The man drew from his bosom several letters, and selected one more worn and crumpled than the rest.
Flint's eyes fed upon it.
"Of course," said Flint, "I have not such an amount in the house. I have a hundred dollars up stairs, and will give you a check for the remainder. Will that do?"
"No and yes; but get the money, and I'll see."
Flint left him alone. From a safe in his bed-chamber he took a small bag of gold, and caressed it for a moment very much as one's grandmother would a pet cat; then he filled up a check, and called Michel.
"Run to the police station, Michel, and tell Captain L.—— to send me three or four men."
Michel shot down stairs, and his master followed him leisurely, patting the gold-bag lovingly at every other step.
"Does he think," said Flint's visitor to himself, as the library door closed—"can he think I would part with this paper? He, so full of worldly shrewdness, so simple?"
After awhile the door opened.
"There!" gasped Flint, placing the bag on the table before the man; "the letter! the letter!"