“Indeed!” sneered Count D’Orsay. “Perhaps you will not leave Strasbourg for the present. Search them, officer.”
The officer advanced reluctantly, and, by his expression of sympathy, showed himself much more a gentleman than the titled count, whose habitual politeness had been driven away by Eric’s powerful thrust.
The landlord, although deeply sympathetic, and convinced of their honesty, was powerless to resist Count D’Orsay. He was a German innholder, and the count a wealthy, influential French nobleman, with a proper warrant for searching his house. So he could in no way protect the boys from the indignity put upon them. But he hailed with joy Johnny’s suggestion to send for his father, deciding to do so at once, if they should be detained.
Of course no gold was found upon either of them, except that given to Eric for tickets and hotel expenses, and none was found in their baggage.
But just as they were preparing to leave the place, having been released by the officer, Count D’Orsay uttered an exclamation, and pointed to a fauteuil—an easy chair—by the window.
“Celui-là!”
The officer stepped to the chair, and found, tucked between the cushion and the arm, a silk purse, full of gold pieces.
Eric and Johnny were horror-stricken, and the good landlord was dumb with astonishment.
The French count held up the purse triumphantly, and jingled the gold before Eric’s eyes, exclaiming, tauntingly,—
“It is mine, and I have it. The prison is yours, and you shall have it.”