"To the National Library! And as quick as you can!"
"By Jove! It's three o'clock! I've not a minute to lose!" cried Fandor as he got back his stick from the cloak-room of the National Library: he had handed it in there some hours ago. He entered the rue Richelieu. Now for an ironmonger's shop! He caught sight of one and went in:
"I should like fifty yards of fine cord, please; very strong and very pliable," said Fandor.
The shopkeeper stared at the smart young man:
"What do you want it for, sir?... I have various qualities."
Without the trace of a smile, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he replied:
"It is for one of my friends: he wants to hang himself!"
A shout of laughter was the response to this witticism, and the amused shopkeeper forthwith displayed various samples of cords. Fandor promptly made his choice and left the shop.
"Now for a watchmaker's!" said our journalist. He entered a jeweller's close by: