Here is a sovereign, Madame; see if you can get us something
fit to eat, though I fear that, with this hateful English Sunday,
everything will be shut."
"Do not abuse the English Sunday," rejoined Bonafede, "to its sanctity we
owe our friend's escape."
We were soon enjoying a supper which Madame Combrisson got in from the
neighbouring Italian restaurant. We were all in high spirits, and laughed
and chatted freely. Limpet, and O'Brien who had returned after satisfying
himself as to the true identity of the false Matthieu, who had driven
straight home, kept pacing up and down in front of the area railings,
evidently half suspecting that we had played them a trick.
All that night we sat round the kitchen fire, chatting and dozing
alternately. At midnight Deveril came, accompanied by two other officers,
who relieved Limpet and O'Brien. The next morning, as the clock hands
pointed to 9.15, a loud rat-tat resounded through the house. Deveril, with
our two friends of the previous day, accompanied by three uniformed
policemen, were on the doorstep. Combrisson opened to them with his most
engaging smile. He politely read the warrant which the inspector handed
him, and bowed him in, saying that he was happy that he should persuade
himself that Matthieu was not, and never had been, on the premises.
Deveril seemed rather taken aback by this reception, but was too sure of
his case to feel much doubt.
Never shall I forget that man's face when, after a three hours' hunt in
every hole and corner of the building he had to come down persuaded that
his victim had escaped him.
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