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Updated: May 17, 2025
Saurez' heavy black cross was at the bottom of the important deposition, the priest and the other four men had appended their names, and all that remained to do was for Martinez to fill out the acknowledgment and affix his seal. He whisked the document behind his back and called attention to a humorous episode in a paper one of the men still held, starting a laugh.
One thousand francs! Was I dreaming? Five thousand would certainly be paid by the Government whose agent M. Charles Saurez admittedly was for one glance at that secret treaty which would be so prejudicial to their political interests; whilst M. de Marsan himself would gladly pay another five thousand for the satisfaction of placing the precious document intact before his powerful and irascible uncle.
As said, speaking of it now made no difference, though he expected Martinez to keep his promise to publish none of the stories while he was still alive; that was agreed. When the Mexican had left the saloon Weir was yet sleeping, having only raised his head at the pistol shots to stare drunkenly and then relapse. What occurred afterwards Saurez did not know. Weir left the country.
"Find him, find him. Search the whole country until you find him!" "That's a big undertaking, when I don't even know his name or whether he's alive." "Begin nevertheless." "Well, I had better find my lost paper or secure another statement from old Saurez first. At present I have absolutely nothing that a court would look at; I haven't as much as I had yesterday.
We were all very poor in France in that year 1815 of which I speak. I am always quite straightforward when I am dealing with a client who means business. I pushed aside the litter of papers in front of me, leaned my elbows upon my desk, rested my chin in my hands, and said briefly: "M. Charles Saurez, I listen!" He drew his chair a little closer and dropped his voice almost to a whisper.
The old one said he had come in to pay a little visit to his old employer and have a chat. They talked for some time." "Was Vorse asking him questions?" "Yes. I think Saurez was telling him how he happened to be in town. I paid little attention to them, however. After a while I glanced up and saw Vorse standing by him. They were not talking.
The new visitors, striking matches at the entrance, walked inside. The men were Vorse and Burkhardt. "If you had been here, we could have nailed him at once as soon as I had Saurez' story," the former said. "Martinez had half an hour and more to get the thing into somebody else's hands." "Well, I was looking after those men up in the hills," was the growled answer.
How long Martinez sat reveling in this well-earned satisfaction he was unaware, until with a start he glanced at his watch. Three-quarters of an hour had passed. He went out to look for Saurez. But he was not in sight and though several persons had seen him they could not say where he had gone. Martinez went again into his office.
He made another search for the old Mexican, inquiring here and there, until he was informed by one that he had seen Saurez in Vorse's saloon talking with Vorse and sipping a glass of brandy. That was half an hour before. A chill of fear spread over the lawyer's skin. Determined, however, to learn the worst, he stole to the saloon and peered over the slatted door.
Likewise his eyes darted everywhere in search of the object he needed. Then he glided to a decrepit arm-chair and turning it over stuffed the document in a rent in its padded seat, out of sight underneath. Next he filled his pockets with other papers signed by Saurez. Last, he hastily tore open the little telephone book and ran a forefinger down the H's. "Doctor Hosmer's, hurry," he exclaimed.
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