In the name of the French
police of surety I venture to present to the famous officer Bucket
a prayer that he will shut his eyes, for once, on the letter, and
open his heart to the spirit of the laws.
No one needs to teach Monsieur Bucket that a foreign miscreant can
be given up, under all reserves, to the justice! A small vial of a
harmless soporific, a closed carriage, a private cabin on board a
Channel steamer--with these and a little of the adroitness so
remarked in the celebrated Bucket, the affair is in the bag! (dans
le sac). All these things are in the cords (dans les cordes) of my
esteemed English fellow-brother; will he not employ them in the
interest of a devoted colleague and a friendly Administration? We
seek a malefactor of the worst species (un chenapan de la pire
espece). This funny fellow (drole) calls himself Count of Fosco,
and he resides in Wood Road 5, St. John's Forest; worth abode of a
miscreant fit for the Forest of Bondy! He is a man bald, stout,
fair, and paying well in countenance (il paie de mine), conceiving
himself to resemble the great Napoleon. At the first sight you
would say a philanthrope, a friend of man. On his right arm he
bears a small red mark, round, the brand of a society of the most
dangerous. Dear Sir, you will not miss him? When once he is in
our hands, faith of Lecoq, you shall tell us your news as to
whether France can be grateful.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115