“Ah, what is that?” cried the brigadier.
“Some traveller seems impatient,” said the host. “What number was it that rang?”
“Number 3.”
“Run, waiter!”
At this moment the screams and ringing were redoubled.
“Aha!” said the brigadier, stopping the servant, “the person who is ringing appears to want something more than a waiter; we will attend upon him with a gendarme. Who occupies Number 3?”
“The little fellow who arrived last night in a post-chaise with his sister, and who asked for an apartment with two beds.”
The bell here rang for the third time, with another shriek of anguish.
“Follow me, Mr. Commissary!” said the brigadier; “tread in my steps.”
“Wait an instant,” said the host; “Number 3 has two staircases,—inside and outside.”
“Good,” said the brigadier. “I will take charge of the inside one. Are the carbines loaded?”
“Yes, brigadier.”
“Well, you guard the exterior, and if he attempts to fly, fire upon him; he must be a great criminal, from what the telegraph says.”
The brigadier, followed by the commissary, disappeared by the inside staircase, accompanied by the noise which his assertions respecting Andrea had excited in the crowd.
This is what had happened: Andrea had very cleverly managed to descend two-thirds of the chimney, but then his foot slipped, and notwithstanding his endeavors, he came into the room with more speed and noise than he intended. It would have signified little had the room been empty, but unfortunately it was occupied. Two ladies, sleeping in one bed, were awakened by the noise, and fixing their eyes upon the spot whence the sound proceeded, they saw a man. One of these ladies, the fair one, uttered those terrible shrieks which resounded through the house, while the other, rushing to the bell-rope, rang with all her strength. Andrea, as we can see, was surrounded by misfortune.