"I see no reason to doubt it. Though," Crochard added, with a smile, "I am of the opinion that Pachmann put it to uses and went to lengths which the Emperor did not contemplate—perhaps would have forbidden."
Delcassé's eyes were glowing with an infernal joy.
"That does not matter," he said. "That was because his hand was forced. It is the Emperor who is responsible—it is a risk he took. If he chose his instrument badly, it is he who must suffer for it. You permit me to retain this paper?"
"Certainly. Use it as you think best for France!"
Delcassé was out of his chair, striding up and down the room.
"So the wheel has turned!" he cried. "You may not remember it, M. Crochard—to you it may have seemed a small thing—but six years ago, the Emperor caused me to be driven from the foreign office because I did and said certain things which displeased him. Such was his power even here in Paris! You will scarcely credit it, but so it was. And now it is my turn! With this in my hand, all things are possible! He must have been mad to put his hand to such a paper—but, after all, it does not astonish me. He is always doing mad things; he has no balance, no self-control. Ten years ago, with an imprudent telegram, he almost plunged his country into war with England—and at a moment, too, when it was wholly unprepared! Two years ago, a wild speech of his brought Germany to the brink of revolution. Last year, he nearly upset his empire by an indiscreet interview which was suppressed just in time. He is always in hot water, but heretofore his good fortune has been amazing. He has always succeeded in extricating himself. This time, it seems, he has tempted the gods once too often——the game is in our hands. Our ultimatum I will prepare to-day, and I will invite to my office the German ambassador, and I will hand him that ultimatum, and I will say certain things to him which have long been biting at my throat for utterance, and then I will give him a glimpse of this document, and finally I will send him away. Ah, there will be consternation at Berlin to-night!" Suddenly Delcassé stopped in front of Crochard's chair. "My friend," he said, in another tone, "you have saved France. You must name your own reward. I grant it, before you ask it."
"Well, yes," said Crochard, smiling, "I shall not refuse. At Toulon, on the quay opposite the spot where lies the wreck of La Liberté, a friend of mine conducts a café. It was he who noticed the two Germans—it was he who gave me my first clue. So he deserves a reward on his own account. He is an honest man, who has suffered unjustly. Four years ago he was condemned to prison for killing the betrayer of his daughter. He is called Samson. M. Lépine will no doubt recall the circumstances."
"I recall them very well," said Lépine. "Samson escaped the day after he was sentenced. I could find no trace of him, until I saw him at Toulon."
"But you did not arrest him!" said Crochard quickly.
"I promised to take no action until you and I had talked together."