"Not exactly."
"It is really quite simple. Just think for a moment how we shall all stand within the next few hours. Levet, his daughter, his son and his guest arrested. I, Louis Maurin, using my influence with the authorities to get the family liberated. Levet's gratitude expressed by granting me his daughter's hand in marriage. Surely you can see how splendidly it will all work."
"Not quite," Blakeney remarked after a slight pause.
"Where's the hitch?"
"I was thinking of the guest. Will your influence be extended towards his liberation also?"
"Oh!" the lawyer replied airily, "I am not going to trouble myself about him. If nothing is proved against him, if he is really just a constitutional priest called in to administer the sacraments to a dying woman, he will get his release without interference on my part."
"He may not."
The lawyer shrugged. "Anyway he will have to take his chance. My dear friend," he went on with an affected sigh, "a great many heads will fall within the next few days, weeks, months perhaps; are we not on the eve of far bigger things than have occurred as yet? One head more or less ... what does it matter?"
To this Blakeney made no immediate reply, and presently the young lawyer resumed, putting all the persuasiveness he could command into his tone:
"You will not refuse me your co-operation, will you, Monsieur le Professeur."
"You will pardon me," Blakeney responded, "but you have not yet told me what you desire me to do."
"Just for the moment, only to come with me as far as the Town Hall, and bear witness to the fact that old Levet introduced a man surreptitiously into his house this afternoon."
"But I don't know that he did."
Maurin shrugged. "Does that matter?" he queried blandly, "between friends?"
Then as Monsieur le Professeur made no comment on this amazing suggestion, he continued glibly:
"It is all perfectly simple, my dear Professeur, as you will see, and nothing that will happen need upset your over-sensitive conscience. I will merely call upon you to confirm with a word or two, my statement that Charles Levet introduced someone furtively into his house, at the very time when his wife was breathing her last. There will be no question of an oath or anything of the sort, just a few words. But we will both insist that Levet's actions were furtive. Won't we? I can reckon on you for this can I not, my dear friend? I may call you my friend, may I not?"
"If you like."
"You really are most kind. And you will plead my cause with old Levet when my marriage with Blanche comes on the tapis presently, won't you, my friend? Funnily enough I felt you were going to be my friend the moment I sat down at this table opposite to you. But then Blanche had often spoken to me about you, and in what high regard her father held you ... Well!" he concluded, after he had paused for breath for a few seconds, "what do you say?" and his eyes glowing and eager, fastened themselves on the other's face.
By way of answer Blakeney rose.
"That the doors of the Town Hall will be closed against us, unless we hurry," he replied with a smile.
Maurin drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Then you really are coming with me?" he exclaimed, and jumped to his feet. He beckoned to the waiter, and there ensued a friendly little dispute as to who should pay the bill, a dispute from which the lawyer gracefully retired, leaving his newly-found friend to settle both the bill and the gratuity. While he reached for his hat and cloak he just went on talking, talking as if something in his brain had let loose a veritable flood-gate of eloquence. He talked and he talked, and never noticed that Monsieur le Professeur, in the interval of settling with the waiter had scribbled a few lines on the back of the bill, and kept the crumpled bit of paper in the hollow of his hand. He piloted the voluble talker through the shrieking and gesticulating crowd as far as the door.
The next moment the two men were out in the Place. The fog seemed more dense than ever. As the Town Hall was at some distance from the Café Tison they started to walk briskly across the wide-open space. It was almost deserted, everyone having taken refuge against the cold and the damp in the brilliantly-lighted restaurants and cafés: all except a group of three or four slouchy-looking fellows clad in the promiscuous garments affected by the irregular Republican Guard. They were standing outside the Café Tison, very much in the way of the customers who went in or out, and had to be jostled and pushed aside by Monsieur le Professeur before he and Louis Maurin could get past.
CHAPTER NINE
Orders from the Chief
Maurin was walking on ahead while he and Monsieur le Professeur crossed the Grand' Place. In the centre of the open space there was at that time a monumental fountain to which a short flight of circular steps gave access. In addition to the fog, a sharp frost now made progress difficult. The ground covered with a thin layer of half-melted snow, was very slippery, especially around the fountain which, though not playing at this hour had been going all day, and had scattered spray all around, so that the steps and the pavement around it were covered with a sheet of ice.
Maurin was treading warily. He nearly slipped at one point, and was just in time to save himself from falling. He called out a quick "Take care!" to his companion. But the warning came, apparently, just a few seconds too late for in answer to his call there came a sudden cry accompanied by a few vigorous swear words, quite unlike the usual pedantic speech of Monsieur le Professeur. The lawyer turned round at once and saw that learned gentleman sprawling on the ground.
"Whatever has happened?" he queried with ill-disguised impatience.
It was pretty obvious. Monsieur le Professeur lay, groaning, across the steps.
"Can't you get up?" the lawyer asked tartly.
"I'll try," the other replied. Apparently he made a genuine effort to rise, but fell back again groaning piteously.
"But," Maurin insisted with distinct acerbity, "I have to be at the Town Hall before six. It is ten minutes to now, and it is a good step down the Rue Haute. Can't you make an effort?"
"I'm afraid not. I think I have broken my ankle. I couldn't walk, unless you supported me."
"Then we should get to the Town Hall too late," the other retorted. "What's to be done?"
"You go, my friend, and I will follow as soon as I can. I dare say I can enlist the assistance of a passer-by to find me a cabriolet, and you can keep the Chief of Section talking till I come."
"Well, if you don't mind being left..."
"No, no! You go! I'll come along as quickly as possible."
"There's a fellow coming this way now. Shall I call him?"
"Thank you. If you will."
He seemed in great pain, and unable to move. A man in blouse and tattered breeches, apparently one of the irregular Republican Guard who had been hanging round the café loomed out of the fog, and came slouching along towards the fountain. Maurin hailed him.
"My friend is hurt," he said quickly; "will you look after him and bring him to the Town Hall as soon as you can? He will pay you well."
The man came nearer. He mumbled something about a cabriolet.
"Yes, yes!" Maurin acquiesced eagerly. "Try and get one. Don't wait! Run!"
After which peremptory order he turned once more to Monsieur le Professeur.
"You will not fail me, will you?" he insisted.
"No, no! I'll be with you as soon as I can. I promise."
Whereupon the lawyer finally went his way. The fog soon wrapped