“I will tell you,” said Raymond, and into the velvet softness of his voice there crept an ominous undertone; “and at the same time I will tell you that you will be very wise to keep your mouth shut. You understand? If I trust you, it is to make you trust me. Henri Mentone is my pal. I was there the night Théophile Blondin was killed. But I made my escape. I do not desert a pal, only I had no money. Well, I have the money now, and I am back. And I am just in time—eh? They say he is well enough to be taken away in the morning.”
“Mon Dieu, you were there at the killing!” muttered Bourget hoarsely. “No—I do not like it! No—it is too much risk!” His voice grew suddenly sharp with undisguised suspicion. “And why did you come to me, eh? Why did you come to me? Who sent you here?”
“I came because Mentone must be driven to St. Eustace—because he is not strong enough to walk,” said Raymond coolly. “And no one sent me here. I heard of your fight this afternoon. The curé is telling around the village that if he could not change the aspect of your heart, there was no doubt as to the change in the aspect of your face.”
“Sacré nom!” gritted Bourget furiously. “He said that! I will show him! I am not through with him yet! But what has he to do with this that you come here? Eh? I do not understand.”
“Simply,” said Raymond meaningly, “that Monsieur le Curé is the one with whom we shall have to deal in getting Mentone away.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Bourget fiercely. “Yes—I am listening now! Well?”
“He sits a great deal of the time in the room with Mentone,” explained Raymond, with a callous laugh. “Very well. Mentone has been warned. If this fool of a curé knows no better than to sit there all night tonight, I will find some reason for calling him outside, and in the darkness where he will recognise no one we shall know what to do with him, and when we are through we will tie him and gag him and throw him into the shed where he will not be found until morning. On the other hand, if we are able to get Mentone away without the curé knowing it, you will still not be without your revenge. He is responsible for Mentone, and if Mentone gets away through the curé's negligence, the curé will get into trouble with the police.”
“I like the first plan better,” decided Bourget, with an ugly sneer. “He talks of my face, does he! Nom de Dieu, he will not be able to talk of his own! And a hundred dollars—eh? You said a hundred dollars? Well, if there is no more risk than that in the rest of the plan, sacré nom, you can count on Jacques Bourget”. . .
“There is no risk at all,” said Raymond. “And as to which plan—we shall see. We shall have to be guided by the circumstances, eh? And for the rest—listen! I will return by the beach, and watch the presbytère. You give me time to get back, then harness your horse and drive down there—drive past the presbytère. I will be listening, and will hear you. Then after you have gone a little way beyond, turn around and come back, and I will know that it is you. If you drive in behind the church to where the people tie their horses at mass on Sundays, you can wait there without being seen by any one passing by on the road. I will come and let you know how things are going. We may have to wait a while after that until everything is quiet, but in that way we will be ready to act the minute it is safe to do so.”
“All that is simple enough,” Bourget grunted in agreement. “And then?”