Here is Matthieu;
you, Madame Combrisson, see if his dress is right; now I am going."
"Wait a minute," exclaimed Sylvestre, "give me a bottle of whisky and two
glasses, I will go over and offer some to the 'tecs; it will look as if I
am trying to distract their attention from Bonafede and the cab, and will
lend truth to the scene."
All passed off to perfection. As the hansom drew up, Sylvestre, with a
polite bow, offered a drink to Limpet and O'Brien. The latter caught sight
of the cab, just as the false Matthieu hurriedly jumped in, and, pushing
the Frenchman roughly aside, he leapt on his bicycle and rushed off in
pursuit just as the cab disappeared round the street corner. Bonafede had
quietly slipped off down the Tottenham Court Road. Limpet was pacing up
and down distractedly, uncertain whether to stick to his post or join his
comrade in pursuit. In five minutes' time I quietly walked out, arm in arm
with Matthieu, turning round on the doorstep to shake hands with Madame
Combrisson. We walked boldly past Limpet, and were soon at Shoolbred's,
where I left the dynamitard with Bonafede, and, taking a roundabout walk,
returned within half-an-hour to Grafton Street. In an hour's time Bonafede
joined us. "All is well!" he exclaimed; "within a couple of hours our
comrade will be safe in Leicester. It has been an anxious day, but it has
ended better than I had dared hope for."
"And now let us get some dinner," broke in Sylvestre, "I am just fainting
with hunger.
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