Part 57 (1/2)
”I,” said the old woman, with a wicked gleam in her eyes. ”I don't hesitate!... Comrades who flinch, sneaks who betray, get rid of them, say I!... I condemn him to death!...”
The old woman's sentence was greeted with loud applause.
Nibet resumed.
”It is said!... It is unanimous!... Make a quick finish, my lads!...
Since each has been injured, let each take his revenge! I say: Death by the hammer!”
In that smoke-thickened air rose a chorus of hate and of vengeance.
”Death by the hammer! Death by the hammer!”
In that noisome lair of the bandits a horrible scene ensued.
Mother Toulouche went groping in a dark corner. She searched for, and found, a blacksmith's hammer. She lifted it with trembling hands, and planting herself in front of the victim, more dead than alive, she said in a menacing voice:
”You did harm to the Numbers! You wronged them! Here goes for that then!”
The hammer described a quarter of a circle in the air and descended in a smas.h.i.+ng blow on the wretched victim's face!
The awful punishment had begun!
According to age, one after another, the hooligans pa.s.sed on the hammer, and, in a blind pa.s.sion of hate, beat followed beat on the agonising body of Jules!
At last the terrible agony was over and done! The pa.s.sion of hate, the l.u.s.t for revenge had burnt themselves out. Jules had expiated the crime they had imputed to him!
The band were the victims of a paralysing fatigue. Emilet flung the blood-stained hammer into a far corner of their den.
”Well done!” said he. ”He has paid the price!”
Emilet's eyes fell on Nibet. He was leaning against the wall, and, with folded arms, was watching the scene in which he had taken no part.
Walking up to the warder, Emilet demanded:
”Ho! Ho! You backed out of it, did you, my boy?... You didn't have a throw, did you?... No?...”
Nibet grinned sardonically.
”Don't talk rubbish, Emilet!... If I have stood aside, I had my reasons for doing so.... We haven't done with Jules yet!... Not by a long chalk!... Now that he's been killed, he's got to be got rid of--isn't that true?... Look at yourselves, my lambs! You are covered with red!...
It will take you all of an hour to make yourselves presentable!... Now, look at me! I'm neat and clean ... and I have a plan ... a famous plan to rid us of that corpse there! Now, just you stir your stumps, Emilet!... I am going off to make preparations!... I'll give you ten minutes to make yourself fit to be seen ... it's we two are to be the undertakers; and I swear to you, that we will give them no end of trouble to the curiosity mongers at Police Headquarters!”
XXIII
FROM VAUGIRARD TO MONTMARTRE
On the boulevard du Palais, Jerome Fandor looked at his watch: it was half an hour after noon.