himself a great smack on the boot with his whip.
“Has César been stolen?” cried the acting-manager. “César, the white horse in the Profeta ?”
“There are not two Césars,” said the stud-groom dryly. “I was ten years at Franconi’s and I have seen plenty of horses in my time. Well, there are not two Césars. And he’s been stolen.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows. That’s why I have come to ask you to sack the whole stable.”
“What do your stablemen say?”
“All sorts of nonsense. Some of them accuse the supers. Others pretend that it’s the acting-manager’s doorkeeper …”
“My doorkeeper? I’ll answer for him as I would for myself!” protested Mercier.
“But, after