“It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are able to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the unlucky, lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also, that if a danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would return to America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy there.” There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no thought but to finish dinner. “Granting that this project is not likely,” Florentin said, “I have another idea.” “Why do you have ideas?” Phillis asked. “I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them.” “I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine, only it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your idea?” “It is to find Valerius and tell him all.” “And who will answer to us for Valerius’s discretion?” asked Madame Cormier. “Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit? One cannot play with a secret of this importance.” “Valerius is an honest man.” “It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic, affairs go wrong, that you say this.” “And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?” “I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent with him,” Phillis said. “Precisely because he may be what you think, reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily nor by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He will suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In that case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of our quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish to risk.” “And, according to you, what is to be done?” “Nothing; that is, wait, since there are a thousand chances against one for our uneasiness, and we exaggerate those that may never be realized.” “Well, let us wait,” he said. “Moreover, I like that; at the least, I have no responsibilities. What can happen will happen.” CHAPTER XIX. THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR In order to put the button found at Caffies on the track of the assassin, it required that it should have come from a Parisian tailor, or, at least, a French one, and that the trousers had not been sold by a ready-made clothing-house, where the names of customers are not kept. The task of the police was therefore difficult, as weak, also, were the chances of success. As Saniel had said, it was like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, to go to each tailor in Paris.