"He wasn't yelling? Or calling out? Most men would have, I think."

"He'd have liked to, I'm sure. They had a gag in his mouth."

"They," Vidocq says. "More than one."

"Two."

"Recognize them?"

"I should say not," says Poulain. "You won't find me consorting with amateurs."

"What makes you think they were?"

"Fuck's sake, they went through his pockets, but they didn't take any money! Just a blessed envelope. I mean, why cut down the tree if you're not going to shake the branches?"

"Tell us what happened next."

I'm not sure I can convey the thing Poulain's lips do. A twisting, a deformation-we'll call it a smile.

"I yelled for the police," he says.

Eyes shining, Vidocq pats the smaller man's hand.

"Having already made sure there weren't any police."

"'Course."

"And it worked ? Your little ruse ? "

"Bastards tore off like hares. Blood still on their paws. Didn't even stop to take the man's shoes. That's why I say they weren't professionals."

Vidocq stares at the cue still lying on the billiard table. "So the two men are gone," he says. "The coast is clear. Down comes Poulain."

"I was only going to stay a minute. See what I could find on him."

"And you took a watch. A wallet, maybe."

Poulain shrugs.

"His clothes, too?" asks Vidocq.

"Wasn't time."

"Ha! Someone horning in, eh?"

"No," he says. "Nothing like that."

And for the first time, something seems to trouble the f lat canvas of Poulain's face. With the faintest shudder, he leans toward Vidocq and whispers:

"Bastard went and grabbed me."

"Who grabbed you?"

"Why, the dead one. Who else?"

CHAPTE R 7.

From Beyond the Grave Ca refully, Vi do c q pou rs himself another glass. And this time-I'm watching-he drinks the whole glass. With a voice as level as an altar, he says: "To me, that would imply your dead man was not so very dead." "A couple yards short," Poulain allows.

"He grabbed you where? Round the ankle?"

"Both ankles, I think. Wouldn't have guessed he had the strength

in him."