“Pon my word, I have no idea what you want! Who wrote to me this morning? Ernestine?” Neither the Beadle nor Beard replied.

The three men stood talking in the deserted street, bending their heads and backs under the rain, which was now pouring harder than ever.

“Come on then! Make haste!” said Jules. “Come now, get to the point – what’s up – spit it out, brothers!... I don’t want to be soaked to the skin, you know!” The Beadle forced the pace: he lifted his great hairy, sinewy hand, brought it down heavily on Jules’ shoulder, and in a changed voice, harsh, rough, imperative, he commanded:

“You must come with us!” Already he had his man fast. The unsuspecting Jules did not grasp the situation in the least.

“Follow you?” he asked. “As to that, certainly not!...

No more walking for me in such weather. Wait for a sunny day, say I!... But whatever is the matter with you – eh?... What? . . . Why are you jutting out your jaws at me like this? Out with it, my lambs!... Where am I to follow you? You won’t say, Messieurs Beadle and Beard? You won’t say?” Beard moved a step and got behind Jules unnoticed.

He repeated in the same tone, harsh, threatening:

“You’ve got to follow us, I tell you!”

Instinctively Jules tried to turn round. The Beadle’s strong grip kept him motionless. Then he understood. He was afraid.

“What’s come to you!” he cried in a trembling voice.

The Beadle cut him short.

“Enough! Will you follow us? Yes or no?”

Jules was going to say “no” but he never got the chance! Quick as lightning the Beadle twisted a short cord round his neck, stuck his knee into his victim’s back, and pulled! Jules uttered a faint groan; but, half-stifled, nearly strangled, he had not the strength to attempt the slightest self-defence.

As soon as he was flung backwards on the ground, where he lay spread-eagled and stunned, Beard jumped on him, knelt on his chest, and pinioned him. Jules lay motionless.

The Beard now began tying up the legs of their victim.

“Pass me a ball and scarf!”

“There it is, old ’un!”

“Very good; I am going to apply a ‘be discreet’.” The “be discreet” of the Beard was a gag, which he tied round the servant’s head in expert fashion.

“Feet firm?” asked the Beard.

“Oh, jolly fine!” said the Beadle. He turned his man over as though he were a bale of goods. Now he tied his victim’s hands behind his back.

“Is it far to go to the jaunting car?”

“No – for two sous, that’s it!”

A motor-car was indeed coming slowly and noiselessly along rue Raffet: and it was a sumptuous car!

“And if it is not he?”

“Stick him up against the bank... dark as it is, there’s every chance he won’t be seen.”