"Where is he to be found?"
"How should I know that? It is not difficult for you to ascertain;
doubtless any villager could direct you to him. Now, mark you, I have
supplied the name of a resident in a position to correct your monstrous
blunder! I advise you to bring him to identify me before the matter
becomes more serious for you still. If you put us to public ignominy,
apologies will not satisfy me when you discover your mistake. Here is
your last chance to extricate yourself."
He ruminated. "Enfin, I will send one of my men to inquire for him,"
he said grudgingly. "If it turns out that this 'monsieur Manesse' is
unknown, I warn you that you will suffer for your game."
The room was about forty feet from the ground--I saw him attentively
considering whether, in his absence, we were likely to walk out of the
window. He marched into the corridor and gave a whistle. I heard two
voices before he came in again.
Uninvited, he sat, clasping his knees. None of us spoke any more.
The lamp having still made no appearance, I lit the candles. I do not
forget that long half-hour in Les Myosotis. The yokel himself grew
restless at last--he rose and went into the corridor again.
"Hark," exclaimed Beauregard suddenly, "the man has come back. Can you
hear Manesse? Listen."
"I cannot distinguish," I murmured, straining my ears to the door.
Some minutes passed. To our dismay, our oppressor re-entered alone.
Perplexity darkened his brow. He hesitated before he broke the
suspensive hush.
"Monsieur Manesse agrees that this afternoon he met monsieur Panage,"
he announced. "_But_"--he raised a forensic forefinger--"that does not
establish that either of _you_ is monsieur Panage. Monsieur Manesse
is occupied in telling a fairy tale to his little daughter and cannot
spare the time to come here to identify you. Enfin, you will accompany
me to the commissaire de police, and you will obtain the evidence in
due course."
"Sacré tonnerre!" I screamed. It was the last straw. That strolling
player declined to "spare the time," that mountebank neglected Me!
I saw crimson. I paced the room, raving. "What did he say?" I
spluttered. "What were the ruffian's words?"
"My man reports that the gentleman replied, 'Monsieur Panage must have
had immense difficulty in recollecting my name. He would not stir an
inch to save my life--why should _I_ take a walk for _him_?'"
I sat down. I felt dizzy. I feared I was going to be extremely ill. The
man himself seemed moved by my collapse--or increasingly uncertain of
his position. He said, "Perhaps a note might be effectual? Alors, if
monsieur wishes to write, I will wait."
"Give me your fountain-pen, Beauregard."
"But"--again the forefinger was uplifted--"there must be no secret
instructions. I must be satisfied there is no private meaning in the
note."
"Good heavens! What am I permitted to say?"
He pondered. "'To monsieur Paul Manesse: Monsieur----' Has monsieur
written 'Monsieur'?"
"Yes, yes; go on!"
"'I am now convinced that you can act. I hereby engage you, at the
trifling salary of two hundred and fifty francs a week, for prominent
parts in my next three productions at the Théâtre Suprême.'"
The silence was sensational.
"Who the devil are you?" I stuttered, when I found my voice.
"Paul Manesse, monsieur," he told me--"your new comedian, if you sign."
I signed. You have heard how we boomed _Omphale_ and I found a star!
That jolly little Manesse girl has a rich papa to-day.
X