ave 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 of
knowing whether this Peyrot were he who ran as we came up, he whom I had
encountered, or he who had engaged M. Etienne. And did we know, that
would 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 might
be in honest ignorance of its existence. If he had it, it were a crying
shame to pay out honest money for what we might take by force; to buy
your own goods from a thief were a sin. But supposing he had it not? If
we could seize upon him, disarm him, bind him, threaten him, beat him,
rack him, would he--granted he knew--reveal its whereabouts? Writ large
in 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 went
to Mayenne. Even should he tell, we had the business to begin again from
the 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 at
eleven, I engage to meet you with twenty pistoles," M. Etienne said.

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

"Conscience, quotha!"

"Certainly, monsieur. I am in my way as honest a man as you in yours. I
have never been false to the hand that fed me. If, therefore, I divert
to you a certain packet which of rights goes elsewhere, my sin must be
made worth my while. My conscience will sting me sorely, but with the
aid 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. Fifty
in all will bring the packet to your hand."

It had been a pleasure to M. le Comte to fling a tankard in the fellow's
face. 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 may
do as you like about appearing; I shall be there with my fifty
pistoles."

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

"The word of a St. Quentin."

"Sufficient, of co