:

"It seems I have exceeded my duty, monsieur, in coming here. Yet it
turns out for the best, since Lucas is caught and M. de Grammont dead
and you cleared of suspicion."

"What!" Yeux-gris cried. "What! you call me cleared!"

Vigo looked at him in surprise.

"You said you were innocent, M. le Comte."

M. le Comte stared, without a word to answer. The equery, all unaware of
having said anything unexpected, turned to the guardsman Maurice:

"Well, is Lucas trussed? Have you searched him?"

Maurice displayed a poniard and a handful of small coins for sole booty,
but Jules made haste to announce: "He has something else, though--a
paper sewed up in his doublet. Shall I rip it out, M. Vigo?"

With Lucas's own knife the grinning Jules slashed his doublet from
throat to thigh, to extract a folded paper the size of your palm. Vigo
pondered the superscription slowly, not much at home with the work of a
quill, save those that winged arrows. M. Etienne, coming forward, with a
sharp exclamation snatched the packet.

"How came you by my letter?" he demanded of Lucas.

"M. le Comte was pleased to consign it for delivery to Martin."

"What purpose had you with it?"

"Rest assured, dear monsieur, I had a purpose."

The questions were stormily vehement, the answers so gentle as to be
fairly caressing. It was waste of time and dignity to parley with the
scoundrel till one could back one's queries with the boot. But M.
Etienne's passion knew no waiting. Thrusting the letter into his breast
ere I, who had edged up to him, could catch a glimpse of its address, he
cried upon Lucas:

"Speak! You were ready enough to jeer at me for a dupe. Tell me what you
would do with your dupe. You dared not open the plot to me--you did me
the honour to know I would not kill my father. Then why use me
blindfold? An awkward game, Lucas."

Lucas disagreed as politely as if exchanging pleasantries in a salon.

"A dexterous game, M. le Comte. Your best friends deemed you guilty.
What would your enemies have said?"

"Ah-h," breathed M. Etienne.

"It dawns on you, monsieur? You are marvellous thick-witted, yet surely
you must perceive. We had a dozen fellows ready to swear that your hand
killed Monsieur."

"You would kill me for my father's murder?"

"Ma foi, no!" cried Lucas, airily. "Never in the world! We should have
let you live, in the knowledge that whenever you displeased us we could
send you to the gallows."

M. le Comte, silen