On arriving at number 14, Rue de Pontoise, he ascended to the first floor and inquired for the commissary of police. The commissary is not here, said a clerk, but there is an inspector who takes his place. Would you like to speak to him? Are you in haste? Yes, said Marius. The clerk introduced him into the office. There stood a tall man behind a grating, leaning against a stove, and holding up with both hands the tails of a vast topcoat with three collars. His face was square, with a thin, firm mouth, thick grey and very ferocious whiskers, and a look that was enough to turn your pockets inside out. Of that glance it might have been well said, not that it penetrated, but that it searched. This man's air was not much less ferocious nor less terrible than Jondrette's. The dog is, at times, no less terrible to meet than the wolf. What do you want? he said to Marius, without adding monsieur. The matter is very private. Then speak. And great haste is required. Then speak quick. This calm, abrupt man was both terrifying and reassuring at one and the same time. He inspired fear and confidence.
Marius related the adventure: a person known only by sight was to be inveigled into a trap that very evening; he, Marius Pontmercy, a lawyer, occupied the adjoining room and had heard the whole plot through the partition; the wretch was a certain Jondrette; there would be accomplices, probably prowlers of the barriers, among them Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille; the daughters were to lie in wait; there was no way of warning the threatened man, since he did not even know his name; all this was to be carried out at six o'clock, at the most deserted point of the Boulevard de l'Hôpital, in house number 50-52. At the sound of this number the inspector raised his head. So it is in the room at the end of the corridor? Precisely. Are you acquainted with that house? Apparently. He muttered, not so much to Marius as to his cravat: Patron-Minette must have had a hand in this. The word struck Marius. He repeated the dialogue behind the wall. The inspector muttered: the long-haired man must be Brujon, and the bearded one Demi-Liard, alias Deux-Milliards. As for Father What's-his-name, I think I recognize him. Number 50-52. Former property of Gorbeau. He asked whether Marius had seen a little imp of a dandy, a big lump resembling an elephant, a scamp with the air of an old red tail. No. As for the fourth, no one sees him, not even his adjutants. It is not surprising that you did not see him. Who are all those persons? Besides, this is not the time for them. 50-52. I know that barrack. Impossible to conceal ourselves inside it without the artists seeing us, and then they will get off simply by countermanding the vaudeville. I want to hear them sing and make them dance.
Are you afraid? Of what? Of these men? No more than yourself! retorted Marius rudely, who had begun to notice that this police agent had not yet said monsieur to him. There, you speak like a brave man, and like an honest man. Courage does not fear crime, and honesty does not fear authority. That is well, but what do you intend to do? The lodgers have pass-keys with which to get in at night. You must have one. Give it to me. Marius handed over the key and added: If you will take my advice, you will come in force. The inspector cast on him such a glance as Voltaire might have bestowed on a provincial academician who had suggested a rhyme. With one movement he plunged his enormous hands into the two immense pockets of his top-coat and pulled out two small steel pistols of the sort called knock-me-downs. Take these. Go home. Hide in your chamber, so that you may be supposed to have gone out. They are loaded. Each one carries two balls. You will keep watch. There is a hole in the wall, as you have informed me. These men will come. Leave them to their own devices for a time. When you think matters have reached a crisis, fire a shot. Not too soon. The rest concerns me. A shot into the ceiling, the air, no matter where. Above all things, not too soon. Wait until they begin to put their project into execution. You are a lawyer. You know the proper point. That makes a lump that can be seen. Put them in your trousers pocket. Now there is not a minute more to be lost. What time is it? Half-past two. Seven o'clock is the hour? Six o'clock, answered Marius. I have plenty of time, said the inspector, but no more than enough. Bang. A pistol shot. Rest easy, said Marius. And as he laid his hand on the door, the inspector called to him: By the way, if you have occasion for my services between now and then, come or send here. You will ask for Inspector Javert.
