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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Very well, little volunteer, if you insist on knowing, I will tell you. Julot, generally called Fine-Gueule, is a trier of women." "I beg your pardon?" "I will explain it to you. There are a few of us old amateurs in Paris, who are too old and impatient to hunt for truffles, but who want them of such and such a flavor, exactly to our taste.
Now, Julot knows our tastes, our various fancies, and he undertakes ..." "Capital! Capital!" He had been registered under the names of Jean Marie Mathieu Valot, but he was never called anything but Mademoiselle. He was the idiot of the district, but not one of those wretched, ragged idiots who live on public charity.
Momentarily becoming more uneasy, Julot scrutinised the long tunnel of a room at the extreme end of which he was sitting; there was only one means of egress, up the narrow corkscrew staircase leading to the ground-floor, and at the very foot of that staircase was the table occupied by the green man and the man with the guitar.
The mêlée became general, plates smashing on the floor, and dinner things flying towards the ceiling. Suddenly a shot rang out, but quickly though it had been fired, the green man and the man with the guitar had seen who fired it. For the last few minutes, indeed, these two mysterious individuals had never taken their eyes off Julot.
Julot shook hands with her and without evincing any further interest in her, went on with the conversation he was having with his own companion, a clean-shaven fellow. "Go on, Billy Tom," he said in low tones. "Tell me what has happened."
"Well, there has been the devil to pay at the Royal Palace, owing to that accident, you know; of course I was not mixed up in it in any way: I'm only interpreter, and I stick to my own job. But three weeks after the affair, Muller was suddenly kicked out, owing to the door having been opened for the chap who worked the robbery." "Muller, Muller?" said Julot, seeming to be searching his memory.
"That's all right; don't mind; I know that man," and in proof of the statement she held out a friendly hand to the individual who seemed to be spying upon them. "Good evening again, M. Julot: how are you, since I saw you just now? I did not notice you were here."
"Say, Marie," he said, nodding towards the window that was behind him, "what does that window open on to?" The girl thought for a moment. "On to the cellar," she said; "this hall is in the basement." "And the cellar," Julot went on; "how do you get out of that?" "You can't," the servant answered; "there's no door; you have to come through here."
Julot, whom Berthe had supposed from his appearance to be an honest cattle-drover, was undoubtedly a wonderful shot. Having observed that the room was lighted by a single chandelier composed of three electric lamps, and that the current was supplied by only two wires running along the cornice, Julot had taken aim at the wires and cut them clean in two with a single shot!
Julot choked back an oath, and instinctively clenched his fist, but Ernestine already had moved on and was huskily chaffing the young man with the budding beard. Julot sat with sombre face and angry eyes, only replying in curt monosyllables to the occasional remarks of his next neighbour, Billy Tom. Marie, the waitress, was passing near him and he signed to her to stop.
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