It was about eight o'clock on the night following that momentous interview at the Hall, and all Mrs. Binter's boarders had left the jail on the ticket of-leave system except Judas, who sat in the drawing-room cell arranging everything in his crafty brain before setting out on his errand to Miss Varlins. The head-jailer had several times entered the room and intimated that he had better run out for a breath of fresh air; but Judas, saying he would go later on, kept his seat by the diminutive fire, and declined to obey Mrs. Binter, much to that good lady's disgust.
"Why, drat the man," she said, in her stony fashion, to one of the under-warders, "what does he mean by wastin' coals an' ile? Why don't he walk his dinner off by usin' his legs instead of robbin' me of my profits by takin' it out of his thirty shillin's weekly?"
The under-warder suggested respectfully that Monsieur Judas might be expecting a friend that night, as on a previous occasion, to which the jailer made prompt reply:
"Oh, I dare say! That friend he had here was a furriner. I heard 'em talking their French gabble. It's more like a turkey gobblin' than a man talkin'. Why don't these furriners learn English? There's the front-door bell! P'r'aps it's that friend again. I'll go myself."
And go herself she did, to find Mr. Fanks waiting on the doorstep; and thinking he was expected by Judas, seeing that gentleman had waited in, took him in charge, and formally conducted him to the drawing-room cell.
"A gentleman for you, munseer," she said, glaring at her lodger, who had arisen to his feet in some surprise, "an' please don't use too many coals, sir. For coals is coals, however much you may think 'em waste-paper."
Having thus relieved her feelings, Mrs. Binter retired to the basement, where she amused herself with badgering Mr. Binter, and Fanks was left alone with the chemist's assistant.
"You wish to see me, monsieur?" asked Judas, in French, narrowing his eyes to their most catlike expression.
"Yes," replied Fanks, sitting down. "I wish to ask you a few questions."
"I cannot give you long, Monsieur Fanks," said the Frenchman, unwillingly, "I have an engagement for this night!"
"Oh, indeed. With Mr. Marson, or Miss Varlins?" This was carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance, and for a moment Judas was so nonplussed, that he did not know what to say.