Cornbury was smiling in a moment. “What do ye plan?” he said.
“Listen. Vigot is clever. He shall discover for me when Captain Ferrers will wait upon madame, ma cousine. I, too, will call upon her.”
“And ye’ve just killed her guardian!” said Cornbury, dryly. “She’ll not receive ye with kisses.”
Mornay smiled and slowly answered:
“You will think it strange that a gentleman should intrude upon a woman. But to-morrow, perhaps to-day, I may go from this city and country forever. Before that I shall make one effort to establish my good name. I shall not succeed; but I shall have done my duty to myself and the mother who bore me. As for the Capitaine Ferraire—” Mornay’s eyes flashed ominously. “If I knew where he had put the papers—if I could but get him to fight—”
“Fight! Ye couldn’t coax a fight from Ferrers with the flat of yer hand. He’d rather see ye in the Bastile or the Tower. He’s too sure to take any risks. Besides, if ye’d kill him the papers would be lost forever. No, he’ll not fight. He owes ye money, and while the constables can cancel the debt ye may be sure that he will not.”
Mornay passed his hand over his brow. “’Tis true. But I must see them together. That is the only chance. I will go to-day.”
“But how, Mornay?” asked Cornbury, dryly. “In a coach and four?”
Mornay sprang to his feet in delight. “C’est ça!” he cried, joyfully. “Oh, monsieur, but you have the Irish wit. Vigot shall bring me a coach. I shall ride in state.”
Cornbury rose to his feet angrily.