III
An hour or two later, in a small dingy room in one of the most squalid portions of the town, the accredited agent of His Impérial Majesty's Minister of Police was hastily demolishing the remnants of a meagre, cold supper. He appeared footsore and cold. M. Moulin, préfet of St. Lô, sat opposite to him at the table. He seemed gravely agitated and anxious.
"We have done all we really could, Monsieur Fernand," he said fretfully, "with the material at our command. Monsieur le Duc d'Otrante's spies have been very active, and I don't think that we have any cause to complain of the results."
"Well, let's hear the results," said the Man in Grey curtly.
A sharp retort hovered on the préfet's tongue. He did not like the dictatorial ways of this emissary from Paris, and had it not been for M. le Duc d'Otrante's express orders, the Minister's secret agent would have fared ill at the hands of this hidebound official.
"There has been," he resumed with some bitterness, "great activity among the Chouans that are known to us in this neighbourhood. Our spies have discovered that the Comte d'Artois landed on this coast in the early dawn this morning. Unfortunately, they cannot be everywhere, and up to half an hour ago we had found no trace of him that we can rely on: at the same time we have intercepted a letter——"
"Pshaw!" ejaculated the Man in Grey impatiently. "And did your spies inform you by any chance that three strangers were landed by the brig Delphine in the Goat's Creek at dawn this morning?"
"Our informant did not say," remarked the préfet drily.
"I dare say not," rejoined the Man in Grey. "Nor did he tell you, perhaps, that the three strangers were met at the Devil's Bowl by Sébastien, who is, if I mistake not, confidential valet to the Constitutional Bishop of Alençon."
"That is false!" broke in Monsieur le Préfet emphatically. "The loyalty of Monseigneur is beyond question."
"Perhaps," retorted the other with a grim smile. "At any rate, Sébastien guided the three strangers through intricate passes among the cliffs as far as the Dog's Tooth. Here the party separated: one man went one way, another the other. Sébastien and one of the strangers waited about the cliffs until dusk, then they made their way along as far as the outskirts of Monseigneur's property——"
"I protest!" ejaculated the préfet hotly.
But the Man in Grey put up his slender hand with a commanding gesture.
"One moment, I beg," he said quietly. "The stranger lurked about on the outskirts of the park until it was quite dark, then he slipped in through the gates, with Sébastien close at his heels. The gates were at once drawn to and closed. The stranger disappeared in the night. A few minutes later the report of a musket rang out through the darkness, then the soughing of the gale drowned every other sound."
"Some thief," exclaimed the préfet gruffly, "lurking round the château. No doubt Sebastian suspected him, dogged his footsteps and shot him. It is all as clear as daylight——"
"So clear, indeed," observed the Man in Grey calmly, "that you, Monsieur le Préfet, will at once communicate with the chief commissary of police. I want a squadron of mounted men to surround Monseigneur's château and a vigorous search made both inside and outside the house."
"What! Now?" gasped Monsieur Moulin.
"Yes; now!"
"But it is past ten o'clock!" he protested.
"A better hour could not be found."
"But Monseigneur will look upon this as an insult!" exclaimed the préfet, who was deadly pale with agitation.
"For which we'll apologise if we have wronged him," retorted the secret agent quietly. "Stay!" he added, after a moment's reflection. "I pray you at the same time to tell Monsieur le Commissaire that I shall require a closed barouche, with a strong pair of horses and a mounted guard of half a dozen men, to be ready for me in the stable-yard of Monseigneur's château. Is that understood?"
It was. To have even thought of disobedience would have been madness. The very way in which the Man in Grey uttered his "I pray you" sent a cold shiver down M. Moulin's spine, and he still had in the inner pocket of his coat the letter written in the all-powerful Minister's own hand. In this letter M. le Duc d'Otrante gave orders that his agent was to be obeyed—blindly, implicitly, unquestioningly—whatever he might command, whomsoever he might bid to execute his orders. One look in that pale, colourless face sufficed to show that he knew the power which had been placed in his hands and would use it to punish those who strove to defy his might.