Jean Valjean preserved silence.
Thenardier resumed, pushing the rag which served him as a cravat to the level of his Adam’s apple, a gesture which completes the capable air of a serious man:
“After all, you acted wisely.
The workmen, when they come to-morrow to stop up that hole, would certainly have found the stiff abandoned there, and it might have been possible, thread by thread, straw by straw, to pick up the scent and reach you.
Some one has passed through the sewer.
Who?
Where did he get out?
Was he seen to come out?
The police are full of cleverness.
The sewer is treacherous and tells tales of you.
Such a find is a rarity, it attracts attention, very few people make use of the sewers for their affairs, while the river belongs to everybody.
The river is the true grave.
At the end of a month they fish up your man in the nets at Saint-Cloud.
Well, what does one care for that?
It’s carrion!
Who killed that man?
Paris.
And justice makes no inquiries.
You have done well.”
The more loquacious Thenardier became, the more mute was Jean Valjean.
Again Thenardier shook him by the shoulder.
“Now let’s settle this business.
Let’s go shares.
You have seen my key, show me your money.”
Thenardier was haggard, fierce, suspicious, rather menacing, yet amicable.
There was one singular circumstance; Thenardier’s manners were not simple; he had not the air of being wholly at his ease; while affecting an air of mystery, he spoke low; from time to time he laid his finger on his mouth, and muttered, “hush!”
It was difficult to divine why.
There was no one there except themselves.
Jean Valjean thought that other ruffians might possibly be concealed in some nook, not very far off, and that Thenardier did not care to share with them.
Thenardier resumed:
“Let’s settle up.
How much did the stiff have in his bags?”
Jean Valjean searched his pockets.
It was his habit, as the reader will remember, to always have some money about him.
The mournful life of expedients to which he had been condemned imposed this as a law upon him.
On this occasion, however, he had been caught unprepared.
When donning his uniform of a National Guardsman on the preceding evening, he had forgotten, dolefully absorbed as he was, to take his pocket-book.
He had only some small change in his fob.
He turned out his pocket, all soaked with ooze, and spread out on the banquette of the vault one louis d’or, two five-franc pieces, and five or six large sous.
Thenardier thrust out his lower lip with a significant twist of the neck.
“You knocked him over cheap,” said he.
He set to feeling the pockets of Jean Valjean and Marius, with the greatest familiarity.
Jean Valjean, who was chiefly concerned in keeping his back to the light, let him have his way.
While handling Marius’ coat, Thenardier, with the skill of a pickpocket, and without being noticed by Jean Valjean, tore off a strip which he concealed under his blouse, probably thinking that this morsel of stuff might serve, later on, to identify the assassinated man and the assassin.
However, he found no more than the thirty francs.
“That’s true,” said he, “both of you together have no more than that.”
And, forgetting his motto: “half shares,” he took all.
He hesitated a little over the large sous. After due reflection, he took them also, muttering:
“Never mind!
You cut folks’ throats too cheap altogether.”