“Yes, it is gold, sure enough!” said he, “and a coat-of-arms on the purse!
The scoundrel! How clever he is!
What an all-round villain!
He does us all brown —— and all the time!
He ought to be shot down like a dog!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the clerk, taking back the money.
“The matter! Why, the hussy stole it!” cried Bibi–Lupin, stamping with rage on the flags of the gateway.
The words produced a great sensation among the spectators, who were standing at a little distance from Monsieur Sanson. He, too, was still standing, his back against the large stove in the middle of the vaulted hall, awaiting the order to crop the felon’s hair and erect the scaffold on the Place de Greve.
On re-entering the yard, Jacques Collin went towards his chums at a pace suited to a frequenter of the galleys.
“What have you on your mind?” said he to la Pouraille.
“My game is up,” said the man, whom Jacques Collin led into a corner. “What I want now is a pal I can trust.”
“What for?”
La Pouraille, after telling the tale of all his crimes, but in thieves’ slang, gave an account of the murder and robbery of the two Crottats.
“You have my respect,” said Jacques Collin. “The job was well done; but you seem to me to have blundered afterwards.”
“In what way?”
“Well, having done the trick, you ought to have had a Russian passport, have made up as a Russian prince, bought a fine coach with a coat-of-arms on it, have boldly deposited your money in a bank, have got a letter of credit on Hamburg, and then have set out posting to Hamburg with a valet, a ladies’ maid, and your mistress disguised as a Russian princess. At Hamburg you should have sailed for Mexico.
A chap of spirit, with two hundred and eighty thousand francs in gold, ought to be able to do what he pleases and go where he pleases, flathead!”
“Oh yes, you have such notions because you are the boss.
Your nut is always square on your shoulders — but I——”
“In short, a word of good advice in your position is like broth to a dead man,” said Jacques Collin, with a serpentlike gaze at his old pal.
“True enough!” said la Pouraille, looking dubious.
“But give me the broth, all the same. If it does not suit my stomach, I can warm my feet in it ——”
“Here you are nabbed by the Justice, with five robberies and three murders, the latest of them those of two rich and respectable folks. . . .
Now, juries do not like to see respectable folks killed. You will be put through the machine, and there is not a chance for you.”
“I have heard all that,” said la Pouraille lamentably.
“My aunt Jacqueline, with whom I have just exchanged a few words in the office, and who is, as you know, a mother to the pals, told me that the authorities mean to be quit of you; they are so much afraid of you.”
“But I am rich now,” said La Pouraille, with a simplicity which showed how convinced a thief is of his natural right to steal. “What are they afraid of?”
“We have no time for philosophizing,” said Jacques Collin. “To come back to you ——”
“What do you want with me?” said la Pouraille, interrupting his boss.
“You shall see.
A dead dog is still worth something.”
“To other people,” said la Pouraille.
“I take you into my game!” said Jacques Collin.
“Well, that is something,” said the murderer. “What next?”
“I do not ask you where your money is, but what you mean to do with it?”
La Pouraille looked into the convict’s impenetrable eye, and Jacques coldly went on:
“Have you a trip you are sweet upon, or a child, or a pal to be helped?
I shall be outside within an hour, and I can do much for any one you want to be good-natured to.”
La Pouraille still hesitated; he was delaying with indecision.
Jacques Collin produced a clinching argument.
“Your whack of our money would be thirty thousand francs. Do you leave it to the pals?
Do you bequeath it to anybody? Your share is safe; I can give it this evening to any one you leave it to.”
The murderer gave a little start of satisfaction.
“I have him!” said Jacques Collin to himself.
“But we have no time to play. Consider,” he went on in la Pouraille’s ear, “we have not ten minutes to spare, old chap; the public prosecutor is to send for me, and I am to have a talk with him.
I have him safe, and can ring the old boss’ neck.
I am certain I shall save Madeleine.”
“If you save Madeleine, my good boss, you can just as easily ——”
“Don’t waste your spittle,” said Jacques Collin shortly. “Make your will.”
“Well, then — I want to leave the money to la Gonore,” replied la Pouraille piteously.