Fandor was just asking himself by what gymnastic feat he could get back to the quay, and was leaning over the opening of the sewer, his body bending far forward over the inky waters of the Seine. Before he had time to turn, before he could regain his balance, a brutal blow from behind half stunned him, and a vicious thrust sent him plunging into the Seine.

CHAPTER FIVE : MOTHER TOULOUCHE AND CRANAJOUR

“Come along, Cranajour! Let’s have a look at what they’ve given you for the frock coat and the whole outfit!” The person thus challenged rummaged in the pockets of his old, much-patched and filthy garments, and after interminable fumblings and huntings, finished by extracting a certain number of silver pieces, which he counted over with the greatest care; finally he replied:

“Seventeen francs, Mother Toulouche.”

Mother Toulouche showed her impatience:

“It’s details I want! How much for the coat? How much for the whole suit? I’ve got to know, I tell you! I’ve got to write it all down, and I’ve got to see how much I’ve to hand over to each of the owners of the goods!... Try to remember, Cranajour.”

The individual who answered to this odd name, reflected for a moment. After a silence, shrugging his shoulders, he replied:

“I don’t know. I can’t make myself remember – not anyhow!... And it’s a long time since I sold them goods!” Mother Toulouche shrugged in turn:

“A long time!” she grumbled. “What a wretched job!

Why, it’s only two hours since – barely that! ... It’s true,” she went on with a pitying look at the shabby, down-at-heel wretch, who had spread out his seventeen francs on the table, “it’s true that you’re known not to have two cents worth of memory, and that at the end of an hour you have forgotten what you’ve done!

“That’s right enough,” answered Cranajour.

“Let’s have done with it then,” cried Mother Toulouche.

She held out a repulsive-looking old garment.

“Be off with you! Go and pawn this teacher’s cast-offs! When the comrades catch a sight of this bit of stuff out front, they’ll understand they can come without danger!... No cops about the store on the look-out, are there?” Mother Toulouche took the precaution to advance to the threshold of her store, cast a rapid glance around – not a suspicious person, nor a sign of one to be seen:

“A good thing,” muttered she, “but I was sure of it!

Those police spies are going to give us some peace for a bit!... Most likely the whole lot of them are on this Dollon business! Isn’t it so, Cranajour?”

As she retreated into her store again Mother Toulouche knocked against that individual, who had not budged: he had respectfully hung over his arm the miserable bit of cloth that had been classed as a teacher’s robe.