After that Ascott began to scrutinize in sick bewilderment not only the Police Commissary, but also the two men who stood behind him, a pair of white-faced loafers of dubious aspect and repulsive countenance; they stood twisting about in evident embarrassment, jumping from one foot to the other and mechanically turning about their greasy caps between their fingers. Presently the Commissary addressed the two apaches, pointing to M. Ascott. “Do you recognize that gentleman?” he asked. “Why, yes, it’s as you might say, the party what engaged us last evening, about midnight, at the restaurant of the _Silver Goblet_ ...” The Commissary questioned Ascott: “You were dining, were you not, at a restaurant in the Place de la Bastille, with the gentleman here present and mademoiselle?”—and the magistrate, to avoid any possibility of mistake, pointed in succession to M. Moche and Nini Guinon. “Yes,” admitted Ascott, not understanding what his questioner would be at. “Good,” continued the Commissary, and put another question: “Are you ready to let us hear the proposals you made to these two gentlemen?”—this time pointing to “Bull’s-eye” and the “Gasman.” But the Englishman could only stare in bewilderment at the two ruffians; he cudgelled his brains in vain, and despite the strain he imposed on his addled wits, he could _not_ remember having made any proposal whatsoever to the individuals before him. “But I don’t know those persons,” he articulated with difficulty. The Commissary gave a sceptical smile. “Speak!” he ordered, addressing the “Gasman,” “Repeat to the gentleman the deposition you came to my office to make.”