"I would give my right arm or my leg if I could get a flashlight of
this," said Obels, the reporter, enthusiastically. This elation made
him reckless as he went about, probing the experiences of each
victim.

"Great stuff!" "Great stuff!" he kept exclaiming. "Won't this open up
some eyes in Chicago, eh!"

He couldn't believe that the Providence which had led him to this
Bonanza would now deny him the opportunity of getting out some
of this wealth.

In the midst of these activities he was haled before the tribunal. He
returned, the spring out of his step and his zest for stories quite
gone. Javert had successively branded him an "Idiot" a "Liar" and
a "Spy."

The information that several of the inmates had been imprisoned
for a month or more spurred my drooping spirits and put me into
action. I uncovered a pile of the office writing-paper and, with the
aid of the Belgian who could speak English, I set to work preparing
a letter to Ambassador Whitlock. Whether Javert was apprised of
the doings of his charges or not I do not know, but in the midst of
my writing he glided into the room, and, pouncing upon my
manuscript, gathered it to himself, saying, "I'll take these." My
Belgian friend protested that a superior officer had given me
permission to do this. Javert handed back the paper, smiled, and
disappeared. Knowing that every word would be closely scrutinized
at the Staff Office, and that the least hint of anything derogatory to