The Helmet of Navarre

by Bertha Runkle

  XXIII

  _The Chevalier of the Tournelles._

  It was a long walk to the Rue des Tournelles, which lay in our ownquarter, not a dozen streets from the Hotel St. Quentin itself. We foundthe Gilded Shears hung before a tailor's shop in the cellar of a tall,cramped structure, only one window wide. Its narrow door wasinhospitably shut, but at our summons the concierge appeared to informus that M. Peyrot did truly live here and, moreover, was at home, havingarrived but half an hour earlier than we. He would go up and find outwhether monsieur could see us.

  But M. Etienne thought that formality unnecessary, and was able, atsmall expense, to convince the concierge of it. We went alone up thestairs and crept very quietly along the passage toward the door of M.Peyrot. But our shoes made some noise on the flags; had he beenlistening, he might have heard us as easily as we heard him. Peyrot hadnot yet gone to bed after the night's exertion; a certain clatter andgurgle convinced us that he was refreshing himself with supper, orbreakfast, before reposing.

  M. Etienne stood still, his hand on the door-knob, eager, hesitating.Here was the man; were the papers here? If they were, should we securethem? A single false step, a single wrong word, might foil us.

  The sound of a chair pushed back came from within, and a young man'squick, firm step passed across to the far side of the room. We heard abox shut and locked. M. Etienne nipped my arm; we thought we knew whatwent in. Then came steps again and a loud yawn, and presently two whackson the floor. We knew as well as if we could see that Peyrot had thrownhis boots across the room. Next a clash and jangle of metal, that meanthis sword-belt with its accoutrements flung on the table. M. Etienne,with the rapid murmur, "If I look at you, nab him," turned thedoor-handle.

  But M. Peyrot had prepared against surprise by the simple expedient oflocking his door. He heard us, too, for he stopped in the very middle ofa prolonged yawn and held himself absolutely still. M. Etienne calledout softly:

  "Peyrot!"

  "Who is it?"

  "I want to speak with you about something important."

  "Who are you, then?"

  "I'll tell you when you let me in."

  "I'll let you in when you tell me."

  "My name's Martin. I'm a friend of Bernet. I want to speak to youquietly about a matter of importance."

  "A friend of Bernet. Hmm! Well, friend of Bernet, it appears to me youspeak very well through the door."

  "I want to speak with you about the affair of to-night."

  "What affair?"

  "To-night's affair."

  "To-night? I go to a supper-party at St. Germain. What have you to sayabout that?"

  "Last night, then," M. Etienne amended, with rising temper. "If you wantme to shout it out on your stairs, the St. Quentin affair."

  "Now, what may you mean by that?" called the voice from within. IfPeyrot was startled by the name, he carried it off well.

  "You know what I mean. Shall I take the house into our confidence?"

  "The house knows as much of your meaning as I. See here, friend ofBernet, if you are that gentleman's mate, perhaps you have a passwordabout you."

  "Aye," said M. Etienne, readily. "This is it: twenty pistoles."

  No answer came immediately; I could guess Peyrot puzzled. Presently hecalled to us:

  "By the bones of St. Anne, I don't believe a word you've been saying.But I'll have you in and see what you look like."

  We heard him getting into his boots again and buckling on his baldric.Then we listened to the turning of a key; a lid was raised and bangeddown again, and the lock refastened. It was the box once more. M.Etienne and I looked at each other.

  At length Peyrot opened the door and surveyed us.

  "What, two friends of Bernet, ventre bleu!" But he allowed us to enter.

  He drew back before us with a flourishing bow, his hand resting lightlyon his belt, in which was stuck a brace of pistols. Any idea of doingviolence on the person of M. Peyrot we dismissed for the present.

  Our eyes travelled from his pistols over the rest of him. He was small,lean, and wiry, with dark, sharp face and deep-set twinkling eyes. Onemoment's glance gave us to know that Peyrot was no fool.

  My lord closed the door after him and went straight to the point.

  "M. Peyrot, you were engaged last night in an attack on the Duke of St.Quentin. You did not succeed in slaying him, but you did kill his man,and you took from him a packet. I come to buy it."

  He looked at us a little dazed, not understanding, I deem, how we knewthis. Certes, it had been too dark in the lane for his face to be seen,and he had doubtless made sure that he was not followed home. He saiddirectly:

  "You are the Comte de Mar."

  "Even so, M. Peyrot. I did not care to have the whole stair know it, butto you I have no hesitation in confiding that I am M. de Mar."

  M. Peyrot swept a bow till his head almost touched the floor.

  "My poor apartment is honoured."

  As he louted low, I made a spring forward; I thought to pin him beforehe could rise. But he was up with the lightness of a bird from the boughand standing three yards away from me, where I crouched on the springlike a foiled cat. He grinned at me in open enjoyment.

  "Monsieur desired?" he asked sympathetically.

  "No, it is I who desire," said M. Etienne, clearing himself a place tosit on the corner of the table. "I desire that packet, monsieur. Youknow this little expedition of yours to-night was something of afailure. When you report to the general-duke, he will not be in the bestof humours. He does not like failures, the general; he will not inclineto reward you dear. While I am in the very best humour in the world."

  He smiled to prove it. Nor do I think his complaisance altogetherfeigned. The temper of our host amused him.

  As for friend Peyrot, he still looked dazed. I thought it was because hehad not yet made up his mind what line to take; but had I viewed himwith neutral eyes I might easily have deemed his bewilderment genuine.

  "Perhaps we should get on better if I could understand what monsieur isdriving at?" he suggested. "Monsieur's remarks about his noble fatherand the general-duke are interesting, but humble Jean Peyrot, who doesnot move in court circles, is at a loss to translate them. In otherwords, I have no notion what you are talking about."

  "Oh, come," M. Etienne cried, "no shuffling, Peyrot. We know as well asyou where you were before dawn."

  "Before dawn? Marry, I was sleeping the sleep of the virtuous."

  M. Etienne slipped across the room as quickly as Peyrot's self mighthave done, lifted up a heavy curtain hanging before an alcove, anddisclosed the bed folded smooth, the pillow undisturbed. He turned witha triumphant grin on the owner, who showed all his teeth pleasantly inanswer, no whit abashed.

  "For all you are a count, monsieur, you have the worst manners ever cameinside these walls."

  M. le Comte, with no attempt at mending them, went on a tour about theroom, examining with sniffing interest all its furniture, even to thedishes and tankards on the table. Peyrot, leaning against the wall bythe window, regarded him steadily, with impassive face. At length M.Etienne walked over to the chest by the chimneypiece and deliberatelyput his hand on the key.

  Instantly Peyrot's voice rang out, "Stop!" M. Etienne, turning, lookedinto his pistol-barrel.

  My lord stood exactly as he was, bent over the chest, his fingers on thekey, looking over his shoulder at the bravo with raised, protestingeyebrows and laughing mouth. But though he laughed, he stood still.

  "If you make a movement I do not like, M. de Mar, I will shoot you as Iwould a rat. Your side is down and mine is up; I have no fear to killyou. It will be painful to me, but if necessary I shall do it."

  M. Etienne sat down on the chest and smiled more amiably than ever.

  "Why--have I never known you before, Peyrot?"

  "One moment, monsieur." The nose of the pistol pointed around to me. "Goover there to the door, you."

  I retreated, covered by the shining muzzle, to a spot that pleased hi
m.

  "Now are we more comfortable," Peyrot observed, pulling a chair overagainst the wall and seating him, the pistol on his knee. "Monsieur wassaying?"

  Monsieur crossed his legs, as if of all seats in the world he liked hispresent one the best. He had brought none of the airs of the noble intothis business, realizing shrewdly that they would but hamper him, aslace ruffles hamper a duellist. Peyrot, treeless adventurer, living byhis sharp sword and sharp wits, reverenced a count no more than ahod-carrier. His occasional mocking deference was more insulting thanoutright rudeness; but M. Etienne bore it unruffled. Possibly heschooled himself so to bear it, but I think rather that he felt soeasily secure on the height of his gentlehood that Peyrot's impudencemerely tickled him.

  "I was wondering," he answered pleasantly, "how long you have dwelt inthis town and I not known it. You are from Guienne, methinks."

  "Carcassonne way," the other said indifferently. Then memory bringing adeep twinkle to his eye, he added: "What think you, monsieur? I was lefta week-old babe on the monastery step; was reared up in holiness withinits sacred walls; chorister at ten, novice at eighteen, full-fledgedfriar, fasting, praying, and singing misereres, exhorting dying saintsand living sinners, at twenty."

  "A very pretty brotherhood, you for sample."

  "Nay, I am none. Else I might have stayed. But one night I tookleg-bail, lived in the woods till my hair grew, and struck out forParis. And never regretted it, neither."

  He leaned his head back, his eyes fixed contemplatively on the ceiling,and burst into song, in voice as melodious as a lark's:

  _Piety and Grace and Gloom, For such like guests I have no room! Piety and Gloom and Grace, I bang my door shut in your face! Gloom and Grace and Piety, I set my dog on such as ye!_

  Finishing his stave, he continued to beat time with his heel on thefloor and to gaze upon the ceiling. But I think we could not havetwitched a finger without his noting it. M. Etienne rose and leanedacross the table toward him.

  "M. Peyrot has made his fortune in Paris? Monsieur rolls in wealth, ofcourse?"

  Peyrot shrugged his shoulders, his eyes leaving the ceiling and making amocking pilgrimage of the room, resting finally on his own rustyclothing.

  "Do I look it?" he answered.

  "Oh," said M. Etienne, slowly, as one who digests an entirely new idea,"I supposed monsieur must be as rich as a Lombard, he is so cold on thesubject of turning an honest penny."

  Peyrot's roving eye condescended to meet his visitor's.

  "Say on," he permitted lazily.

  "I offer twenty pistoles for a packet, seal unbroken, taken at dawn fromthe person of M. de St. Quentin's squire."

  "Now you are talking sensibly," the scamp said, as if M. Etienne hadbeen the shuffler. "That is a fair offer and demands a fair answer.Moreover, such zeal as you display deserves success. I will look about abit this morning among my friends and see if I can get wind of yourpacket. I will meet you at dinner-time at the inn of the Bonne Femme."

  "Dinner-time is far hence. You forget, M. Peyrot, that you are risenearlier than usual. I will go out and sit on the stair for five minuteswhile you consult your friends."

  Peyrot grinned cheerfully.

  "M. de Mar doesn't seem able to get it through his head that I knownothing whatever of this affair."

  "No, I certainly don't get that through my head."

  Peyrot regarded him with an air ill-used yet compassionate, such as hemight in his monkish days have employed toward one who could not beconvinced, for instance, of the efficacy of prayer.

  "M. de Mar," quoth he, plaintively, in pity half for himself somisunderstood, half for his interlocutor so wilfully blind, "I dosolemnly assure you, once and for all, that I know nothing of thisaffair of yours. Till you so asserted, I had no knowledge that Monsieur,your honoured father, had been set on, and deeply am I pained to hearit. These be evil days when such things can happen. As for your packet,I learn of it only through your word, having no more to do with thisdeplorable business than a babe unborn."

  I declare I was almost shaken, almost thought we had wronged him. But M.Etienne gauged him otherwise.

  "Your words please me," he began.

  "The contemplation of virtue," the rascal droned with down-drawn lips,in pulpit tone, "is always uplifting to the spirit."

  "You have boasted," M. Etienne went on, "that your side was up and minedown. Did you not reflect that soon my side may be up and yours down,you would hardly be at such pains to deny that you ever bared bladeagainst the Duke of St. Quentin."

  "I have made my declaration in the presence of two witnesses, far toohonourable to falsify, that I know nothing of the attack on the duke,"Peyrot repeated with apparent satisfaction. "But of course it ispossible that by scouring Paris I might get on the scent of your packet.Twenty pistoles, though. That is not much."

  M. Etienne stood silent, drumming tattoos on the table, not pleased withthe turn of the matter, not seeing how to better it. Had we been sure ofour suspicions, we would have charged him, pistol or no pistol,trusting that our quickness would prevent his shooting, or that thepowder would miss fire, or that the ball would fly wide, or that weshould be hit in no vital part; trusting, in short, that God was with usand would in some fashion save us. But we could not be sure that thepacket was with Peyrot. What we had heard him lock in the chest mighthave been these very pistols that he had afterward taken out again.Three men had fled from M. de Mirabeau's alley; we had no means ofknowing whether this Peyrot were he who ran as we came up, he whom I hadencountered, or he who had engaged M. Etienne. And did we know, thatwould not tell us which of the three had stabbed and plundered Huguet.Peyrot might have the packet, or he might know who had it, or he mightbe in honest ignorance of its existence. If he had it, it were a cryingshame to pay out honest money for what we might take by force; to buyyour own goods from a thief were a sin. But supposing he had it not? Ifwe could seize upon him, disarm him, bind him, threaten him, beat him,rack him, would he--granted he knew--reveal its whereabouts? Writ largein his face was every manner of roguery, but not one iota of cowardice.He might very well hold us baffled, hour on hour, while the papers wentto Mayenne. Even should he tell, we had the business to begin again fromthe very beginning, with some other knave mayhap worse than this.

  Plainly the game was in Peyrot's hands; we could play only to his lead.

  "If you will put the packet into my hands, seal unbroken, this day ateleven, I engage to meet you with twenty pistoles," M. Etienne said.

  "Twenty pistoles were a fair price for the packet. But monsieur forgetsthe wear and tear on my conscience incurred for him. I must bereimbursed for that."

  "Conscience, quotha!"

  "Certainly, monsieur. I am in my way as honest a man as you in yours. Ihave never been false to the hand that fed me. If, therefore, I divertto you a certain packet which of rights goes elsewhere, my sin must bemade worth my while. My conscience will sting me sorely, but with theaid of a glass and a lass I may contrive to forget the pain.

  _Mirth, my love, and Folly dear, Baggages, you're welcome here!_

  I fix the injury to my conscience at thirty pistoles, M. le Comte. Fiftyin all will bring the packet to your hand."

  It had been a pleasure to M. le Comte to fling a tankard in the fellow'sface. But the steadfast determination to win the papers for Monsieur,and, possibly, respect for Peyrot's weapon, withheld him.

  "Very well, then. In the cabaret of the Bonne Femme, at eleven. You maydo as you like about appearing; I shall be there with my fiftypistoles."

  "What guaranty have I that you will deal fairly with me?"

  "The word of a St. Quentin."

  "Sufficient, of course."

  The scamp rose with a bow.

  "Well, I have not the word of a gentleman to offer you, but I give youthe opinion of Jean Peyrot, sometime Father Ambrosius, that he and thepacket will be there. This has been a delightful call, monsieur, and Iam loath to let you go. But it is time I was fr
ee to look for thatpacket."

  M. Etienne's eyes went over to the chest.

  "I wish you all success in your arduous search."

  "It is like to be, in truth, a long and weary search," Peyrot sighed."My ignorance of the perpetrators of the outrage makes my task difficultindeed. But rest assured, monsieur, that I shall question every man inParis, if need be. I shall leave no stone unturned."

  M. Etienne still pensively regarded the chest.

  "If you leave no key unturned, 'twill be more to the purpose."

  "You appear yet to nurse the belief that I have the packet. But as amatter of fact, monsieur, I have not."

  I studied his grave face, and could not for the life of me make outwhether he were lying. M. Etienne said merely:

  "Come, Felix."

  "You'll drink a glass before you go?" Peyrot cried hospitably, runningto fill a goblet muddy with his last pouring. But M. Etienne drew back.

  "Well, I don't blame you. I wouldn't drink it myself if I were a count,"Peyrot said, setting the draught to his own lips. "After this noon Ishall drink it no more all summer. I shall live like a king.

  _Kiss me, Folly; hug me, Mirth: Life without you's nothing worth!_

  Monsieur, can I lend you a hat?"

  I had already opened the door and was holding it for my master to pass,when Peyrot picked up from the floor and held out to him a battered anddirty toque, with its draggled feather hanging forlornly over the side.Chafed as he was, M. Etienne could not deny a laugh to the rascal'simpudence.

  "I cannot rob monsieur," he said.

  "M. le Comte need have no scruple. I shall buy me better out of hisfifty pistoles."

  But M. Etienne was out in the passage, I following, banging the doorafter me. We went down the stair in time to Peyrot's lusty carolling:

  _Mirth I'll keep, though riches fly, While Folly's sure to linger by!_

  "Think you we'll get the packet?" I asked.

  "Aye. I think he wants his fifty pistoles. Mordieu! it's galling to letthis dog set the terms."

  "Monsieur," I cried, "perhaps he'll not stir out at once. I'll run homefor Vigo and his men, and we'll make the rascal disgorge."

  "Now are you more zealous than honest, boy."

  I was silent, abashed, and he added:

  "I had not been afraid to try conclusions with him, pistols or not, wereI sure that he had the packet. I believe he has, yet there is thechance that, after all, in this one particular he speaks truth. I cannottake any chances; I must get those papers for Monsieur."

  "Yes, we could not have done otherwise, M. Etienne. But, monsieur, willyou dare go to this inn? M. le Comte is a man in jeopardy; he may notkeep rendezvous of the enemy's choosing."

  "I might not keep one of Lucas's choosing. Though," he added, with asmile, "natheless, I think I should. But it is not likely this fellowknows of the warrant against me. Paris is a big place; news does nottravel all over town as quickly as at St. Quentin. I think friend Peyrothas more to gain by playing fair than playing false, and appointing thecabaret of the Bonne Femme has a very open, pleasing sound. Did he meanto brain me he would scarce have set that place."

  "It was not Peyrot alone I meant. But monsieur is so well known. In thestreets, or at the dinner-hour, some one may see you who knows Mayenneis after you."

  "Oh, of that I must take my chance," he made answer, no whit troubled bythe warning. "I go home now for the ransom, and I will e'en be at thepains to doff this gear for something darker."

  "Monsieur," I pleaded, "why not stay at home to get your dues of sleep?Vigo will bring the gold; he and I will put the matter through."

  "I ask not your advice," he cried haughtily; then with instantsoftening: "Nay, this is my affair, Felix. I have taken it upon myselfto recover Monsieur his papers. I must carry it through myself to thevery omega."

  I said no more, partly because it would have done no good, partlybecause, in spite of the strange word, I understood how he felt.

  "Perhaps you should go home and sleep," he suggested tenderly.

  "Nay," cried I. "I had a cat-nap in the lane; I'm game to see itthrough."

  "Then," he commanded, "you may stay here-abouts and watch that door. ForI have some curiosity to know whether he will need to fare forth afterthe treasure. If he do as I guess, he will spend the next hours as youcounsel me, making up arrears of sleep, and you'll not see him till aquarter or so before eleven. But whenever he comes out, follow him. Keepyour safe distance and dog him if you can."

  "And if I lose him?"

  "Come back home. Station yourself now where he won't notice you. Thatarch there should serve."

  We had been standing at the street corner, sheltered by a balcony overour heads from the view of Peyrot's window.

  "Monsieur," I said, "I do wish you would bring Vigo back with you."

  "Felix," he laughed, "you are the worst courtier I ever saw."

  I crossed the street as he told me, glancing up at the third story ofthe house of the Gilded Shears. No watcher was visible. From thearchway, which was entrance to a court of tall houses, I could wellcommand Peyrot's door, myself in deep shadow M. Etienne nodded to me andwalked off whistling, staring full in the face every one he met.

  I would fain have occupied myself as we guessed the knave Peyrot to bedoing, and shut mine aching eyes in sleep. But I was sternly determinedto be faithful to my trust, and though for my greater comfort--coldenough comfort it was--I sat me down on the paving-stones, yet I kept myeyelids propped open, my eyes on Peyrot's door. I was helped in carryingout my virtuous resolve by the fact that the court was populous and mycarcass in the entrance much in the way of the busy passers-by, so thatfull half of them swore at me, and the half of that half kicked me. Thehard part was that I could not fight them because of keeping my eyes onPeyrot's door.

  He delayed so long and so long that I feared with shamed misgiving Imust have let him slip, when at length, on the very stroke of eleven, hesauntered forth. He was yawning prodigiously, but set off past my lairat a smart pace. I followed at goodly distance, but never once did heglance around. He led the way straight to the sign of the Bonne Femme.

  AT THE "BONNE FEMME."]

  I entered two minutes after him, passing from the cabaret, where my menwere not, to the dining-hall, where, to my relief, they were. At twohuge fireplaces savoury soups bubbled, juicy rabbits simmered, fatcapons roasted; the smell brought the tears to my eyes. A concourse ofpeople was about: gentles and burghers seated at table, or passing inand out; waiters running back and forth from the fires, drawers fromthe cabaret. I paused to scan the throng, jostled by one and another,before I descried my master and my knave. M. Etienne, the prompter atthe rendezvous, had, like a philosopher, ordered dinner, but he haddeserted it now and stood with Peyrot, their backs to the company, theirelbows on the deep window-ledge, their heads close together. I came upsuddenly to Peyrot's side, making him jump.

  "Oh, it's you, my little gentleman!" he exclaimed, smiling to show allhis firm teeth, as white and even as a court beauty's. He looked in thebest of humours, as was not wonderful, considering that he was engagedin fastening up in the breast of his doublet something hard and lumpy.M. Etienne held up a packet for me to see, before Peyrot's shieldingbody; it was tied with red cord and sealed with a spread falcon over thetiny letters, _Je reviendrai_. In the corner was written very small,_St. Q._ Smiling, he put it into the breast of his doublet.

  "Monsieur," my scamp said to him with close lips that the room might nothear, "you are a gentleman. If there ever comes a day when You-know-whois down and you are up, I shall be pleased to serve you as well as Ihave served him."

  "I hanker not for such service as you have given him," M. Etienneanswered. Peyrot's eyes twinkled brighter than ever.

  "I have said it. I will serve you as vigourously as I have served him.Bear me in mind, monsieur."

  "Come, Felix," was all my lord's answer.

  Peyrot sprang forward to detain us.

  "Monsieur, will you n
ot dine with me? Both of you, I beg. I will haveevery wine the cellar affords."

  "No," said M. Etienne, carelessly, not deigning to anger; "but there ismy dinner for you, an you like. I have paid for it, but I have otherbusiness than to eat it."

  Bidding a waiter serve M. Peyrot, he walked from the room without otherglance at him. A slight shade fell over the reckless, scampish face; hewas a moment vexed that we scorned him. Merely vexed, I think; shamednot at all; he knew not the feel of it. Even in the brief space Iwatched him, as I passed to the door, his visage cleared, and he sat himdown contentedly to finish M. Etienne's veal broth.

  My lord paced along rapidly and gladly, on fire to be before Monsieurwith the packet. But one little cloud, transient as Peyrot's, passedacross his lightsome countenance.

  "I would that knave were of my rank," he said. "I had not left himwithout slapping a glove in his face."

  That Peyrot had come off scot-free put me out of patience, too, but Iregretted the gold we had given him more than the wounds we had not. Themoney, on the contrary, troubled M. Etienne no whit; what he had nevertoiled for he parted with lightly.

  We came to our gates and went straightway up the stairs to Monsieur'scabinet. He sprang to meet us at the door, snatching the packet fromhis son's eager hand.

  "Well done, Etienne, my champion! An you brought me the crown of FranceI were not so pleased!"

  The flush of joy at generous praise of good work kindled on M. Etienne'scheek; it were hard to say which of the two messieurs beamed the moredelightedly on the other.

  "My son, you have brought me back my honour," spoke Monsieur, morequietly, the exuberance of his delight abating, but leaving him none theless happy. "If you had sinned against me--which I do not admit, dearlad--it were more than made up for now."

  "Ah, Monsieur, I have often asked myself of late what I was born for.Now I know it was for this morning."

  "For this and many more mornings, Etienne," Monsieur made gay answer,laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Courage, comrade. We'll have ourlady yet."

  He smiled at him hearteningly and turned away to his writing-table. Forall his sympathy, he was, as was natural, more interested in his papersthan in Mlle. de Montluc.

  "I'll get this off my hands at once," he went on, with the effect oftalking to himself rather than to us. "It shall go straight off toLemaitre. You'd better go to bed, both of you. My faith, you've made anight of it!"

  "Won't you take me for your messenger, Monsieur? You need a trustyone."

  "A kindly offer, Etienne. But you have earned your rest. And you, trueas you are, are yet not the only staunch servant I have, God be thanked.Gilles will take this straight from my hand to Lemaitre's."

  He had inclosed the packet in a clean wrapper, but now, a thoughtstriking him, he took it out again.

  "I'd best break off the royal seal, lest it be spied among thepresident's papers. I'll scratch out my initial, too. The cipher tellsnothing."

  "He is not likely to leave it about, Monsieur."

  "No, but this time we'll provide for every chance. We'll take all theprecautions ingenuity can devise or patience execute."

  He crushed the seal in his fingers, and took the knife-point to scrapethe wax away. It slipped and severed the cords. Of its own accord thestiff paper of the flap unfolded.

  "The cipher seems as determined to show itself to me again as if I werein danger of forgetting it," Monsieur said idly. "The truth is--"

  He stopped in the middle of a word, snatching up the packet, slapping itwide open, tearing it sheet from sheet. Each was absolutely blank!