Jean advanced with a threatening gesture, and the valiant Plon quickly retreated.  For one wild moment his lodger contemplated the chances which lay in knocking him down, and taking refuge in flight, but he reflected that if the house were alarmed he would not get off, and if not, it might be possible to enlist M. Plon on his side.  He therefore went quietly back into the room, saying, “Do not fear, M. Plon....  I give you my word, I am not going to fight.”

“You had better not,” said the other blusteringly.  “You had better not!”

“Oh, as to that ...” said Jean with anger.

M. Plon retreated a second time before this demonstration, and again lifted his voice for the police.

“They’ll be here fast enough, no doubt,” said Jean quietly, though there was a bitter feeling of downfall in his heart.  “Meanwhile, perhaps it might be as well for me to tell you who I am.”

“Who you are?” repeated M. Plon indignantly.  “It’s easy enough to see that, my fine fellow, though what you could expect to steal here is not so clear.  You’ve got the air of a gallows bird, and it’s well this poor child has me—­the brave Plon—­to protect her.”

“Come, come, M. Plon—­listen to reason.  I’m the husband of Madame Didier.”

“The husband of Madame Didier?  What, when she hasn’t got one!” cried the other, now fairly enraged.

“Nevertheless, you might remember Jean Didier—­if only you would,” said Jean imploringly, for he began to think there was yet a chance for him if he could conciliate his landlord, and he made a few steps towards him holding out his hands.  But Perine screamed and Plon waved him energetically back.  Finding his prisoner cowed he launched some strong invectives at him.

“You’re a thief and a cut-throat, that’s what you are!” he said, shivering.  “Keep off, keep off!  You could no more stand in Jean Didier’s shoes than you could in mine, for he was a decent, peaceable young fellow, and more than that, he was shot.  So you’ve got hold of the wrong story here, Monsieur Blacklegs, and one that won’t serve you much in the violon.”

“It’s true, I give you my word,” said Jean.

“They did their best to shoot me, but I was only wounded.  Marie got me up here, and here I have been ever since.”

“Was there ever such a cool hand!” cried Plon wrathfully.  “And you absolutely think to persuade me of this when not a soul comes in and out of this house without my knowing.  A pretty tale!”

Jean muttered “Blockhead!” under his breath.  Aloud he said, “But—­M.  Plon—­am I not here now?”

“No, you are not!” Plon retorted,—­“or if you are, you shall soon be out of it again.  Police!  Help, help!”

“If only Marie were here!” groaned Jean.  “M.  Plon, I implore you to have pity! wait until my wife arrives; you will believe her if you can’t believe your own eyes.  Lock me into the room, do whatever you like—­only wait!”