Gollipeck, with his greasy coat,
all rucked up behind his neck, and his frayed shirt cuffs coming
down on his ungainly hands, sat sternly silent, so Vandeloup, after
contemplating him for a few moments, had to begin the battle.
'My room is untidy, is it not?' he said, nodding his head carelessly
at the chaos of furniture. 'I'm going away for a few days.'
'A few days; ha, ha!' observed Gollipeck, something again going
wrong with his inside. 'Your destination is--
'Sydney,' replied Gaston, promptly.
'And then?' queried the doctor.
Gaston shrugged his shoulders.
'Depends upon circumstances,' he answered, lazily.
'That's a mistake,' retorted Gollipeck, leaning forward; 'it depends
upon me.'
Vandeloup smiled.
'In that case, circumstances, as represented by you, will permit me
to choose my own destinations.'
'Depends entirely upon your being guided by circumstances, as
represented by me,' retorted the Doctor, grimly.
'Pshaw!' said the Frenchman, coolly, 'let us have done with
allegory, and come to common sense. What do you want?'
'I want Octave Braulard,' said Gollipeck, rising to his feet.
Vandeloup quite expected this, and was too clever to waste time in
denying his identity.
'He stands before you,' he answered, curtly, 'what then?'
'You acknowledge, then, that you are Octave Braulard, transported to
New Caledonia for the murder of Adele Blondet?' said the Doctor
tapping the table with one hand.
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