“And I am sure you will be kind enough to give it to me; believe me, nothing but the most absolute necessity—”
“Never!” exclaimed Cavaillon; and, believing the moment favorable, he suddenly attempted to jerk his arm from under Fanferlot’s, and escape.
But his efforts were vain; the detective’s strength was equal to his suavity.
“Don’t hurt yourself, young man,” he said, “but take my advice, and quietly give up the letter.”
“I have not got it.”
“Very well; see, you reduce me to painful extremities. If you persist in being so obstinate, I shall call two policemen, who will take you by each arm, and escort you to the commissary of police; and, once there, I shall be under the painful necessity of searching your pockets, whether you will or not.”
Cavaillon was devoted to Prosper, and willing to make any sacrifice in his behalf; but he clearly saw that it was worse than useless to struggle any longer, as he would have no time to destroy the note. To deliver it under force was no betrayal; but he cursed his powerlessness, and almost wept with rage.
“I am in your power,” he said, and then suddenly drew from his pocket-book the unlucky note, and gave it to the detective.
Fanferlot trembled with pleasure as he unfolded the paper; yet, faithful to his habits of fastidious politeness, before reading it, he bowed to Cavaillon, and said:
“You will permit me, will you not, monsieur?” Then he read as follows: