"This kind and accommodatin' gent, wot I've so misunderstood, has got business with ye, old top." Papa came slowly forward, his face expressive of fear rather than curiosity, followed by Mamma, fierce and watchful. "You--you wanted _me_?" began Papa, hesitatingly. "I have business with you, Papa Francoise. I want to talk with you privately, for your interest and mine, ahem." He looked toward Franz, and seeing the stolidity of this individual, inquired: "Who is that gentleman?" His enunciation of the last word probably excited the wrath of Franz, for he came a step nearer, with an aggressive sneer. "My name's Jimson, Mr. Cop, an' I'm a friend of the family. Anything else ye want ter know?" With a shrug of the shoulder, Vernet turned toward Papa once more. "I'd like to speak with you alone, Papa Francoise," he said significantly. The mood of mocking insolence seemed deserting Franz, and a wrathful surliness manifested itself in the tone with which he addressed Papa. "He'd like ter see ye alone, old Beelzebub, d'ye hear?" Papa glanced hesitatingly from one to the other. He seemed to fear both the bound detective at his feet and the surly son who stood near him, with the menacing weapon in his hand, and growing rage and suspicion in his countenance. Mamma's quick eye noted the look of suspicion and she interposed. "Ye can speak afore this gentleman, Mr. Cop; he's a _very_ intimate friend." A look of annoyance flashed in the eyes of Van Vernet. He hesitated a moment, and then said slowly: "Does your intimate friend know anything about the affair that happened at your late residence near Rag alley, Papa Francoise?" It was probably owing to the fact that the fumes of his recent potations were working still, with a secondary effect, and that from sleepy inertness he was passing to a state of unreasoning disputatiousness, that Franz, evidently by no means relieved at the transfer of Vernet's attention from himself to Papa, seemed lashed into fury by the manner of the former. "May be I know about that affair, and may be I don't," he retorted angrily. "Look here, coppy, you want to fly kind of light round me; I don't like yer style." "I didn't come here especially to fascinate you, so I am not inconsolable. I might mention, however, by way of continuing our charming frankness, that _your_ style has not commended itself to me." And Vernet emphasized his statement by a jerk of his fetters. "Now listen, my friends; I did not come here alone--half a dozen stout fellows are near at hand. If I do not return to them in five minutes more, you will see them here. If I call, you will see them sooner." Franz raised the revolver to his eye and squinted along the barrel. "Why don't you call, then?" he inquired. "I don't want to make a fuss. My errand is a peaceable one. Unbind me; give me ten minutes alone with Papa here, and I leave you,--you have nothing to fear from me." Franz shifted his position and seemed to hesitate.