Part 16 (2/2)

Not a word was uttered. With much dexterity Pierre also unb.u.t.toned the black frock-coat Chavoix wore, and, diving his hand into the breast-pocket, abstracted an old morocco letter-case, with some loose cards and about half a dozen letters. Hastily glancing at these, he transferred them to his own pocket, while, at the same time, Berard bent over and carefully subst.i.tuted them for those he had just produced.

After feeling in both pockets of the sleeping man's vest, as if to rea.s.sure himself that nothing remained, Pierre commenced to reb.u.t.ton the overcoat. While so engaged Chavoix stirred uneasily and uttered a grunt, but a moment afterwards he subsided again into the dull, heavy slumber of intoxication, thus allowing the expert pickpocket to accomplish his task.

As the cab rumbled down Villiers Street, Berard grasped him roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming in French--

”Wake up, old fellow. Come; pull yourself together.”

Starting, rubbing his eyes, and with a muttered and husky, ”Pardon, messieurs,” he commenced a profuse apology for sleeping in their company. This, however, was suddenly interrupted by the vehicle coming to a standstill before the station.

The four men alighted, and Holt, after a brief consultation with Berard, took first-cla.s.s tickets for West Brompton.

Pierre's arm afforded Chavoix a friendly aid as they descended to the platform; for, although the latter was not sufficiently inebriated to attract attention, yet his equilibrium was slightly disarranged.

When the train drew up they entered an empty first-cla.s.s compartment, and continued their journey westward, a decidedly jovial quartette.

On leaving the next station, Westminster, Pierre remarked that he had developed a great thirst, and, curiously enough, Holt immediately produced a nickel travelling flask filled with brandy, which he held up triumphantly. Amid the laughter which followed an a.s.sertion of Chavoix's, to the effect that priests always appreciated good liquor, Pierre took the flask, and, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top, placed the mouth to his lips.

Then he handed it to Adolphe.

”I'm so thirsty that I feel as if I could drink all that's in the flask,” remarked the latter.

”You couldn't do it in your present state,” argued Berard incredulously.

”It's very strong,” commented Pierre. ”I doubt whether you could drain it at one draught. In fact, I'm open to bet you half a sovereign that you won't.”

”Bah! it's just as easy as winking,” replied the intoxicated man, regarding the flask with a complacent smile. ”With m'sieur's permission I'll drink his health.”

”By all means,” replied Holt, with a laugh. ”I'm really afraid, however, that we shall be compelled to see you home afterwards.”

”Never fear; I'm safe enough in your hands,” he answered, with a grin.

”If there's one thing I'm more fond of than another, it's good cognac.

See!”

He lifted the flask to his lips, and drained it at one pull.

Scarcely had he done so when he uttered a loud cry of pain, clutching convulsively at his throat.

”_Diable_! it's--it's stronger than I bargained for!” he gasped, with an effort to laugh. ”I feel as if everything--why, it's all going round.

_Mon dieu_! You have--”

He struggled to his feet, but reeled back upon the cus.h.i.+ons, and in a few moments was unconscious.

By this time the train had left St. James's Park, and was travelling at a fair speed midway between that station and Victoria.

When it arrived at the latter place three men only were in the compartment, and they alighted. They did not speak, but hurried along the platform as if unknown to one another. Victor and the curate of St.

Barnabas gained the street. The former jumped into a hansom, gave the driver an address, and drove rapidly away, while the latter man walked swiftly across the station yard towards the terminus of the Brighton and South Coast Railway.

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