“Who is Jean Dufoire?” he asked, after a long pause. “If that’s your line, I’m going.” He let me reach the door and felt in his pocket to make sure that he had the key; but when I opened it he started. “Wait,” he said. “Which is it to be? Quick,” I said sharply. “Tell me what you want.” “Which is it to be?” I repeated. “I’ll do what you wish.” The words came slowly as if the utterance of each one of them was a torture. I returned to my seat. “In the first place, you have a confession of Lieutenant de Linto’s. Give it me.” With shaking fingers he unlocked a drawer of the desk and from a secret recess in it took out a paper and held it out. I pushed a chair half-way between us. “Put it there.” He obeyed. “Now write an admission that you incited this young fool to take the money having won large amounts from him by cheating at cards.” “I didn’t.” “I haven’t forgotten Jean Dufoire’s reputation. Write what I say--and sign it Jean Dufoire, now known as Major Francisco Sampayo.” He fought against this, but in the end yielded. “Now a confession that you wrote the letter in my name giving information about the house in the Rua Catania.” Against this he fought more stubbornly than before, but I showed him the papers I had taken from his desk, vowing I would take them straight to Barosa, and then he gave in. The sweat was standing in great beads on his forehead as he placed the papers on the chair. “Now a letter to the Visconte de Linto and one to Mademoiselle Dominguez renouncing all claim to her hand.” “I will not,” he cried with an oath. “My hand shall rot first.” “It will do that soon after Lucien Prelot has found you.” “I will not,” he repeated, flinging down the pen. “I dare not.” I took the slip of paper and wrote, speaking the words as I pencilled them. “‘Jean Dufoire is now known as Major Francisco Sampayo. You will find him in Lisbon.’ That telegram I shall send within five minutes of leaving here,” I said. With a groan he threw up his hands distractedly and rising began to pace up and down. “I dare not. I dare not,” he exclaimed. I watched him very closely and observed that his movements, at first erratic as if at the dictates of his overpowering agitation, had a method suggestive of a purpose. Each turn he took brought him a little nearer to me. So I stood up and while pocketing the papers he had written, I held my weapon in readiness, questioning him the while. “What do you mean by dare not?” “You don’t understand.” “Then make it plain.” “No. There is a limit to my compliance. I dare not do this.” “What is it you are afraid of?” “I can’t tell you that. My lips are sealed.” “Oh come, you weren’t afraid to betray your associates when you thought to get me into a mess. Why be afraid now, to get yourself out of one?” He was pacing in my direction now and I made a half turn from him as if to glance at his desk.