The man heaved, and swore savagely.
"Sacre bleu,—give off my chest!"
"Lie still."
Jasper was in no mood for wasting time, since he desired the business over and done with before De Rothan or Durrell should appear.
"Tom, take him by the wrists and hold his hands above his head. Quiet, will you, or I'll give you a crack with the stick."
Jerome glared and lay still, his arms extended above his head like the arms of a man upon the rack. Jasper unbuttoned the Frenchman's coat, and went through all his pockets. He found nothing there save a pipe, and a tobacco-box. Something lying under the man's shirt betrayed itself as Jasper passed his hand over Jerome's broad chest. As Jasper tore the shirt open the Frenchman's body squirmed like the body of a man who stiffens his muscles to resist.
"Hold on, Tom."
"Help, there,—help!"
"Lie quiet, or by George, I'll put a bullet through your head."
Jasper drew out a flat, leather pocket-book or case that was fastened by a string round Jerome's neck. Jasper snapped the string, and turned aside toward the lantern to examine the plunder. It contained several sheets of paper neatly folded and covered with what appeared to be a jumble of dots, lines, and letters. Jasper's brown face showed grim and intent by the light of the lantern.