"Some outlandish Dutch name," replied Chauvelin. "It is spelt K U Y P E R. The devil only knows how it is pronounced."
"Well! And does Captain K U Y P E R understand exactly what I want?"
"He says he does. The Hollandia will put into Portishead on the last day of this month. You and your guests can get aboard her any day after that you choose. She will be there at your disposal, and can start within an hour of your getting aboard. Her master will have all his papers ready. He will have a cargo of West Indian sugar on board—destination Amsterdam, consignee Mynheer van Smeer—everything perfectly straight and square. French aristos, émigrés on board on their way to join the army of the Princes. There will be no difficulty in England."
"And none in Le Croisic. The man is running no risks."
"He thinks he is. France does not make Dutch ships and Dutch crews exactly welcome just now, does she?"
"Certainly not. But in Le Croisic and with citizen Adet on board...."
"I thought that name was not to be mentioned here," retorted Chauvelin dryly.
"You are right, citizen," whispered the other, "it escaped me and...."
Already he had jumped to his feet, his face suddenly pale, his whole manner changed from easy, arrogant self-assurance to uncertainty and obvious dread. He moved to the window, trying to subdue the sound of his footsteps upon the uneven floor.