CHAPTER XIX
THE JACKAL TAKES THE TRAIL
"When the Duke avowed himself to be kidnaped, he committed an error so grave that it can hardly be—overestimated." The speaker used the last word as an afterthought. His first inclination was to say, forgiven.
Monsieur Jusseret sat upright in the brougham, scorning the supporting cushions at his back. His small, shrewd eyes frowned his deep disapproval over the roofs of Algiers outspread below him. He scowled on the gaudy and tatterdemalion color of the native city. He scowled on the smart brilliancy of the French quarter basking along the Place du Government and the Boulevard de la Republique.
The Countess Astaride leaned back and smiled from the depths of the cushions.
"It is usually a mistake to be made a prisoner," she smiled.
"But such a foolish mistake," quarreled Jusseret. "To permit oneself to be lured into so palpable a trap. It is most absurd."
"Now that it is done," inquired the woman, "is it not almost as absurd to waste time deploring the spilled milk? We must find a way to set him free."
"I have done all that could be done. I have stationed men whom I can trust throughout Puntal and Galavia. They are men Karyl likewise thinks he can trust. The distinction is that I know—where he merely thinks."
"And these men—what have they done?" The Countess laid one gloved hand eagerly on the Frenchman's coat-sleeve.