The other went on: “It’s the street officers, look’ee—the swine! I just love it when I can spoil their little game. And it’s all to the good for our gals, eh?” “For sure it is,” Fandor agreed, and getting to his feet, for his companion had by this time roped up his man, too, and rolled him into the gutter, not without planting a shrewd kick or two on his carcass, the journalist proceeded to scrutinize his companion. He was not a working man at all! True, he wore a plumber’s short blue jacket, but it only needed to note his flat cap, his brown muffler, to say nothing of the broad red sash round his waist, his velvet Zouave breeches, his elegant, down-at-heel shoes, the whole vicious cut of the fellow, to guess his vile trade. “A fancy-man!” thought Fandor, “it was a fancy-man, a bully, was his ally! ... and the two we’ve just planted on the sidewalk are purely and simply a couple of police officers!” But once more the other broke in on his reflections. “’Pon my soul!” he burst out, drawing Fandor away with a friendly grip on his shoulder, “it’s a rum business, this here! ... all the same let’s pad the hoof, mate, the boulevard ain’t a healthy place for us just now, if more cops should come up.” So Fandor and his companion raced down the street at tip-top speed and dodged in and out of a maze of dark alleys ... In five minutes the apache called a halt. “Easy does it now,” he panted, “they’ll never nab us here.” And then, suddenly confidential: “You know, don’t you, why my donna stopped the wench?” Fandor, without showing a trace of surprise, replied emphatically in the negative. “Why, look’ee, old chap, I’d told Nini—Nini my doxy’s called—I’d told her when I saw your girl go by, ‘Look, sure as my name’s Paulet, there goes a wench who is bound to have a bit of money in her bag! ... you go and talk to her, pitch her a tale, tell her you have a sick brat at home, some jeremy diddler or other, eh? and entice her down a dark street—and you and I’ll deal with the baggage.’” Spitting on the ground to give more weight to his words, the apache Paulet—for Paulet it was—added: “I take my oath I never dreamt she was a night-bird, I took her for a workgirl by her duds.” Fandor was far from liking the state of affairs, as he realized more and more clearly the nature of the mistake made. His companion, Paulet, evidently the “bully” of the street-walker Nini who had accosted the young workwoman, took him, Fandor, for the latter’s protector, while the two men, whom he had supposed to be apaches, were just simply guardians of the peace wanting to arrest the two women ... To tell truth, Jérôme Fandor was half sorry he had rescued the two unfortunates, but, for all his philosophy, he was still more amazed to have involuntarily become the antagonist of the officers of the law and the accomplice of a Belleville “ponce.”