CHAPTER XXI
THE CUTTING OF THE TELEPHONE WIRES
THE door opened, and in came Charolais, bearing a tray.
"Here's your breakfast, master," he said.
"Don't call me master—that's how his men address Guerchard. It's a disgusting practice," said Lupin severely.
Victoire and Charolais were quick laying the table. Charolais kept up a running fire of questions as he did it; but Lupin did not trouble to answer them. He lay back, relaxed, drawing deep breaths. Already his lips had lost their greyness, and were pink; there was a suggestion of blood under the skin of his pale face. They soon had the table laid; and he walked to it on fairly steady feet. He sat down; Charolais whipped off a cover, and said:
"Anyhow, you've got out of the mess neatly. It was a jolly smart escape."
"Oh, yes. So far it's all right," said Lupin. "But there's going to be trouble presently—lots
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