When the French police make a search, they do so with a creditable thoroughness.
Adolphe, the gyves upon his wrists, craved a cigarette, and a police-officer took one from the packet lying upon the sideboard. Then, with both hands, the prisoner lit it, and sat upon a chair watching them turn the place upside down.
In the adjoining room they investigated everything. They even cut open the mattress and searched for stolen jewellery or bank-notes.
“It’s no use, m’sieur; there is nothing here,” Carlier assured the commissary. “We have not done a job for a long time.”
“Are you sure that ‘The American’ has it all?” asked the official earnestly.
“I’ve already told m’sieur,” was “The Eel’s” reply. “And, further, may I crave a favour?”
“What is that?”
“To speak alone with you just for a moment. I want to tell you something—for your ear alone.”
The official was instantly suspicious. But, as the prisoner was securely handcuffed, there was, he saw, no danger.