"YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE."
The noise which was made by the shutting of the door aroused Tom and
Sarah from their reverie, and they rose, and, having thanked the
Chourineur for the information he had given them, the fellow went out,
the wind blowing very strongly, and the rain falling in torrents. The
Schoolmaster and the Chouette, hidden in an alley opposite the
_tapis-franc_, saw the Chourineur go down the street, in the direction
of the street in which the house in ruins was situated. His steps, which
were somewhat irregular, in consequence of the frequent libations of the
evening, were soon unheard amidst the whistling of the storm and the
sheets of rain which dashed against the walls. Sarah and Tom left the
tavern in spite of the tempest, and took a contrary direction to the
Chourineur.
"They're done for," said the Schoolmaster, in a low key, to the
Chouette; "out with your vitriol, and mind your eye."
"Let us take off our shoes, and then they won't hear us as we follow,"
suggested the Chouette.
"You are right,--always right; let us tread like cats, my old darling."
The two monsters took off their shoes, and moved stealthily along,
keeping in the shadows of the houses. By means of this stratagem they
followed so closely, that, although within a few steps of Sarah and Tom,
they did not hear them.
"Fortunately our hackney-coach is at the end of the street; the rain
falls in torrents. Are you not cold, Sarah?"
"Perhaps we shall glean something from this smuggler,--this Bras Rouge,"
said Sarah, in a thoughtful tone, and not replying to her brother's
inquiry.
He suddenly stopped, and said, "I have taken a wrong turning; I ought to
have gone to the right when I left the tavern; we must pass by a house
in ruins to reach the _fiacre_. We must turn back."
The Schoolmaster and the Chouette, who followed on the heels of their
intended victims, retreated into the dark porch of a house close at
hand, so that they might not be perceived by Tom and Sarah, who, in
passing, almost touched them with their elbows.
"I am glad they have gone that way," said the Schoolmaster, "for if the
'cove' resists, I have my own idea."
Sarah and her brother, having again passed by the _tapis-franc_, arrived
close to the dilapidated house, which was partly in ruins, and its
opened cellars formed a kind of gulf, along which the street ran in that
direction. In an instant, the Schoolmaster, with a leap resembling in
strength and agility the spring of a tiger, seized Seyton with one hand
by the throat, and exclaimed, "Your money, or I will fling you into this
hole!"
Then the brigand, pushing Seyton backwards, shoved him off his balance,
and with one hand held him suspended over the mouth of the deep
excavation; whilst, with his other hand, he grasped the arm of Sarah, as
if in a vice. Before Tom could make the slightest struggle, the Chouette
had emptied his pockets with singular dexterity. Sarah did not utter a
cry, nor try to resist; she only said, in a calm tone, "Give up your
purse, brother;" and then accosting the robber, "We will make no noise;
do not do us any injury."
The Chouette, having carefully searched the pockets of the two victims
of this ambush, said to Sarah, "Let's see your hands, if you've got any
rings. No," said the old brute, grumblingly, "no, not one ring. What a
shame!"
Tom Seyton did not lose his presence of mind during this scene, rapidly
and unexpectedly as it had occurred.
"Will you strike a bargain? My pocketbook contains papers quite useless
to you; return it to me, and to-morrow I will give you twenty-five louis
d'ors," said Tom to the Schoolmaster, whose hand relaxed something of
its fierce gripe.
"Oh! ah! to lay a trap to catch us," replied the thief. "Be off, without
looking behind you, and be thankful that you have escaped so well."
"One moment," said the Chouette; "if he behaves well, he shall have his
pocketbook. There is a way." Then, addressing Thomas Seyton, "You know
the plain of St. Denis?"
"I do."
"Do you know where St. Ouen is?"
"Yes."
"Opposite St. Ouen, at the end of the road of La Revolte, the plain is
wide and open. Across the fields, one may see a long way. Come there
to-morrow, quite alone, with your money in your hand; you will find me
and the pocketbook ready. Hand me the cash, and I will hand you the
pocketbook."
"But he'll trap you, Chouette."
"Oh, no, he won't; I'm up to him or any of his dodges. We can see a long
way off. I have only one eye, but that is a piercer; and if the 'cove'
comes with a companion, he won't find anybody; I shall have 'mizzled.'"
A sudden idea seemed to strike Sarah, and she said to the brigand, "Will
you like to gain some money?"
"Yes."
"Did you see, in the cabaret we have just left--for I know you
again--the man whom the charcoal-man came to seek?"
"A dandy with moustaches? Yes, I would have stuck it into the fellow,
but he did not give me time. He stunned me with two blows of his fists,
and upset me on the table,--for the first time that any man ever did so.
Curses on him! but I will be revenged."
"He is the man I mean," said Sarah.
"He?" cried the Schoolmaster, "a thousand francs, and I'll kill him."
"Wretch! I do not seek his life," replied Sarah to the Schoolmaster.
"What, then, would you have?"
"Come to-morrow to the plain of St. Denis; you will there find my
companion," she replied; "you will see that he is alone, and he will
tell you what to do. I will not give you one thousand, but two thousand,
francs, if you succeed."
"_Fourline_," said the Chouette, in a low tone, to the Schoolmaster,
"there's 'blunt' to be had; these are a 'swell' lot, who want to be
revenged on an enemy, and that enemy is the beggar that you wished to
'floor.' Let's go and meet him. I would go, if I were you. Fire and
smoke! Old boy, it will pay for looking after."
"Well, my wife shall be there," said the Schoolmaster; "you will tell
her what you want, and I shall see--"
"Be it so; to-morrow at one."
"At one o'clock."
"In the plain of St. Denis?"
"In the plain of St. Denis."
"Between St. Ouen and the road of La Revolte, at the end of the road?"
"Agreed."
"I will bring your pocketbook."
"And you shall have the five hundred francs I promised you, and we will
agree in the other matter, if you are reasonable."
"Now, you go to the right, and we to the left hand. Do not follow us, or
else--"
The Schoolmaster and the Chouette hurried off, whilst Tom and the
countess went in the other direction, towards Notre Dame.
A concealed witness had been present at this transaction; it was the
Chourineur, who had entered the cellars of the house to get shelter from
the rain. The proposal which Sarah made to the brigand respecting
Rodolph deeply interested the Chourineur, who, alarmed for the perils
which appeared about to beset his new friend, regretted that he could
not warn him of them. Perhaps his detestation of the Schoolmaster and
the Chouette might have something to do with this feeling.
The Chourineur resolved to inform Rodolph of the danger which threatened
him; but how? He had forgotten the address of the self-styled
fan-painter. Perhaps Rodolph would never again come to the
_tapis-franc_, and then how could he warn him? Whilst he was conning all
this over in his mind, the Chourineur had mechanically followed Tom and
Sarah, and saw them get into a coach which awaited them near Notre Dame.
The _fiacre_ started. The Chourineur got up behind, and at one o'clock
it stopped on the Boulevard de l'Observatoire, and Thomas and Sarah went
down a narrow entrance, which was close at hand. The night was pitch
dark, and the Chourineur, that he might know the next day the place
where he then was, drew from his pocket his clasp-knife, and cut a deep
notch in one of the trees at the corner of the entrance, and then
returned to his resting-place, which was at a considerable distance.
For the first time for a very long while, the Chourineur enjoyed in his
den a comfortable sleep, which was not once interrupted by the horrible
vision of the "Sergeant's slaughter-house," as, in his coarse language,
he styled it.