for me and disappeared in the darkness of the underground gallery.”
M. Richard rose.
“That will do, M. Lachenel. You can go. … We will lodge a complaint against the ghost .”
“And sack my stable?”
“Oh, of course! Good morning.”
M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth.
“Settle that idiot’s account at once, please.”
“He is a friend of the government representative’s!” Mercier ventured to say.
“And he takes his vermouth at Tortoni’s with Lagréné, Scholl and Pertuiset, the lion-hunter,” added Moncharmin.
“We shall have the whole press against us! He’ll tell the story of the ghost; and everybody will be laughing at our expense! We may as well be dead as ridiculous!”