Part 56 (1/2)

”Brought the game?”

”That's what we're sending down now!...”

”That's a bit of all right!”

Sailor now seized the trussed Jules from the bucket and flung him on the ground.

”Damaged goods, that--eh?” he laughed evilly.

The Beadle, Beard, and Emilet were coming down in turn. The group below bent curiously over the prisoner.

”He's soft--that sort is!” cried Ernestine. And tapping him on the face with her foot, big Ernestine tried to make Jules show signs of life.

Beard dropped out of the bucket and stopped the game.

”Let's see, Ernestine?... Stop it now!”

After gripping the hand of each comrade in turn, after hugging a bottle and draining it in a long draught, emptying it to the dregs, Beard flung it aside.

”Let's get to work--no time to waste!... If we finish him off, we'll have to get rid of him before morning!”

Sailor lifted Jules with the aid of two comrades. They propped him against a ma.s.sive pillar of wood which supported the cellar roof. They bound their wretched victim to it with strong cords.

Meanwhile, Ernestine was unwinding the gag.

”Take your places on the tribunal!” commanded Nibet.

”And you others, a gla.s.s of pick-me-up for the fellow!”

The pick-me-up intended to restore Jules to consciousness was brought by Mother Toulouche, under the form of a large earthen pot full of cold water. She dashed the water in the prisoner's face.

Jules slowly opened his eyes and regained his wits, amidst an ominous silence. The band watched his return to life with evil smiles: they quietly watched his pallid face turn a livid green with terror.

The wretched creature could not utter a syllable. He stared wildly at those about him, his friends of yesterday, at those seated on the mock judgment bench who, crouching forward, were observing him with sardonic smiles.

Nibet put a question.

”You hear and understand us, Jules?”

”Pity!” howled the victim.

Nibet was indifferent to the cry.

”He understands!... For my part, I am all for keeping to a proper procedure.... I would not have agreed to sit in judgment on him if he had been unable to defend himself.... We don't act that way down here!”

Turning to his acolytes for signs of their approval, he continued:

”Beard! The word is with you! Let us hear why he has been brought up to judgment!... Tell us what he is accused of!... Bring up all there is against him!”

Beard, who was marching up and down between the hooligan tribunal and the accused, who was half dead, and incapable of making a rational statement, stopped, squared himself with an air of satisfaction, and began his speech for the prosecution.