“Well, sir,” he said, sternly, “and so you will not confess who is the principal instigator of these Indian atrocities? Beware, for I can order you out to be shot in one minute.”
“And if you shoot me ten times over, monsieur,” said the other, in a shaking voice, “I could tell no more. I am but a poor dealer in snuff and tobacco, and know nothing of Indian plots. Ask Monsieur Rocheblave. He knows all. There was an Indian embassy came to him only yesterday evening.”
Rocheblave, at the first mention of his name, had been signaling the other to keep quiet, but in vain.
“No, you need not wink at me, monsieur; I shall tell the American General all I know. I will not be shot to please you. There were twelve chiefs from the Wabash, monsieur, with Mademoiselle Rubie, the daughter of the Grand Door, and they were quartered in the old arsenal for the night, if they have not escaped.”
Clark turned grimly on Rocheblave.
“Why did I not know this, sir?”
“Indeed, monsieur le colonel, I meant no harm,” said Rocheblave, hastily; “and, indeed, these fellows are only friends of a cousin of my wife’s, Mademoiselle Rubie Roland.”
“Ruby Roland,” repeated Clark, slowly; “is that the adopted daughter of old Tabac?”
“The same, monsieur,” said the snuff-merchant, eagerly.
“Then, if she is here, I am glad,” said Clark, quietly. “You can go back home, sir; but do not stop to speak to a soul. The patrol has orders to shoot any citizen standing still in the streets. Go, and remember.”