LITMIR.BIZ

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where are you going, Varin?”

      “There is something about this affair I don’t like. I am going home. Good evening.”

      “One moment!”

      “No need of that, Mon. Andermatt. I have nothing to say to you.”

      “But I have something to say to you, and this is a good time to say it.”

      “Let me pass.”

      “No, you will not pass.”

      Varin recoiled before the resolute attitude of the banker, as he muttered:

      “Well, then, be quick about it.”

      One thing astonished me; and I have no doubt my two companions experienced a similar feeling. Why was Salvator not there? Was he not a necessary party at this conference? Or was he satisfied to let these two adversaries fight it out between themselves? At all events, his absence was a great disappointment, although it did not detract from the dramatic strength of the situation.

      After a moment, Mon. Andermatt approached Varin and, face to face, eye to eye, said:

      “Now, after all these years and when you have nothing more to fear, you can answer me candidly: What have you done with Louis Lacombe?”

      “What a question! As if I knew anything about him!”

      “You do know! You and your brother were his constant companions, almost lived with him in this very house. You knew all about his plans and his work. And the last night I ever saw Louis Lacombe, when I parted with him at my door, I saw two men slinking away in the shadows of the trees. That, I am ready to swear to.”

      “Well, what has that to do with me?”

      “The two men were you and your brother.”

      “Prove it.”

      “The best proof is that, two days later, you yourself showed me the papers and the plans that belonged to Lacombe and offered to sell them. How did these papers come into your possession?”

      “I have already told you, Mon. Andermatt, that we found them on Louis Lacombe’s table, the morning after his disappearance.”

      “That is a lie!”

      “Prove it.”

      “The law will prove it.”

      “Why did you not appeal to the law?”

      “Why? Ah! Why—,” stammered the banker, with a slight display of emotion.

      “You know very well, Mon. Andermatt, if you had the least certainty of our guilt, our little threat would not have stopped you.”

      “What threat? Those letters? Do you suppose I ever gave those letters a moment’s thought?”

      “If you did not care for the letters, why did you offer me thousands of francs for their return? And why did you have my brother and me tracked like wild beasts?”

      “To recover the plans.”

      “Nonsense! You wanted the letters. You knew that as soon as you had the letters in your possession, you could denounce us. Oh! no, I couldn’t part with them!”

      He laughed heartily, but stopped suddenly, and said:

      “But, enough of this! We are merely going over old ground. We make no headway. We had better let things stand as they are.”

      “We will not let them stand as they are,” said the banker, “and since you have referred to the letters, let me tell you that you will not leave this house until you deliver up those letters.”

      “I shall go when I please.”

      “You will not.”

      “Be careful, Mon. Andermatt. I warn you—”

      “I say, you shall not go.”

      “We will see about that,” cried Varin, in such a rage that Madame Andermatt could not suppress a cry of fear. Varin must have heard it, for he now tried to force his way out. Mon. Andermatt pushed him back. Then I saw him put his hand into his coat pocket.

      “For the last time, let me pass,” he cried.

      “The letters, first!”

      Varin drew a revolver and, pointing it at Mon. Andermatt, said:

      “Yes or no?”

      The banker stooped quickly. There was the sound of a pistol-shot. The weapon fell from Varin’s hand. I was amazed. The shot was fired close to me. It was Daspry who had fired it at Varin, causing him to drop the revolver. In a moment, Daspry was standing between the two men, facing Varin; he said to him, with a sneer:

      “You were lucky, my friend, very lucky. I fired at your hand and struck only the revolver.”

      Both of them looked at him, surprised. Then he turned to the banker, and said:

      “I beg your pardon, monsieur, for meddling in your business; but, really, you play a very poor game. Let me hold the cards.”

      Turning again to Varin, Daspry said:

      “It’s between us two, comrade, and play fair, if you please. Hearts are trumps, and I play the seven.”

      Then Daspry held up, before Varin’s bewildered eyes, the little iron plate, marked with the seven red spots. It was a terrible shock to Varin. With livid features, staring eyes, and an air of intense agony, the man seemed to be hypnotized at the sight of it.

      “Who are you?” he gasped.

      “One who meddles in other people’s business, down to the very bottom.”

      “What do you want?”

      “What you brought here tonight.”

      “I brought nothing.”

      “Yes, you did, or you wouldn’t have come. This morning, you received an invitation to come here at nine o’clock, and bring with you all the papers held by you. You are here. Where are the papers?”

      There was in Daspry’s voice and manner a tone of authority that I did not understand; his manner was usually quite mild and conciliatory. Absolutely conquered, Varin placed his hand on one of his pockets, and said:

      “The papers are here.”

      “All of them?”

      “Yes.”

      “All that you took from Louis Lacombe and afterwards sold to Major von Lieben?”

      “Yes.”

      “Are these the copies or the originals?”

      “I have the originals.”

      “How much do you want for them?”

      “One hundred thousand francs.”

      “You are crazy,” said Daspry. “Why, the major gave you only twenty thousand, and that was like money thrown into the sea, as the boat was a failure at the preliminary trials.”

      “They didn’t understand the plans.”

      “The plans are not complete.”

      “Then, why do you ask me for them?”

      “Because I want them. I offer you five thousand francs—not a sou more.”

      “Ten thousand. Not a sou less.”

      “Agreed,” said Daspry, who now turned to Mon. Andermatt, and said:

      “Monsieur will kindly sign a check for the amount.”

      “But.… I haven’t got—”

      “Your check-book? Here it is.”

      Astounded, Mon. Andermatt examined the check-book that Daspry handed to him.

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