Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [270]
“It is a very secret affair.”
“Speak, then.”
“And very urgent.”
“Then speak quickly.”
This man, calm and abrupt, was at the same time alarming and reassuring. He inspired fear and confidence. Marius related his adventure.—That a person whom he only knew by sight was to be drawn into an ambush that very evening; that occupying the room next the place, he, Marius Pontmercy, attorney, had heard the whole plot through the partition; that the scoundrel who had contrived the plot was named Jondrette; that he had accomplices, probably prowlers of the barrières, among others a certain Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille; that Jondrette’s daughters would stand watch; that there was no means of warning the threatened man, as not even his name was known; and finally, that all this was to be done at six o‘clock that evening, at the most desolate spot on the Boulevard de l’Hôpital, in the house numbered 50-52.
At that number the inspector raised his head, and said coolly:
“It is then in the room at the end of the hall?”
“Exactly,” said Marius, and he added, “Do you know that house?”
The inspector remained silent a moment, then answered, warming the heel of his boot at the door of the stove:
“It seems so.”
He continued between his teeth, speaking less to Marius than to his cravat.
“There ought to be a dash of Patron-Minette in this.”
That word struck Marius.
“Patron-Minette,” said he. “Indeed, I heard that word pronounced.”
And he related to the inspector the dialogue between the long-haired man and the bearded man in the snow behind the wall on the Rue du Petit Banquier.
The inspector muttered:
“The long-haired one must be Brujon, and the bearded one must be Demi-Liard, alias Deux-Milliards.”
He had dropped his eyes again, and was considering.
“As to the Father What‘s-his-name, I have a suspicion of who he is. There, I have burnt my coat. They always make too much fire in these cursed stoves. Number 50-52. Old Gorbeau property.”
Then he looked at Marius:
“You have seen only this bearded man and this long-haired man?”
“And Panchaud.”
“You did not see a sort of little devilish rat prowling about there?”
“No.”
“Nor a great, big, clumsy heap, like the elephant in the Jardin des Plantes?”
“No.”
“Nor a villain who has the appearance of an old red cue?”
“No.”
“As to the fourth nobody sees him, not even his helpers, clerks, and agents. It is not very surprising that you did not see him.”
“No. What are all these beings?” inquired Marius.
The inspector answered:
“And then it is not their hour.”
He relapsed into silence, then resumed:
“No. 50-52. I know the shanty. Impossible to hide ourselves in the interior without the artists perceiving us, then they would leave and break up the play. They are so modest! the public bothers them. No way, no way. I want to hear them sing, and make them dance.”
This monologue finished, he turned towards Marius and asked him looking steadily at him:
“Will you be afraid?”
“Of what?” said Marius.
“Of these men?”
“No more than of you!” replied Marius rudely, who began to notice that this police spy had not yet called him monsieur.
The inspector looked at Marius still more steadily and continued with a sententious solemnity:
“You speak now like a brave man and an honest man. Courage does not fear crime, and honesty does not fear authority.”
Marius interrupted him:
“That is well enough; but what are you going to do?”
The inspector merely answered:
“The lodgers in that house have latch-keys to get in with at night. You must have one?”
“Yes,” said Marius.
“Do you have it with you?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me,” said the inspector.
Marius took his key from his waistcoat, handed it to the inspector, and added:
“If you trust me you will come in force.”
The inspector threw a glance upon Marius such as Voltaire would have thrown upon a provincial academician who had proposed a rhyme to him; with a single movement he plunged both his hands, which were enormous, into the two immense pockets of his overcoat, and took out two small steel pistols, of the kind called fisticuffs.