all taken cover around the hut; by
that time the four fugitives must have reached the creek, and got into
the boat, and the nearest creek was more than a mile from the hut.

Where had that daring singer got to? Unless Satan himself had lent him
wings, he could not have covered that mile on a rocky cliff in the space
of two minutes; and only two minutes had elapsed between his song and
the sound of the boat's oars away at sea. He must have remained behind,
and was even now hiding somewhere about the cliffs; the patrols were
still about, he would still be sighted, no doubt. Chauvelin felt hopeful
once again.

One or two of the men, who had run after the fugitives, were now slowly
working their way up the cliff: one of them reached Chauvelin's side, at
the very moment that this hope arose in the astute diplomatist's heart.

"We were too late, citoyen," the soldier said, "we reached the beach
just before the moon was hidden by that bank of clouds. The boat had
undoubtedly been on the look-out behind that first creek, a mile off,
but she had shoved off some time ago, when we got to the beach, and was
already some way out to sea. We fired after her, but of course, it was
no good. She was making straight and quickly for the schooner. We saw
her very clearly in the moonlight."

"Yes," said Chauvelin, with eager impatience, "she had shoved off some
time ago, you said, and the nearest creek is a mile further on."

"Yes, citoyen! I ran all the way, straight to the beach, though I
guessed the boat would have waited somewhere near the creek, as the tide
would reach there earliest. The boat must have shoved off some minutes
before the woman began to scream."

"Bring the light in here!" he commanded eagerly, as he once more entered
the hut.

The sergeant brought his lantern, and together the two men explored
the little place: with a rapid glance Chauvelin noted its contents: the
cauldron placed close under an aperture in the wall, and containing the
last few dying embers of burned charcoal, a couple of stools, overturned
as if in the haste of sudden departure, then the fisherman's tools
and his nets lying in one corner, and beside them, something small and
white.

"Pick that up," said Chauvelin to the sergeant, pointing to this white
scrap, "and bring it to me."

It was a crumpled piece of paper, evidently forgotten there by the
fugitives, in their hurry to get away. The sergeant, much awed by the
citoyen's obvious rage an