“See the editor.”
“No.”
“Tell him you made a mistake.”
“No.”
“And write him another article, in which you will give the official version of the Ambrumésy mystery, the one which every one has accepted.”
“No.”
Lupin took up a steel ruler that lay on my desk and broke it in two without an effort. His pallor was terrible to see. He wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood on his forehead. He, who had never known his wishes resisted, was being maddened by the obstinacy of this child. He pressed his two hands on Beautrelet’s shoulder and, emphasizing every syllable, continued:
“You shall do as I tell you, Beautrelet. You shall say that your latest discoveries have convinced you of my death, that there is not the least doubt about it. You shall say so because I wish it, because it has to be believed that I am dead. You shall say so, above all, because, if you do not say so—”
“Because, if I do not say so—?”
“Your father will be kidnapped to-night, as Ganimard and Holmlock Shears were.”