"
A sudden change passed over May's features. "Ah! it is this agent of
police who says the letter was for me," he remarked in an altered tone.
"The same agent who asserts that I am a grand seigneur." Then, looking
disdainfully at Lecoq, he added: "Under these circumstances there's no
hope for me. When the police are absolutely determined that a man shall
be found guilty, they contrive to prove his guilt; everybody knows that.
And when a prisoner receives no letters, an agent, who wishes to show
that he is corresponding knows well enough how to write to him."
May's features wore such an expression of marked contempt that Lecoq
could scarcely refrain from making an angry reply. He restrained his
impulse, however, in obedience to a warning gesture from the magistrate,
and taking from the table the volume of Beranger's songs, he endeavored
to prove to the prisoner that each number in the note which he had shown
M. Segmuller corresponded with a word on the page indicated, and
that these various words formed several intelligible phrases. This
overpowering evidence did not seem to trouble May in the least. After
expressing the same admiration for this novel system of correspondence
that a child would show for a new toy, he declared his belief that no
one could equal the police in such machinations.
What could have been done in the face of such obstinacy? M. Segmuller
did not even attempt to argue the point, but quietly retired, followed
by his companions.
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