Professor
Tavernier had disappeared carrying red-cross funds. Was that their
box?

"I said it costs forty sous--two silver francs," repeated the Lizard,
doggedly.

"Forty sous? That's robbery!" sniffed the young ruffian, now using
that half-whining, half-sneering form of discourse peculiar alike to
the vicious chevalier of Paris and his confrere of the provincial
centres. Accent and slang alone distinguish between them; the argot,
however, is practically the same.

Tric-Trac fished a few coins from his pocket, counted carefully, and
handed them, one by one, to the poacher.

The poacher coolly tossed the food on the ground, and, as Tric-Trac
rose to pick it up, seized the box.

"Drop that!" said Tric-Trac, quickly.

"What's in it?"

"Nothing! Drop it, I tell you."

"Where's the key?"

"There's no key--it's a machine."

"What's in it?"

"Now I've been trying to find out for two weeks," sneered Tric-Trac,
"and I don't know yet. Drop it!"

"I'm going to open it all the same," said the Lizard, coolly, lifting
the lid.

A sudden silence followed; then the Lizard swore vigorously. There was
another box within the light, iron-edged casket, a keyless cube of
shining steel, with a knob on the top, and a needle which revolved
around a dial on which were engraved the hours and minutes. And
emblazoned above the dial was the coat of arms of the Countess de
Vassart.

When Tric-Trac had satisfied himself concerning the situation, he
returned to devour his food.

"Flute! Zut! Mince!" he observed; "you and your bad manners, they
sicken me--tiens!"

The Lizard, flat on his stomach, lay with the massive steel box under
his chin, patiently turning the needle from figure to figure.

"Wonderful! wonderful!" sneered Tric-Trac. "Continue, my friend, to
put out your eyes with your fingers!"

The Lizard continued to turn the needle backward and forward around
the face of the dial. Once, when he twirled it impatiently, a tiny
chime rang out from within the box, but the steel lid did not open.

"It's the Angelus," said Tric-Trac, with a grimace. "Let us pray, my
friend, for a cold-chisel--when my friend Buckhurst returns."

Still the Lizard lay, unmoved, turning the needle round and round.

Tric-Trac having devoured the cheese, bread, and an entire pheasant,
made a bundle of the remaining food, emptied the cider-jug, wiped his
beardless face with his cap, and announced that he would be pleased to
"broil" a cigarette.