“It is possible,” said the minister, “quite possible.”
“I think, sir,” said I, “that is probable, oh, quite certain, and we cannot accept the least risk of their being lost. No copies will answer.”
“No. As you all are aware—as we all know, Captain Merton, affairs are at a crisis. The evidence must be complete, past doubt or dispute, such as to enable Mr. Adams to speak decisively—and he will.”
“May I, sir,” said Merton, “venture to further suggest that some one, say the first secretary, take a dummy envelop marked ‘Important and confidential,’ addressed to Mr. Adams, and be not too careful of it while he crosses the Channel?”
“Well,” said the minister, smiling, “what next?”
“He will be robbed on the way, or something will happen. It will never get there.”
“No. They will stop at nothing,” said I.
“I ought to tell you,” said the minister, “that now Madame Bellegarde is sure to be arrested” (as in fact did occur). “She will be subject to one of those cruel cross-examinations which are so certain to break down a witness. If this should happen before we can act, they will be so secure of what we shall do that—”
Merton interrupted him. “Excuse me. She will never speak. They will get nothing from her. That is an exceptional woman.” The minister cast a half-smiling glance at him. He was deeply distressed, as I saw, and added: “You will, I trust, sir, stand by her. They can prove nothing, and she will hold her tongue and resolutely.”
“I will do all in my power; rest assured of that. But what next? The papers! Mr. Adams!” He was anxious.