Hobson, began his story in the most
perfect French he could command. He spoke the language well, and had
no reason to fear that his accent would betray him.
"The patron speaks no French," put in the old woman. "You ought to
know that. Tell me, and I will interpret."
Mr. Hobson played his part closely, that was clear. A Frenchman by
birth, he could hardly be ignorant of or have forgotten his own
tongue.
Hyde, following these instructions, told his story in the briefest
words. How Valetta Joe had been seized, his shop ransacked, and many
compromising papers brought to light.
"Ask him how he knows this," said Mr. Hobson quietly.
"My brother has written to me from the Crimea. He was in the camp when
the baker was seized."
"What is his brother's name?"
"Eugene Chabot, of the 39th Algerian battalion."
This was a name given in the papers seized.
"Was it he who gave this address? How did the fellow come here? Ask
him that."
"Yes," Hyde said; he had learned the patron's address from his
brother, who had urged him to come and tell what had happened without
a moment's delay.
Mr. Hobson, _alias_ Ledantec, had listened attentively to this
friendly message as it was interpreted to him bit by bit, but without
betraying the slightest concern. Suddenly he changed his demeanour.
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