“But how?”
Jacques Collin read the magistrate’s mind, and kept up the game.
“You promised me to commute the capital sentence on Calvi for twenty years’ penal servitude. Oh, I am not reminding you of that to drive a bargain,” he added eagerly, seeing Monsieur de Granville’s expression; “that life should be safe for other reasons, the lad is innocent——”
“How am I to get the letters?” asked the public prosecutor. “It is my right and my business to convince myself that you are the man you say you are. I must have you without conditions.”
“Send a man you can trust to the Flower Market on the quay. At the door of a tinman’s shop, under the sign of Achilles’ shield——”
“That house?”
“Yes,” said Jacques Collin, smiling bitterly, “my shield is there.—Your man will see an old woman dressed, as I told you before, like a fish-woman who has saved money—earrings in her ears, and clothes like a rich market-woman’s. He must ask for Madame de Saint-Esteve. Do not omit the DE. And he must say, ‘I have come from the public prosecutor to fetch you know what.’—You will immediately receive three sealed packets.”
“All the letters are there?” said Monsieur de Granville.
“There is no tricking you; you did not get your place for nothing!” said Jacques Collin, with a smile. “I see you still think me capable of testing you and giving you so much blank paper.—No; you do not know me,” said he. “I trust you as a son trusts his father.”
“You will be taken back to the Conciergerie,” said the magistrate, “and there await a decision as to your fate.”