But for the enemy whom he hated, he might now be a boxful of dissected bones in the poor man's lot instead of still enjoying the prospect, dear to the scion of an ancient race, of occupying his shelf in the family vault.
Although a soldier, he had such intimate relations with the civil powers, that the police aided him in searches which he took care astutely to represent as quite non-personal.

They led him to the street of the Persepolitan Hotel, where, before he entered, he was scrutinizing the vicinity when he spied the well-known form of the old beggar-chief.
Their surprise was alike.
"Traitress!" he said, with a red spot blazing on his pale cheeks, as he played with the swordknot on his new sword as if he wanted to loose it and flog her.

"After receiving my gold, to bring me to death's door! What have you to say to stay me from handing you to the town's officers to be whipped out of it at the cart's-tail ?" To his surprise again, she met his glance firmly, and her eyes seemed as irate as his own.
"You are mistaken," she replied, carelessly, as if the matter were of no consequence.

"How can you expect those stalwart bullies to obey an old woman like me?
They would have beaten me to a jelly if I had tried to shield you.

Besides, my officer, I thought you had not a spark of life left in you after that beating." "He shall pay for it--with the sword if worthy--with the stick if a plebeian." "You need not believe he will ever meet you with the sword," said the hag, glad to have the dialogue turn on another head than her own in spite of her unconcern.