Nibet’s rage was uncontrollable! That drooling moron, Cranajour, had kicked away the warder’s chance of ridding himself of the journalist for good! This hit-and-miss made Nibet foam with rage. Of all the exasperating simpletons, this cretin of a Cranajour was the limit!

The two made their way back to the store, where Mother Toulouche and big Ernestine anxiously awaited results; and now not only had the two men returned stuttering over their statements and with no news of the boatman, who was generally up to time, but they had missed a fine opportunity chance had offered them!

Nibet hated the journalist like all the poisons. Taunts, jeers, abuse were heaped on the bony head of Cranajour, who, all in vain, raised his eyes to heaven, beat his chest, shrugged his shoulders, stammered, mumbled vague excuses:“He didn’t know exactly why he had done it! He thought he was helping Nibet!”

Thus they disputed and contended for nearly two hours. Suddenly, Cranajour broke a long silence and demanded, looking as stupid as a half-witted pig:

“What have I done then? What are you scolding me for?” Mother Toulouche, big Ernestine, and the wrathful Nibet stared at one another, taken aback – then they understood: two hours had gone by, and Cranajour no longer remembered what had happened!

He was clearly as simple as a backward child – there was nothing whatsoever to be done with such an idiot, that was certain!

CHAPTER SIX : IN THE OPPOSITE SENSE

When Jérôme Fandor had been precipitated into the Seine so unexpectedly and with such violence, he kept control of his wits: he did not utter a cry as he fell head foremost into the pitch-black river. He was an excellent swimmer: all aching as he was, he let himself go with the current, and presently reached the sheltering arch of the Pont Neuf. There he took breath for a minute.

“Strange!” was all he murmured. Then with regular strokes he made for the steep bank of the Seine opposite.

Climbing out of the river, he secreted himself behind a heap of stones which lay on the quay. He took off his soaked garments and wrung the water out of them. This done, and clad in what almost looked like dry clothes, Fandor walked along the quay, hailed a passing cabman half asleep on his seat, jumped inside, and gave his address to the Jehu.

When he arrived at La Capitale on the Friday morning a boy approached him, and whispered mysteriously:

“Monsieur Fandor, there’s a very nice young woman in the sitting-room, who has been waiting for over an hour.

She wishes to see you. She will not give her name: she declares that you know who she is.”

“What is she like?” Fandor asked. His curiosity was slightly aroused.

“Pretty, fair, all in black,” replied the boy.

“Good. I’ll go in,” interrupted Fandor.