“Yes.”
“And did you kill him?”
“Well . . .”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders with a smile:
“Listen, sir, to a curious coincidence. When I left the barge, I met half-a-dozen wounded soldiers. They spoke to me and said that they were looking for a comrade, this very Ya-Bon, and also for their captain, Captain Belval, and a friend of this officer’s and a lady, the lady they were staying with. All these people had disappeared; and they accused a certain person . . . wait, they told me his name. . . . Oh, but this is more and more curious! The man’s name was Siméon Diodokis. It was you they accused! . . . Isn’t it odd? But, on the other hand, you must confess that all this constitutes fresh facts and therefore . . .”
There was a pause. Then the doctor formulated his demand in plain tones:
“I shall want two millions.”
This time Siméon remained impassive. He felt that he was in the man’s clutches, like a mouse clawed by a cat. The doctor was playing with him, letting him go and catching him again, without giving him the least hope of escaping from this grim sport.
“This is blackmail,” he said, quietly.
The doctor nodded: