VII

One might readily suppose that people reputed to be “difficult,” such as the chauffeur Célestin, would prove particularly formidable when a serious incident gave them the opportunity.

Célestin had found a mysterious stranger in his car, someone he had every reason to take for a criminal.

It was, or so it seemed, a fine pretext for him to vent his perpetual resentment against his fellow man.

Well! Things turned out quite differently.

On the contrary, the surly Célestin was pleased to see humanity vindicate him by proving itself unmistakably criminal, and he was no doubt grateful to Planchet for providing such good justification for his fierce misanthropy.

Without moving or lowering the barrel of his gun, he called out in a loud, deep voice to the innkeeper, who came forward without haste, followed at a short distance by a young girl, bolder and more curious, who soon overtook her father and pressed her nose against the very pane of glass behind which Mr. Planchet seemed to be raising his arms to heaven for all eternity.

“Don’t go getting too close to that scoundrel, all the same,” Célestin told the young girl, whom the sight of Mr. Planchet had failed to frighten.

“You there, you fool,” the mechanic said to the innkeeper, almost jovially, “go fetch me a good stout rope for tying up hay.”

“We’re going to tie this fellow up so he’ll keep quiet for a while.”

While the innkeeper carried out his orders, Célestin opened the car door and, keeping his revolver trained on Planchet, began an initial interrogation.

“First tell me how you got in there.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Planchet, struggling to recover his wits, as one tries to catch a brood of chicks scattered in every direction.

“I went into the garage, back there… in a place called… called… Bront-les-Eaux.”

“Of course I know the place,” declared the self-appointed investigating magistrate.

“Ah! I see, I see!”

“You slipped into my car and then, out on the open road, from behind, you would have done me in…”

“This time, I regret to inform you that your plan has failed…”

Meanwhile, the innkeeper had returned with a long rope.

Under the young girl’s gaze, amused at first and then a little pitying, the passenger in the car was soon reduced to a parcel tied up for export.

Then, with Célestin still directing operations, the prisoner of war was carried into a barn.

For want of damp straw, they laid him on fresh straw.

Besides, under French law, however weighty the charges against him, he was still only an accused man.

They would gladly have taken Mr. Planchet by car to the neighboring town and handed him over to the local authorities.

But, whether by strange coincidence or witchcraft, two tires turned out to be flat at the same time, and Célestin had only one spare wheel (quite simply because his employer was constantly telling him to carry two).

So the driver set off on foot with the innkeeper.

Planchet remained in his barn under the watch of Catherine, who stood guard outside by the little window and, armed with a scythe, looked like the daughter of Father Time himself.