to be asleep
or something."

There was a second plate on the table, and he calmly helped himself to
soup, then poured himself out a glass of wine.

For a moment Marguerite wondered what Chauvelin would do. His disguise
was so good that perhaps he meant, on recovering himself, to deny his
identity: but Chauvelin was too astute to make such an obviously false
and childish move, and already he too had stretched out his hand and
said pleasantly,--

"I am indeed charmed to see you Sir Percy. You must excuse me--h'm--I
thought you the other side of the Channel. Sudden surprise almost took
my breath away."

"La!" said Sir Percy, with a good-humoured grin, "it did that quite,
didn't it--er--M.--er--Chaubertin?"

"Pardon me--Chauvelin."

"I beg pardon--a thousand times. Yes--Chauvelin of course. . . .
Er . . . I never could cotton to foreign names. . . ."

He was calmly eating his soup, laughing with pleasant good-humour, as
if he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of enjoying
supper at this filthy inn, in the company of his arch-enemy.

For the moment Marguerite wondered why Percy did not knock the little
Frenchman down then and there--and no doubt something of the sort must
have darted through his mind, for every now and then his lazy eyes
seemed to flash ominously, as they rested on the slight figure of
Chauvelin, who had now quite recovered himself and was also calmly
eating his soup.

But the keen brain, which had planned and carried through so many daring
plots, was too far-seeing to take unnecessary risks. This place, after
all, might be infested with spies; the innkeeper might be in Chauvelin's
pay. One call on Chauvelin's part might bring twenty men about
Blakeney's ears for aught he knew, and he might be caught and trapped
before he could help, or, at least, warn the fugitives. This he would
not risk; he meant to help the others, to get THEM safely away; for he
had pledged his word to them, and his word he WOULD keep. And whilst
he ate and chatted, he thought and planned, whilst, up in the loft,
the poor, anxious woman racked her brain as to what she should do, and
endured agonies of longing to rush down to him, yet not daring to move
for fear of upsetting his plans.

"I didn't know," Blakeney was saying jovially, "that you . . .
er . . . were in holy orders."

"I . . . er . . . hem . . ." stammered Chauvelin. The calm impudence of
his antagonist had evidently thrown him off his usual