and peered in a stealthy way under the low-hung branches.
"You're a wolf, Frank," she whispered. "How did you manage it? Getting honest has turned you preacher in not much but costume—has it, my friend? And"—she turned her head aslant and surveyed me with a critical smile—"I must say you look rather nice without your moustache."
"Is he dead?" I asked, and leaned against the wall, for the tourniquet on my arm was hurting me horribly.
"No; you've missed again, my little boy. The surgeon, Doctor Lemaitre—who was lunching with us, you know—says the knife passed between the ribs and the heavy muscles of the chest. He is painfully but not dangerously hurt."
"Do they guess who it is?"
"On the contrary, he is the hero of the moment. He is the brave chauffeur who, while walking under the trees, saw a man scale the wall, and followed him to the house, where he surprised him at his work and tried to take him single-handed. Hertzfeld is going to give him a handsome present for having prevented the robbery. There was in the safe a diamond tiara for which our friend the Baron paid two hundred thousand francs, and which he had intended to present to a certain young actress of his acquaintance on her jour de fête, as a slight token of his appreciation of her talent."
I whistled.
"Chu-Chu's chest is not the sorest part of him!" I observed.
"He is very vexed," said Léontine. "As he was
