Every kind of opposition, argument even, would be worse than useless.
Merlin had ordered the valise and desk to be searched, and two men were busy turning out the contents of both on to the floor.

But the desk now only contained a few private household accounts, and notes for the various speeches which Deroulede had at various times delivered in the assemblies of the National Convention.

Among these, a few pencil jottings for his great defence of Charlotte Corday were eagerly seized upon by Merlin, and his grimy, clawlike hands fastened upon this scrap of paper, as upon a welcome prey.
But there was nothing else of any importance.

Deroulede was a man of thought and of action, with all the enthusiasm of real conviction, but none of the carelessness of a fanatic.

The papers which were contained in the letter-case, and which he was taking with him to the Conciergerie, he considered were necessary to the success of his plans, otherwise he never would have kept them, and they were the only proofs that could be brought up against him.
The valise itself was only packed with the few necessaries for a month's sojourn at the Conciergerie; and the men, under Merlin's guidance, were vainly trying to find something, anything that might be construed into treasonable correspondence with the unfortunate prisoner there.
Merlin, whilst his men were busy with the search, was sprawling in one of the big leather-covered chairs, on the arms of which his dirty finger-nails were beating an impatient devil's tattoo.