"I shall want two millions." This time Siméon remained impassive. He felt that he was in the man's clutches, like a mouse clawed by a cat. The doctor was playing with him, letting him go and catching him again, without giving him the least hope of escaping from this grim sport. "This is blackmail," he said, quietly. The doctor nodded: "There's no other word for it," he admitted. "It's blackmail. Moreover, it's a case of blackmail in which I have not the excuse of creating the opportunity that gives me my advantage. A wonderful chance comes within reach of my hand. I grab at it, as you would do in my place. What else is possible? I have had a few differences, which you know of, with the police. We've signed a peace, the police and I. But my professional position has been so much injured that I cannot afford to reject with scorn what you so kindly bring me." "Suppose I refuse to submit?" "Then I shall telephone to the headquarters of police, with whom I stand in great favor at present, as I am able to do them a good turn now and again." Siméon glanced at the window and at the door. The doctor had his hand on the receiver of the telephone. There was no way out of it. "Very well," he declared. "After all, it's better so. You know me; and I know you. We can come to terms." "On the basis suggested?" "Yes. Tell me your plan." "No, it's not worth while. I have my methods; and there's no object in revealing them beforehand. The point is to secure your escape and to put an end to your present danger. I'll answer for all that." "What guarantee have I. . . ?" "You will pay me half the money now and the other half when the business is done. There remains the matter of the passport, a secondary matter for me. Still, we shall have to make one out. In what name is it to be?" "Any name you like." The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, looking at Siméon between the phrases and muttering: "Gray hair. . . . Clean-shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . ." Then he stopped and asked: "But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That's essential, you know. I want bank-notes, real ones." "You shall have them." "Where are they?" "In a hiding-place that can't be got at." "Tell me where." "I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position, you'll never find it." "Well, go on." "Grégoire had the money in her keeping, four million francs. It's on board the barge. We'll go there together and I'll count you out the first million." "You say those millions are on board the barge?" "Yes." "And there are four of those millions?" "Yes." "I won't accept any of them in payment." "Why not? You must be mad!" "Why not? Because you can't pay a man with what already belongs to him." "What's that you're saying?" cried Siméon, in dismay. "Those four millions belong to me, so you can't offer them to me." Siméon shrugged his shoulders: