“Lapierre, light the gentleman out,” said Rodin, pointing to Faringhea.

Terrified at Rodin’s calmness, the half-caste hesitated to leave the room.

“Why do you wait, sir?” said Rodin, remarking his hesitation.  “I wish to be alone.”

“So, sir,” said Faringhea, as he withdrew, slowly, “you refuse my offers?  Take care! to-morrow it will be too late.”

“I have the honor to be your most humble servant, sir,” said Rodin, bowing courteously.  The Strangler went out, and the door closed upon him.

Immediately, Father d’Aigrigny entered from the next room.  His countenance was pale and agitated.

“What have you done?” exclaimed he addressing Rodin.

“I have heard all.  I am unfortunately too sure that this wretch spoke the truth.  The Indian is in his power, and he goes to rejoin him.”

“I think not,” said Rodin, humbly, as bowing, he reassumed his dull and submissive countenance.

“What will prevent this man from rejoining the prince?”

“Allow me.  As soon as the rascal was shown in, I knew him; and so, before speaking a word to him, I wrote a few lines to Morok, who was waiting below with Goliath till your reverence should be at leisure.  Afterwards, in the course of the conversation, when they brought me Morok’s answer, I added some fresh instructions, seeing the turn that affairs were taking.”

“And what was the use of all this, since you have let the man leave the house?”

“Your reverence will perhaps deign to observe that he did not leave it; till he had given me the direction of the hotel where the Indian now is, thanks to my innocent stratagem of appearing to despise him.  But, if it had failed, Faringhea would still have fallen into the hands of Goliath and Morok, who are waiting for him in the street, a few steps from the door.  Only we should have been rather embarrassed, as we should not have known where to find Prince Djalma.”

“More violence!” said Father d’Aigrigny, with repugnance.

“It is to be regretted, very much regretted,” replied Rodin; “but it was necessary to follow out the system already adopted.”

“Is that meant for a reproach?” said Father d’Aigrigny, who began to think that Rodin was something more than a mere writing-machine.

“I could not permit myself to blame your reverence,” said Rodin, cringing almost to the ground.  “But all that will be required is to confine this man for twenty-four hours.”

“And afterwards—­his complaints?”

“Such a scoundrel as he is will not dare to complain.  Besides, he left this house in freedom.  Morok and Goliath will bandage his eyes when they seize him.  The house has another entrance in the Rue Vieille-des-Ursins.  At this hour, and in such a storm, no one will be passing through this deserted quarter of the town.  The knave will be confused by the change of place; they will put him into a cellar, of the new building, and to morrow night, about the same hour, they will restore him to liberty with the like precautions.  As for the East Indian, we now know where to find him; we must send to him a confidential person, and, if he recovers from his trance, there would be, in my humble opinion,” said Rodin, modestly, “a very simple and quiet manner of keeping him away from the Rue Saint Francois all day to-morrow.”