“You! You!” exclaimed the banker. “Was it you who brought me here?”
“I? By no means,” protested Varin, in a rough, jerky voice that reminded me of his brother, “on the contrary, it was your letter that brought me here.”
“My letter?”
“A letter signed by you, in which you offered—-”
“I never wrote to you,” declared Mon. Andermatt.
“You did not write to me!”
Instinctively, Varin was put on his guard, not against the banker, but against the unknown enemy who had drawn him into this trap. A second time, he looked in our direction, then walked toward the door. But Mon. Andermatt barred his passage.
“Well, where are you going, Varin?”
“There is something about this affair I don’t like. I am going home. Good evening.”
“One moment!”