"I swear!" said de Brezé, "that no man shall track me."
"Transform yourself, René. He who becomes my friend must adjust to his face a mask, must envelop himself in mystery—for I am a mystery, an abysmal mystery. Here are my pistols—they are loaded. And now farewell, for you must find a place of safety for these things which in my hands incur grave danger. I shall see you again in Calais where Amélie and I shall be one week from today, if all goes satisfactorily, at the Red Fish Inn. Let us not meet again in London, for we are watched."
"No divining rod shall indicate the cavity beneath French soil where I conceal this treasure," said de Brezé. "Permit me now, on leaving, to kiss my lady's hand."
"Go seek her. She is yours."
At eleven, René again crossed the solitary park. He approached the square, curious to see if there still remained evidences of the struggle. All was deserted, but a blade gleamed at the foot of a tree, and he took it up in his hand. It was a short, wide knife such as mariners use for cutting fish. As he stooped, the casket dropped from his bosom and struck on the tree. Much alarmed, he replaced it inside his jacket which he securely buttoned and, pressing his hand to the treasure, he proceeded along Wellington street.
On passing a corner to call a cab, he caught sight of two men, those of the assault, shadowed in a great doorway and watching his movements.
"There goes the throttler," said the thickset fellow, who still wheezed from the pressure of René's fingers.
"He carries a box," said the other. "It has a metallic sound and cannot be empty. Shall we fall on him and seize it?"
"Fool! he must be armed. If not, do you think I should let him pass?"
"He goes toward Wellington."