“Take care, M. de Boiscoran: I shall have to have you arrested.”
“Do so.”
“I shall be obliged to order your arrest at once, and to send you to
jail in Sauveterre.”
“Very well.”
“Then you confess?”
“I confess that I am the victim of an unheard-of combination of
circumstances; I confess that you are right, and that certain fatalities
can only be explained by the belief in Providence: but I swear by all
that is holy in the world, I am innocent.”
“Prove it.”
“Ah! would I not do it if I could?”
“Be good enough, then, to dress, sir, and to follow the gendarmes.”
Without a word, M. de Boiscoran went into his dressing-room, followed
by his servant, who carried him his clothes. M. Galpin was so busy
dictating to the clerk the latter part of the examination, that he
seemed to forget his prisoner. Old Anthony availed himself of this
opportunity.
“Sir,” he whispered into his master’s ear while helping him to put on
his clothes.
“What?”
“Hush! Don’t speak so loud! The other window is open. It is only about
twenty feet to the ground: the ground is soft. Close by is one of the
cellar openings; and in there, you know, there is the old hiding-place.
It is only five miles to the coast, and I will have a good horse ready
for you to-night, at the park-gate.”