“Better still. You’re old enough now to grasp that there’s no family without some skeleton or other in the cupboard, which the people concerned are terrified of having discovered. The kids must be set hunting; it’ll give them something to do. Family life as a rule is so boring! And then it’ll teach them to observe, to look about them. It’s quite simple. Those who contribute nothing will get nothing. When certain parents understand that they are in our hands, they’ll pay a high price for our silence. What the deuce! we have no intention of blackmailing them; we are honest folk. We merely want to have a hold on them. Their silence for ours. Let them keep silent and make other people keep silent, and then we’ll keep silent too. Here’s a health to them!” Strouvilhou filled two glasses. They drank to each other. “It’s a good--it’s even an indispensable thing,” he went on, “to create ties of reciprocity between citizens; by so doing societies are solidly established. We all hold together, good Lord! _We_ have a hold on the children, who have a hold on their parents, who have a hold on us. A perfect arrangement. Twig?” Léon twigged admirably. He chuckled. “That little George....” he began. “Well, what about him? That little George...?” “Molinier. I think he’s pretty well screwed up. He has laid his hands on some letters to his father from an Olympia chorus girl.” “Have you seen them?” “He showed them to me. I overheard him talking to Adamanti. I think they were pleased at my listening to them; at any rate they didn’t hide from me; I had already taken steps and treated them to a little entertainment in your style, to inspire them with confidence. George said to Phiphi (to give him a stunner): ‘My father’s got a mistress.’ Upon which, Phiphi, not to be outdone, answered: ‘_My_ father’s got two.’ It was idiotic and really nothing to make a fuss about; but I went up to George and said: ‘How do you know?’ ‘I’ve seen some letters,’ he answered. I pretended I didn’t believe him and said: ‘Rubbish!’... Well, I went on at him, until at last he said he had got them with him; he pulled them out of a big letter-case and showed them to me.” “Did you read them?” “I didn’t have time to. I only saw they were all in the same handwriting; one of them began: ‘My darling old ducky.’” “And signed?” “‘Your little white mousie.’ I asked George how he had got hold of them. He grinned and pulled out of his trouser pocket an enormous bunch of keys.... To fit every drawer in the universe,’ said he.” “And what did Master Phiphi say?” “Nothing. I think he was jealous.” “Would George give you the letters?” “If necessary I’ll get him to. I don’t want to take them from him. He’ll give them if Phiphi joins in, too. They each of them egg the other on.” “That’s what goes by the name of emulation. And you don’t see anyone else at the school?” “I’ll look about.”