“What in the world do you mean?—I am forgetting nothing. . . . What factor do you mean?” she added with more impatience.
“It stands six foot odd high,” replied Sir Andrew, quietly, “and hath name Percy Blakeney.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
“Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having accomplished what he set out to do?”
“You mean . . . ?”
“There’s the old Comte de Tournay . . .”
“The Comte . . . ?” she murmured.
“And St. Just . . . and others . . .”
“My brother!” she said with a heart-broken sob of anguish. “Heaven help me, but I fear I had forgotten.”
“Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the Channel.”