We are going to be dead pretty soon and all those cancer stories point us in one direction only: towards the need to stop being a craven, imitative, second hand timid flunkey and herd-animal.
" Don't you recollect me? Why, think of that famous luncheon in the Villa Dupont! ... You yourself, you old flunkey, handed me the plate of cakes ... and such cakes" !
Both the flunkeys wanted to throw themselves on the murderer, and one of them, a burly fellow, tried to grasp him, when M. Coignard gave the fellow such a butt that he rolled in the stream beside the financier.