He was a man about forty, with cold blue eyes and hard but intelligent features. He hardly replied to the salute I gave him as I entered.
I put several questions to him, but without success.
"Monsieur," he said at length, in the very best French, "as I told you, what is the good of these questions? I shall only tell you things that don't matter, such as my name, which does not interest you. As for military information, I am an officer. So are you. If you were in my place, you'd say nothing, wouldn't you? Let me do the same."
He lapsed into his obstinate, scornful silence.
"We sha'n't get anything out of him," I said to my chief. "Hadn't he anything on him, any papers, when he was taken?"
"Nothing at all," replied the Commandant helplessly.
"Didn't you find anything?" I said to the men.
"Nothing but this, sir," one of them replied, taking a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
"Let me see it," I said.
The fragment he handed me was written in pencil and half illegible. It was the draft of a letter. I had an electric shock the minute I began to read.