“Then—”
“One of the assistant editors has it, in a sealed envelope. If I am not at the office by midnight, he will have set it up.”
“Oh, the scoundrel!” muttered Lupin. “He has provided for everything!”
His anger was increasing, visibly and frightfully. Beautrelet chuckled, jeering in his turn, carried away by his success.
“Stop that, you brat!” roared Lupin. “You’re forgetting who I am—and that, if I wished—upon my word, he’s daring to laugh!”
A great silence fell between them. Then Lupin stepped forward and, in muttered tones, with his eyes on Beautrelet’s:
“You shall go straight to the Grand Journal.”
“No.”
“Tear up your article.”
“No.”