The woman darted forward and picked up the bit of plaster.
She handed it to her husband.
“Where did this come from?” demanded Thenardier.
“Pardie!” ejaculated his wife, “where do you suppose it came from?
Through the window, of course.”
“I saw it pass,” said Bigrenaille.
Thenardier rapidly unfolded the paper and held it close to the candle.
“It’s in Eponine’s handwriting.
The devil!”
He made a sign to his wife, who hastily drew near, and showed her the line written on the sheet of paper, then he added in a subdued voice:—
“Quick!
The ladder!
Let’s leave the bacon in the mousetrap and decamp!”
“Without cutting that man’s throat?” asked, the Thenardier woman.
“We haven’t the time.”
“Through what?” resumed Bigrenaille.
“Through the window,” replied Thenardier.
“Since Ponine has thrown the stone through the window, it indicates that the house is not watched on that side.”
The mask with the ventriloquist’s voice deposited his huge key on the floor, raised both arms in the air, and opened and clenched his fists, three times rapidly without uttering a word.
This was the signal like the signal for clearing the decks for action on board ship.
The ruffians who were holding the prisoner released him; in the twinkling of an eye the rope ladder was unrolled outside the window, and solidly fastened to the sill by the two iron hooks.
The prisoner paid no attention to what was going on around him.
He seemed to be dreaming or praying.
As soon as the ladder was arranged, Thenardier cried:
“Come! the bourgeoise first!”
And he rushed headlong to the window.
But just as he was about to throw his leg over, Bigrenaille seized him roughly by the collar.
“Not much, come now, you old dog, after us!”
“After us!” yelled the ruffians.
“You are children,” said Thenardier, “we are losing time.
The police are on our heels.”
“Well,” said the ruffians, “let’s draw lots to see who shall go down first.”
Thenardier exclaimed:— “Are you mad!
Are you crazy! What a pack of boobies!
You want to waste time, do you?
Draw lots, do you?
By a wet finger, by a short straw!
With written names!
Thrown into a hat!—”
“Would you like my hat?” cried a voice on the threshold.
All wheeled round.
It was Javert.
He had his hat in his hand, and was holding it out to them with a smile.
CHAPTER XXI—ONE SHOULD ALWAYS BEGIN BY ARRESTING THE VICTIMS
At nightfall, Javert had posted his men and had gone into ambush himself between the trees of the Rue de la Barriere-des-Gobelins which faced the Gorbeau house, on the other side of the boulevard.
He had begun operations by opening “his pockets,” and dropping into it the two young girls who were charged with keeping a watch on the approaches to the den.
But he had only “caged” Azelma.
As for Eponine, she was not at her post, she had disappeared, and he had not been able to seize her. Then Javert had made a point and had bent his ear to waiting for the signal agreed upon.
The comings and goings of the fiacres had greatly agitated him.
At last, he had grown impatient, and, sure that there was a nest there, sure of being in “luck,” having recognized many of the ruffians who had entered, he had finally decided to go upstairs without waiting for the pistol-shot.