"Why not? They are mine, to do with as I like. If I cannot dispose of them at my price, I shall destroy them!"
"But—my God!—what you demand is impossible! Stay, monsieur! Think what your action means to France!"
"I have already thought of that. Now I must think of myself."
"But—one moment!"
Ducroy sat up in bed and dangled hairy fat legs over the side.
"But one moment only, monsieur. Don't make me waste your matches!"
"Monsieur, it shall be as you desire, if it lies in my power to accomplish it."
With this the Minister of War stood up and made for the telephone, in his agitation forgetful of dressing-gown and slippers.
"You must accomplish it, Monsieur Ducroy," Lanyard advised him gravely, puffing out the flame; "for if you fail, you make yourself the instrument of my death. Here are the plans."
"You trust them to me?" Ducroy asked in astonishment.