Would three louis be enough? I asked. The concierge--whose eyes
brightened--thought that it would. I knew by his look that he would take
a large commission for managing the affair, as he quickly offered to do;
but that didn't matter to me.
He confirmed my idea that it would have been hopeless to try and get
into the room of the murder itself, even if I could have borne it,
saying that the door, and window too, had been sealed by the police, who
were also guarding the house from curiosity seekers; but he added that I
could see the shut window from the balcony of the room I was going to
hire.
I waited for him, and played with his very unattractive baby while he
went upstairs to make enquiries. He was gone for some time, explaining
to the people; but at last, when my patience was almost too far
strained, he came back to say that Monsieur and Madame Nissot had
consented to go out of their room for the evening. They were dining at
the moment, however, and Mademoiselle must be pleased to wait a few
moments until they finished the meal and gathered up a few things which
they could carry to a neighbour's: books, and work for their hours of
absence, the concierge politely suggested.
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