"Ah, but in that case—"
Monsieur cut short his son's jubilation.
"But—Lucas."
"Of course—I forgot him. He knows your ciphers, then?"
"Dolt that I was, he knows everything."
"Then must we lay hands on the papers before they reach Mayenne, and all is saved," M. Étienne declared cheerfully. "These fellows can't read a cipher. If the packet be not open, Monsieur?"
"It was a span long, and half as wide; for all address, the letters St. Q. in the corner. It was tied with red cord and bore the seal of a flying falcon, and the motto, Je reviendrai."
"What! the king's seal? That's serious. Expect, then, Monsieur, to see the papers in an hour's time."
"Étienne, Étienne," Monsieur cried, "are you mad?"
"No madder than is proper for a St. Quentin. It's simple enough. I told you I recognized that worthy back there for one Bernet, who lodged at an inn I wot of over beyond the markets. Do we betake ourselves thither, we may easily fall in with some comrades of his bosom who have not the misfortune to be lying dead in a back lane, who will know something of your loss. Bernet's sort are no bigots; while they work for the League, they will lend a kindly ear to the chink of Kingsmen's florins."