"I am——"
But he saved me from the lie.
"Ah, here is come one of our fellow passengers," he interrupted.
I turned to see de Veulle approaching us.
"'Tis a French gentleman," pursued Murray, bent upon winning my confidence with his easy manners and glib tongue, "on his way to Canada. He can tell you rare tales of the wilderness and the savages. Ha, chevalier, meet a young countryman of mine. Such is the timber we use to exploit the new plantations. Master Juggins—the Chevalier de Veulle."
All unsuspecting, de Veulle made me a slight bow, a look of indifferent disdain in his face at sight of my plebeian figure. The disguise was good, and I hoped I might cozen him for a time at least. But no man forgets another who has toyed with his life, and his indifference was dissipated the instant his eye met mine.
"Juggins?" he exclaimed in bewilderment. "You said Juggins, Monsieur Murray?"
"Sure, 'tis so," returned Murray urbanely. "Not our friend, the doughty trader, you understand, but——"
"Parbleu!" swore de Veulle. "This man is no more named Juggins than I am!"
In his excitement his English, which was broken enough at best, became almost incoherent. Murray favored me with a brief glance of suspicion.