as keen as his sword."

Ignoring the doubtful compliment, and taking up the note afresh, I observed that I should soon be able to tell who wrote it.

"It is possible," he agreed, "quite possible."

He had regained his composure, and, indeed, seemed rather pleased than otherwise at the turn events were taking. Still he did not quite know what to make of me, and now and then a shadow of anxiety flitted across his face.

As we sat staring at each other it dawned upon me that I had a new problem to solve. What was to be done with this unwelcome visitor? I had made up my mind to meet D'Arçy, and the sound of a neighbouring clock striking nine warned me there was short time left for decision.

"Suppose I let you go?" I asked, half amused at the comical situation.

"That would be agreeable to me."

"Would you promise to say nothing about this affair till the morning?"

"Readily, monsieur."

"And break your promise at the first opportunity?"

"That is probable, monsieur. You see, I have a very bad memory," and he laughed.

"Then you must be kept here. I am sorry; I have no wish to hurt you, but there is no other way."

"As you please," he replied, and submitted quietly to be bound with strips torn from the bedclothes.

I fastened the knots securely, yet so as to cause him the least suffering, and then proceeded to improvise a gag. At this point his calmness disappeared, and for a short time he looked both surprised and angry.

[Transcriber's note: illustration missing from book]

However, he soon recovered his spirits, and said admiringly, "Surely monsieur must be a gaoler by profession; he knows all the tricks of the trade."

"Ah," said I, laughing, "you did not expect this?"

He shook his head disconsolately.

"But it is necessary."

"It may be for you."

"Let us say for both, since you will be prevented from getting into mischief. But come; I will make you comfortable."

The man's eyes twinkled, and any one outside hearing him laugh would have thought we were engaged in a humorous game.

"Ma foi!" he exclaimed, "you are politeness itself. First I am to be bound and gagged, and then made comfortable. But there is just one thing which troubles me."

"Speak out; I may be able to set your mind at ease."

"It is just possible that some one, not knowing your good points, may cut off your head."

"Well?"

"In that case, with a gag in my mouth, I shall be unable to express my sorrow."

"Have no fear," I replied, catching his meaning. "Whatever happens to me, and the venture is certainly risky, I promise you shall be released in the morning."

"Thanks, monsieur," he said, looking considerably relieved, "you certainly play the game like a gentleman."

I was really sorry to treat the man so scurvily, but, as a single word from him would upset my plans, it was necessary to prevent him from giving warning. So, carefully inserting the gag and repeating the promise to set him at liberty as soon as possible, I put my pistols in order, took my hat, and went out, closing and fastening the door.

The sight of the innkeeper in the narrow passage reminded me that he might be wondering what had become of the messenger, so I stopped and said, "If the dwarf returns before me, tell him to come again in the morning."

"Certainly, monsieur," he replied, holding the door open while I passed into the courtyard.

As usual the Rue de Roi was crowded, and I thought some of the people looked at me strangely, but this might have been mere fancy. Once, indeed, a man placed himself purposely in my path. It was the ruffian who had spoken to me in the inn, but, not desiring his company, I placed a finger on my lips to indicate silence, and walked past rapidly.

Ten o'clock struck as, entering the Rue St. Honoré, I passed up the street, seeking for the new church. Several people were still about, but I dared not ask for information, though where the church was situated I had not the faintest idea. However, I kept straight on, and, a quarter after the hour, approached a huge pile of scaffolding and the unfinished walls of a large building.

Here I paused in doubt, which was relieved by a whispered "De Lalande?" and the next instant Armand d'Arçy joined me.

"You are late," he exclaimed irritably. "The others have started, and I had almost despaired of your coming."

Taking my arm he crossed the road, hurried down a by-street, and, by what seemed a round-about route, led me into a most uninviting part of the city.

"Our friends have made good use of their time," I remarked, hoping to learn something useful from his conversation.

"They are anxious to surround the cage while the bird is still within. These strange rumours concerning the Abbé have made them uneasy."

"But I don't in the least understand you."

"Well, they must be untrue, or you would not be here. Still, the information came to us on good authority."

"Speak out, man, and let us clear up the matter; I am completely in the dark."

"Then," said he bluntly, "it is just this. We heard De Retz intended to trick us, and that you, instead of having returned to Paris, were still at Vançey. Of course I knew better, but the Abbé is a slippery customer!"

"Why not have told him your suspicions?"

D'Arçy slapped me on the back.

"Behold the innocence of the dove!" he exclaimed. "Of course he would have denied everything and demanded our proofs. But he will do well to leave off this double game. With the Cardinal in our hands we shall be too strong for him."

"I don't understand now."

"It is simple enough. You know that De Retz drew up the scheme and induced us to join him. But he can't be trusted, and half of our fellows believe he is playing us false."

"But why should he?"

"Ah, that is the mystery. He may have made his peace with the Cardinal for all I know. However, you can't draw back now; so if he has cheated us, he has cheated you. Is the plan changed in any way?"

"I have heard of no alteration."

"We had better make sure of our ground. It would be folly to miss so good an opportunity through want of foresight, though I don't see how we can fail," and, dropping his voice to a whisper, he went through all his arrangements, only pausing now and again to ask my opinion, which he evidently valued highly.

I walked by his side like one in a dream, hardly knowing how to answer. Here was I, a simple country youth, plunged into a conspiracy so daring that the recital of it almost took away my breath. The enterprise, started by the Abbé de Retz, was no less than the forcible carrying-off of Cardinal Mazarin, the most powerful man in France. I turned hot and cold at the thought.

It was known that the Cardinal, as a citizen, paid occasional visits to a certain astrologer, in whose house he was at present, and the conspirators had arranged their plans accordingly. False passports were obtained, a body of horse were in readiness outside the gates, and it only remained to obtain possession of the Cardinal's person. This part, it appeared, De Retz had promised should be undertaken by my cousin, who was deep in his confidence, while a band of reckless young nobles, with D'Arçy at their head, should form an escort.

"Once we get the old fox trapped, the rest will be easy," said my companion. "I warrant he won't get loose again in a hurry."

"No," said I, puzzling my brain as to why De Retz had at the last moment drawn back from the venture.

There was no doubt he had written the note even then inside my doublet. Something had occurred to shake his resolution, but what was it? Had he really joined hands with the Cardinal? The letter to Henri did not look like it. Had he intended all along to sacrifice his allies? I did not think so, because his note seemed to hint at their possible success. Perhaps, and it was my final conclusion, some unexpected danger had compelled him to hold his hand.