up the kit-bag in his left hand, and tossed it behind him into the lift. "You dirty crew!" he cried again. "Oh, why isn't there a photographer here? And now, Guerchard, you thief, give me back my pocket-book."
"Never!" screamed Guerchard, struggling with his men, purple with fury.
"Oh, Lord, master! Do be careful! Don’t rile him! cried Bonavent in an agony.
"What? Do you want me to smash up the whole lot?" roared Lupin, in a furious, terrible voice. "Do I look as if I were bluffing, you fools?"
"Let him have his way, master!" cried Dieusy.
"Yes, yes!" cried Bonavent.
"Let him have his way!" cried another.
"Give him his pocket-book!" cried a third.
"Never!" howled Guerchard.
"It's in his pocket—his breast-pocket! Be smart!" roared Lupin.
"Come, come, it's got to be given to him," cried Bonavent. "Hold the master tight!" And he thrust his hand into the breast of Guerchard's coat, and tore out the pocket-book.
"Throw it on the table!" cried Lupin.
Bonavent threw it on to the table; and it slid along it right to Lupin. He caught it in
