" "Ah," he
remarked. "_C'est tout._"
And I departed. "Proceed!" cried the Black Holster. I retraced my steps,
and was about to exit through the door leading to the _cour_, when "Stop!
_Nom de Dieu!_ Proceed!"
I asked "Where?" completely bewildered.
"Up," he said angrily.
I turned to the stairs on the left, and climbed.
"Not so fast there," he roared behind me.
I slowed up. We reached the landing. I was sure that the Gestionnaire was
a very fierce man--probably a lean slight person who would rush at me
from the nearest door saying "Hands up" in French, whatever that may be.
The door opposite me stood open. I looked in. There was the Surveillant
standing, hands behind back, approvingly regarding my progress. I was
asking myself, Should I bow? when a scurrying and a tittering made me
look left, along a dark and particularly dirty hall. Women's voices ... I
almost fell with surprise. Were not those shadows' faces peering a little
boldly at me from doors? How many girls were there--it sounded as if
there were a hundred--
"_Qu'est-ce que vous faites_," etc., and the _planton_ gave me a good
shove in the direction of another flight of stairs. I obligingly
ascended; thinking of the Surveillant as a spider, elegantly poised in
the centre of his nefarious web, waiting for a fly to make too many
struggles.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147