M. Nicole made a very dignified gesture:
“Because it is against public morals that one of the highest positions in the police-service should be occupied by a man whose hands are not absolutely clean. Make them send you to parliament or appoint you a minister, a councillor of State, an ambassador, in short, any post which your success in the Daubrecq case entitles you to demand. But not secretary-general of police; anything but that! The very thought of it disgusts me.”
Prasville reflected for a moment. He would have rejoiced in the sudden destruction of his adversary and he racked his brain for the means to effect it. But he was helpless.
He went to the door and called:
“M. Lartigue.” And, sinking his voice, but not very low, for he wished M. Nicole to hear, “M. Lartigue, dismiss your men. It’s a mistake. And let no one come into my office while I am gone. This gentleman will wait for me here.”
He came back, took the hat, stick and overcoat which M. Nicole handed him and went out.
“Well done, sir,” said Lupin, between his teeth, when the door was closed. “You have behaved like a sportsman and a gentleman.... So did I, for that matter . . . perhaps with too obvious a touch of contempt . . . and a little too bluntly. But, tush, this sort of business has to be carried through with a high hand! The enemy’s got to be staggered! Besides, when one’s own conscience is clear, one can’t take up too bullying a tone with that sort of individual. Lift your head, Lupin. You have been the champion of outraged morality. Be proud of your work. And now take a chair, stretch out your legs and have a rest. You’ve deserved it.”
When Prasville returned, he found Lupin sound asleep and had to tap him on the shoulder to wake him.
“Is it done?” asked Lupin.
“It’s done. The pardon will be signed presently. Here is the written promise.”