s.h.!.+ It is a souriciere, monsieur, as I suspected when you came in with that little she-devil! The agents were at your heels. Now, Monsieur Lerouge, do you wish to escape or do you----”
”I intend to remain right here. There is no reason that I should become a fugitive.”
”As you please, monsieur,” replied the concierge, with an expressive shrug. And the clack of his sabots was soon heard on the stone stair.
”Funny,” said Jean, re-entering, ”but he takes me for Lerouge. There is some sort of understanding between them. He would have aided me to escape.”
”And why not have accepted, monsieur?” asked Mlle. Fouchette.
”I would rather be a prisoner as Jean Marot than escape as Henri Lerouge,” replied the young man.
”Anyhow,” muttered the girl, ”perhaps the police have made the same mistake.”
”I'm afraid not,” said Jean.