18 THE MYSTEEY OF AE OMNIBUS. suffice to untie the tongue of any of the lodging-house keepers of Montmartre, and I beg you to make free use ot it. Binos hesitated a moment for form's sake, and finally ac- Ce^It* is simply an advance, dear friend, which I shall re- imburse some day, and I shall husband your finances. Per- haps I shall obtain the information for thirty sous. Bu suppose I am told that the person in question lived here- but disappeared three days ago-what must I then do? "You will inform yourself adroitly as to her habits—whom she received; will ask whether she left baggage in her cham- ber or papers; what name she gave-and when you know this you have only to hasten to the morgue and make your statement to the registrar, who will inform the police. Ihe lodffing-house keeper will be summoned, will recognize his lodger—you will then have a base of operations, ana may begin a serious inquest." "With you, I hope?" . " With me if you wish. I should not desire to engage in it ostensibly, but shall not spare my advice if you desire it. " Piédouche, mon vieux, we have life and death m our hands'" exclaimed Binos with enthusiasm. " I shall enter this house—which has not the air of a palace—and make my début under your auspices in secret diplomacy; and he made for the building designated by the sagacious Piédouche, while the latter sauntered deliberately up the Rue des Abbesses. The alley gate was open and Binos entered. What a man'" he muttered to himself. " If the girl really lodged here, Piédouche is the greatest detective of modern times. ^ Upon my word I should be tempted to believe he knew her. The alley was neither spacious nor well lighted. Binos ad- vanced cautiously, stretching out his arms so as to touch the wall on either side. At length he heard a voice on his left cry out: " What do you want?" "I wish to speak to the concierge," replied Binos. "There is no concierge here," said a woman's voice. f* To the proprietor, then." " I am the proprietor. Do you come to rent? "No, I come on account of one of your lodgers. ^ "Explain yourself; and come nearer, that I may see you. Binos would have asked nothing better than to show him- self, but he could not see a wink, or tell which way to turn to effect an interview with the crabbed individual, from whom this fierce summons had come. Groping his way however his hands came in contact at last with a glass door which stood ajar. Pushing it open, he entered a lodge into which the dim unwashed glasses of a bull's-eye sparingly admitted the doubtful daylight of an inner court. He could scarcely distinguish a little old woman warming herself by the dying embers of a coke fire. " Good! you may speak now," she exclaimed, I know who you are." , „ Binos would have been glad to be able to say as much, tor he was completely disconcerted by this reception, and at a loss how to begin. It was impossible to avail himself of the suggestion of Piédouche. The exhibition of the five-franc piece could produce no ef- fect, for the reason that the old woman, whom it was to wheedle, would have been unable to see it shining between the fingers of the stranger who questioned her. But Binos did not long remain in this embarrassment. If diplomacy was not his forte, neither was timidity his defect. " You say you know me," he began boldly. " I will wager you do not." . " If you made a bet you would certainly lose," replied the dame, fixing on him her little gray eyes which shone in the darkness like the eyeballs of a cat. " Ah! then tell me who I am." " I don't know your name, but I know you make your liv- ing daubing good canvas with bad colors. I have met you fifty times on the Boulevard de Clichy with your box of paints." I " Then I confess it, good mother, and I will make your picture whenever you wish." " I have no need of my picture. It's been forty years since I've looked in a glass. And I forbid you to call me ' mother,' seein' I've got no children — nor husband neither, thank God." i " Good! I will say mademoiselle." " What is it you want?" " To know whether you have with you a young person who ITli'PT'PStS 1Ï16 "Ah! here you are! I guessed you came from her." " From whom?" asked Binos, completely nonplussed, " From the Italian girl, of course—from Bianca." " Ah! if you have guessed, it is useless to contradict y01J » said Binos, willing to allow the old woman time to proceed "It was you, then, that enticed her off, miserable toadl'l suspected the booby had fallen into the hands of miscreants and a deuced taste she showed. Where was it you led h» away, say, monster? Was it at the Saint-Pierre Market, where „i,„ ...s.,4 o-rrûvir mnvnin.o- to tret vegetables for her dinnpi-?„. aWilV, Bay, ururro^» . -»------------------ - - , ,7"J"«« she went every morning to get vegetables tor her dinner? or in the evening, on the Place Pigalle, when she returned hoi her singing lesson?" "I swear upon your head that 1 have enticed away no "Peace, serpent! Here are three days that she has not been back, she who never stayed away o' nights. Tell rne, if you dare, that you have not led her into your dog-hole; it»8 no use to try to play the humbug with me. But you came for her luggage, I suppose. Tell her, from me, that if 8he wants it, she must take the trouble to come and^get it. She hasn't become a princess, I suppose, since she's lived witli you." " Pardon me," stammered Binos, " I have already told yon that------" ."Oh, I can well suppose shes not too anxious to sec m ao-ain, for her conduct is shameful; and if I'd known she w&as going to end like this, I'd never have had her here." "But, my good woman------" "Don't 'good woman' me. My blood curdles to think of it. Ah! the demure-looking saint! I warrant she didn't tell you how she came here. It was one night, and it was freezing so a dog couldn't sleep out of doors, when she arrives at my house, with a youngster carrying her trunk—a wooden box that would hardly hold two dresses and a few undergar- ments. ' Madame,' she said, with a droll accent, ' could you let me have a room—cheap? I haven't much money, hot will pay by the day.' I saw at once she was not one of tk gad-abouts"that are so plenty in these parts. I asked her if she had any papers. She took out an Italian passport, 'Bianca Astrodi, eighteen years, cantatrice.' Cantatrice, indeed! a poor diablesse coming on foot from the Lyons station to save a hack—it was as much as if you'd called yourself artist, you who do nothing but clean off palettes and_wipe brushes." " Thank you," growled Binos. " You are goin' to declare, mayhap, that you pamt pictures that are received at the Exposition. Go tell that to Bianca; it may do for her, since she's already swallowed that you will make her happv. When I think that the month she was here a man never entered her chamber, nor a woman either, and she never went out but only to a singing teacher that come from her country—and then to go falling in love with mr phiz, indeed! You wheedled her, cryin' out: 'I m an artist —we were made for each other—a garret and my heartl- and she believed it. Jour de Dieu! what idiots girls are! Binos made a gesture of protestation. He interrupted her only sufficiently to incite her to continue, and the system sue- ceeded admirably; for in five minutes' monologue she had tola him, without questioning, nearly all he wished to know. " But I'm wasting my time," resumed the irate proprie- tress, "and have something to do besides talking to a bird oi your species. I've had enough of you. Decamp! "Not until you have------" . "What is it you want now? Have you effrontery enougn to suppose I mean to give you the girl's things? *«,;" her for me that if she comes after 'em I will let her take e» without keeping my six francs rent. She hadnttoomi money, poor thing—and above all, now she s got you """Th," indeed! I am good-natured, but will permit»» ^"To tell you the truth to your face. It's all one tog whether you permit it or not. You may tell her, too, f her room is rented, and that I wouldn't lodge her a§» she paid me twenty francs a day. I want no f°oler!'"J lodgings; and that signifies that if ever you're turned ou your dog-hole, there's no place for you here.' ] "Sacre bleu! I have no desire to become your ioug > should prefer to sleep out of doors. And if you woiu^ & allowed me to edge in a word, you would know that j¦ all wrong. Listen to me. I did not come here witno object." * "No, since you came from ber." g^i; " Because of her—yes. But she did not send me. dead."