"So it seems. A long-time agent, a member of one of the stronger gangs-- and it seems it was amazing how little they were ever prosecuted for their various crimes." Bahorel watches the movement of the wine in his own glass. "Which would explain his skill in certain matters." A gun, a knife. "And why he was so set on murdering an unarmed old man who'd come out to chat to some fellows he knew."

It might make no difference to Enjolras. The porter had perhaps been a stranger to his barricade. But for Bahorel it answers a question. After Bossuet's visit to Milliways, making the porter's acquaintance had been part of their preparations, and not an especially hard job-- a few drinks, a few games of dominoes, a few stories traded about grandchildren and nieces and nephews--

"I knew the porter. He was friendly to us. The murderer had not even a shadow of an explanation on our barricade." He smiles, bitter but not without a certain bleak amusement. "They police might teach their agents to spin a better story."