“_L’américain en bas!_” It was the Black Holster. I carefully adjusted
my tunic and obeyed him.
The Directeur and the Surveillant were in consultation when I entered
the latter’s office. Apollyon, seated at a desk, surveyed me very
fiercely. His subordinate swayed to and fro, clasping and unclasping
his hands behind his back, and regarded me with an expression of almost
benevolence. The Black Holster guarded the doorway.
Turning on me ferociously: “Your friend is wicked, very wicked,
_SAVEZ-VOUS_?” Le Directeur shouted.