MACAIRE. Then we may go? SCENE IV _To these_, CHARLES, _who is seen on the gallery_, _going to the door of Number Thirteen_. _Afterwards all the characters but the_ NOTARY _and the_ MARQUIS BRIGADIER. One glass more. (BERTRAND _touches_ MACAIRE, _and points to_ CHARLES, _who enters Number Thirteen_). MACAIRE. No more, no more, no more. BRIGADIER (_rising and taking_ MACAIRE _by the arm_). I stipulate! MACAIRE. Engagement in Turin! BRIGADIER. Turin? MACAIRE. Lyons, Lyons! BERTRAND. For God’s sake. BRIGADIER. Well, good-bye! MACAIRE. Good-bye, good— CHARLES (_from within_). Murder! Help! (_Appearing_.) Help here! The Marquis is murdered. BRIGADIER. Stand to the door. A man up there. (_A_ GENDARME _hurries up staircase into Number Thirteen_, CHARLES _following him_. _Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece_, _except the_ NOTARY _and the_ MARQUIS.) MACAIRE (_aside_). Bitten, by God! BERTRAND (_aside_). Lost! BRIGADIER (_to_ DUMONT). John Paul Dumont, I arrest you. DUMONT. Do your duty, officer. I can answer for myself and my own people. BRIGADIER. Yes, but these strangers? DUMONT. They are strangers to me. MACAIRE. I am an honest man: I stand upon my rights: search me; or search this person, of whom I know too little. (_Smiting his brow_.) By heaven, I see it all! This morning—(_To_ BERTRAND.) How, sir, did you dare to flaunt your booty in my very face? (_To_ BRIGADIER.) He showed me notes; he was up ere day; search him, and you’ll find. There stands the murderer. BERTRAND. O, Macaire! (_He is seized and searched and the notes are found_.) BRIGADIER. There is blood upon the notes. Handcuffs. (MACAIRE _edging towards the door_.) BERTRAND. Macaire, you may as well take the bundle. (MACAIRE _is stopped by sentry_, _and comes front_, _R._) CHARLES (_re-appearing_). Stop, I know the truth. (_He comes down_.) Brigadier, my father is not dead. He is not even dangerously hurt. He has spoken. There is the would-be assassin. MACAIRE. Hell! (_He darts across to the staircase_, _and turns on the second step_, _flashing out the knife_.) Back, hounds! (_He springs up the stair_, _and confronts them from the top_.) Fools, I am Robert Macaire! (_As_ MACAIRE _turns to flee_, _he is met by the gendarme coming out of Number Thirteen_; _he stands an instant checked_, _is shot from the stage_, _and falls headlong backward down the stair_. BERTRAND, _with a cry_, _breaks from the gendarmes_, _kneels at his side_, _and raises his head_.) BERTRAND. Macaire, Macaire, forgive me. I didn’t blab; you know I didn’t blab. MACAIRE. Sold again, old boy. Sold for the last time; at least, the last time this side death. Death—what is death? (_He dies_.) * * * * * CURTAIN * * * * * * * * * *