We want to be quite sure what we
are about."
"Yes, but what you want is a pretty woman," said Mlle. Michonneau
briskly.
"Trompe-la-Mort would not let a woman come near him," said the
detective. "I will tell you a secret--he does not like them."
"Still, I do not see what I can do, supposing that I did agree to
identify him for two thousand francs."
"Nothing simpler," said the stranger. "I will send you a little bottle
containing a dose that will send a rush of blood to the head; it will
do him no harm whatever, but he will fall down as if he were in a fit.
The drug can be put into wine or coffee; either will do equally well.
You carry your man to bed at once, and undress him to see that he is
not dying. As soon as you are alone, you give him a slap on the
shoulder, and _presto!_ the letters will appear."
"Why, that is just nothing at all," said Poiret.
"Well, do you agree?" said Gondureau, addressing the old maid.
"But, my dear sir, suppose there are no letters at all," said Mlle.
Michonneau; "am I to have the two thousand francs all the same?"
"No."
"What will you give me then?"
"Five hundred francs."
"It is such a thing to do for so little! It lies on your conscience
just the same, and I must quiet my conscience, sir.
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