“Yes, it’s Tom Bob, the detective! I’m thinking if we must ‘finish’ him; but no, by the Lord! not worth the trouble, it ain’t.” Thereupon the “Beadle” knelt down beside the detective’s body where it lay and extended on the ground, took the unfortunate man by the shoulder and shook him roughly: “Hi! detective, d’ye hear me? Yes? good—now look and see how we stand, we chaps? You wanted to arrest Fantômas, did you? Well, old man, it’s _us_ have laid hands on _you_. And if we don’t finish you off, it’s only to save worries here. Only, let me give you a bit of advice—by the next boat you’ll have to hook it back to your own country. You twig?” The man got to his feet again, and, a coward like all of his kidney, while Tom Bob lay helpless and incapable of offering the smallest resistance, he kicked him in the face again and again. Presently, tiring of the exercise, he broke off to add: “There, I don’t want to spoil your phiz. What’d be the good of that? But what to do with the beast? we never looked to see _him_ here. Bah! let’s just tie him up with the beak, it’ll be company for him!” But there was no time to waste. It was a good twenty minutes since the brigands had invaded Fuselier’s privacy. True, at this time of day there was small likelihood of anybody coming to disturb the Juge d’Instruction; still it was best not to delay—a surprise was after all a possibility to be feared; a night watchman, a court official, an usher might arrive at any moment. Like a general inspecting the dispositions made by his subordinates in command, the “Beadle” proceeded to make a rapid examination of the fastenings securing Fuselier and Tom Bob. “Righto!” he declared, “they’re hard and fast for the night, never fear!” With a grin, he gripped Tom Bob by the shoulders and dragged him into a dark corner of the room; after which he seized M. Fuselier and turned him round with his face to the wall: “They’ll be bored worse than ever if they can’t see one another! A pleasant time to you, gentlemen!... And the other, ready is he? you’ve got the sack?” Yes, the other was ready. The chief might gibe and jest and enliven the proceedings with satirical remarks, but his men were not wasting their time. While he was speaking, they had executed the order previously given. The enterprise, not a doubt of it, had been planned beforehand, and long beforehand. One of the apaches now unfolded a voluminous receptacle he had brought with him, a sort of extra big sack; into this they bundled Juve, still bound, still incapable of the slightest movement. Two of the ruffians then picked up the sack, and carrying it to the window, dumped it on the hanging stage. Finally, after turning the key in the lock to make security doubly secure, the chief addressed his men: