At each repetition of the last word he brought down a dirty fist
into the palm of the opposite hand immediately under Quelch's nose.
"Hundred francs--Engleesh money, four pound."

Quelch caught the last words, and was relieved to find that it was
merely a money payment that was demanded of him. But he was little
better off, for, having but a few shillings in his pocket, to pay
four pounds was as much out of his power as if it had been four
hundred. He determined to appeal to the mercy of his captors. "Not
got," he said, apologetically, with a vague idea that by speaking
very elementary English he came somehow nearer to French, "That
all," he continued, producing his little store and holding it
out beseechingly to the official. "_Pas assez_, not enouf,"
growled the latter. Quelch tried again in all his pockets, but only
succeeded in finding another threepenny piece. The officer shook
his head, and, after a brief discussion with his fellows, said,
_"Comment-vous appelez-vous, monsieur?_ How do you call
yourself?"

With a vague idea of keeping his disgrace from his friends, Quelch
rashly determined to give a false name. If he had had a few minutes
to think it over he would have invented one for the occasion, but
his imagination was not accustomed to such sudden calls, and, on
the question being repeated, he desperately gave the name of his
next-door neighbour, Mr. Henry Fladgate. "Henri Flodgett," repeated
the officer as he wrote it down.

"_Et vous demeurez?_ You live where?" And Quelch proceeded to
give the address of Mr. Fladgate, 11 Primrose Terrace. "_Tres
bien._ I send teleg-r-r-amme. _Au violon!_" And poor Benjamin