I determined to effect our departure the same evening while he was
still intimidated--and if only I had been able to accelerate his
movements, my change of intentions would have spared us much. His
dilatoriness exposed us to a thunderbolt. We had pealed the bell in his
bedroom for the lamp, and when the door was opened at last, I turned
to utter a sharp complaint of the delay. To my surprise, I saw that a
stranger was walking in. There was a fraction of a second in which I
stared indignantly, waiting for an apology for his blunder. Then it was
as if my heart slipped slowly to my stomach, and I felt catastrophe in
the air, even before I heard his rustic, official tones. He arrested us
as Thibaudin and Hazard!
Behind me I heard Beauregard's dressing-case drop with a thud.
Our eyes met, and we stood petrified, realising the impossibility of
concealing our names. In my terror of the public scandal that was
imminent, my clothes stuck to my skin. Curs, as well as criminals, we
looked. I rather fancied that our provincial captor was relieved to see
what knock-kneed miscreants he had to deal with.
"You bungling idiot!" I gasped. "I am monsieur Panage, of the Théâtre
Suprême; this gentleman is monsieur Beauregard, of the Académie
Francaise. You shall suffer for this outrage!"
He shifted his feet slightly. It was the least bit in the world, but
that motiveless movement betrayed misgiving; I deduced from it that, in
his eagerness to distinguish himself, he had taken more responsibility
upon his bucolic shoulders than sat quite comfortably on them. I flung
my card to him. "Look!"
"What of it?" he said surlily. "What evidence is this? I see you were
preparing for flight. No violence!"--Beauregard had impotently wrung
his hands--"I have men in the passage. You will offer your explanations
in the proper quarter. Come!" He advanced upon me.
"Now, listen to me," I cried, backing in a panic. "Put so much as a
finger on us and you are ruined. Not only will I have you discharged
from the Force, I will have you hounded out of any employment that you
find to the end of your days. It is I who say it! You have no excuse:
we bear no resemblance whatever to Thibaudin and Hazard. If you were of
Paris you would know as much!"
Again he faltered. Again he saw distinction within his grasp. The
workings of a dull intelligence, a fool's passion for promotion,
supplied a fascinating study, even in my fear. "Hollow cheeks, small
grey moustache, slight stoop?" he recited, eyeing me. His sheep's gaze
travelled to Beauregard. "Age forty, bald at crown. Fat."
"Is he the only fat man in France, fool? We can call all Paris to prove
who we are!"
"Monsieur will have his opportunity to prove it elsewhere," he returned
stubbornly. But the "monsieur" hinted that I was impressing him against
his will.
Beauregard began to collect his wits. "If we are compelled to prove it
elsewhere, it will be the end of _you_!" he raged. "Better be convinced
in time, I warn you. Hazard _is_ fat, yes; _I_ am, perhaps, a little
plump."
"What do you show me?" mumbled the fellow. "I see the card of monsieur
Panage. That does not demonstrate that monsieur Panage is present."
Complacence was in his gesture, he seemed vain of the brilliance of his
reasoning. "All is said. I have no time for discussions."
"Stop!" I cried, inspired. "What if we produce a resident of this very
village, to say who I am?"
"Mon Dieu! the man you met," roared Beauregard. "Saved!"
"There is no such person--we have made our inquiries."
"There is a gentleman well known, who has lived here with his daughter
since--I don't know how long!"
"Give me his name."
"His name?" I said. "His name is----" I could not recall the name!--it
had had no interest for me. I could remember saying, hypocritically, "I
shall bear your name in mind "; but what it was I had no idea. I stood
dazed. "His name----It escapes me for the moment."
"Enough. The pretence is idle."
"Morbleu!" thundered Beauregard. "Think, Panage, think!"
"I am trying; but I paid no heed to it."
Heavens! what a revenge for the mummer--the name that had fallen on
careless ears was now my only chance of rescue. I thrashed my brains
for it, sweating with funk.
"The name----It evades me because I have met him only once in my life."
"Or not so often! I am not to be duped."
"Let me think; don't speak for a minute."
"Farceur!"
"His name----I--I nearly had it. Wait."
"I have waited too long. Come! the pair of you."
"His name--his name----" I sought it frantically. "His name is--_Paul
Manesse!_"