"It is better that we hold our tongues," he said with a nod and a grin which recognised that in this matter they were accomplices. "This is to be our exclusive little secret, which, if he is very good, we will share with Monsieur le Commissaire."
He laughed hugely at his joke, whilst Betty unlocked a drawer in the Chippendale secretary. Girardot the Commissaire tittered, not quite sure that he thought very highly of it. Monsieur Bex, on the other hand, by a certain extra primness of his face, made it perfectly clear that in his opinion such a jape was very, very far from correct.
Betty produced a folded sheet of common paper and handed it to Hanaud, who took it aside to the window and read it carefully. Then with a look he beckoned Girardot to his side.
"Monsieur Frobisher can come too. For he is in the secret," he added; and the three men stood apart at the window looking at the sheet of paper. It was dated the 7th of May, signed "The Scourge," like the others of this hideous brood, and it began without any preface. There were only a few words typed upon it, and some of them were epithets not to be reproduced which made Jim's blood boil that a girl like Betty should ever have had to read them.
"Your time is coming now, you——" and here followed the string of abominable obscenities. "You are for it, Betty Harlowe. Hanaud the detective from Paris is coming to look after you with his handcuffs in his pocket. You'll look pretty in handcuffs, won't you, Betty? It's your white neck we want! Three cheers for Waberski? The Scourge."
Girardot stared at the brutal words and settled his glasses on his nose and stared again.
"But—but——" he stammered and he pointed to the date. A warning gesture made by Hanaud brought him to a sudden stop, but Frobisher had little doubt as to the purport of that unfinished exclamation. Girardot was astonished, as Hanaud himself had been, that this item of news had so quickly leaked abroad.
Hanaud folded the letter and turned back into the room.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said to Betty, and Thevenet the secretary took his notebook from his pocket.
"Shall I make you a copy of the letter, Monsieur Hanaud?" he said, sitting down and holding out his hand.