“What is to be ready at six?” I asked.
“Some refreshments for Mme. Delhasse,” he answered readily.
“You order refreshments from the stable?”
“I was shouting to the scullery: the door is, as you will perceive, sir, there to the left.”
Now I knew that this was a lie, and I might very likely have said as much, had not the Duke of Saint-Maclou at this moment come into the room. He bowed to me, but addressed himself to Bontet.
“Well, are the gentlemen to be here at five?” he asked.
Bontet, with an air of relief, began an explanation. One of the gentlemen—M. de Vieuville, he believed—had read out the note in his presence, and had desired him to tell the duke that he and the other gentleman would meet the duke and his friend on the sands at a quarter to six. They would be where the road ceased and the sand began at that hour.
“He seems to think,” Bontet explained, “that less attention would thus be directed to the affair.”
The precaution seemed wise enough; but why had M. de Vieuville taken Bontet so much into his confidence? The same thought struck the duke, for he asked sharply:
“Why did he read the note to you?”