.
And yet Rodin ordered him to leave the house, at the moment when
Faringhea had imagined himself so formidable. As he thought for
the motives of this inexplicable conduct, it struck him that Rodin,
notwithstanding the proofs he had brought him, did not yet believe that
Djalma was in his power. On that theory, the contempt of Van Dael's
correspondent admitted of a natural explanation. But Rodin was playing a
bold and skillful game; and, while he appeared to mutter to himself,
as in anger, he was observing, with intense anxiety, the Strangler's
countenance.

The latter, almost certain that he had divined the secret motive of
Rodin, replied: "I am going--but one word more. You think I deceive
you?"

"I am certain of it. You have told me nothing but a tissue of fables,
and I have lost much time in listening to them. Spare me the rest; it is
late--and I should like to be alone."

"One minute more: you are a man, I see, from whom nothing should be
hid," said Faringhea, "from Djalma, I could now only expect alms and
disdain--for, with a character like this, to say to him, 'Pay me,
because I might have betrayed you and did not,' would be to provoke his
anger and contempt. I could have killed him twenty times over, but his
day is not yet come," said the Thug, with a gloomy air; "and to wait for
that and other fatal days, I must have gold, much gold. You alone can
pay me for the betrayal of Djalma, for you alone profit by it. You
refuse to hear me, because you think I am deceiving you. But I took the
direction of the inn where we stopped--and here it is. Send some one to
ascertain the truth of what I tell you, and then you will believe me.
But the price of my services will be high; for I told you that I wanted
much."

So saying, Faringhea offered a printed card to Rodin: the socius, who,
out of the corner of his eye, followed all the half-caste's movements,
appeared to be absorbed in thought, and taking no heed of anything.

"Here is the address," repeated Faringhea, as he held out the card to
Rodin; "assure yourself that I do not lie."

"Eh? what is it?" said the other, casting a rapid but stolen glance at
the address, which he read greedily, without touching the card.

"Take this address," repeated the half-caste, "and you may then assure
yourself--"

"Really, sir," cried Rodin, pushing back the card with his hand, "your
impudence confounds me. I repeat that I wish to have nothing in common
with you. For the last ti