“He’ll be honest to us, man, or he’ll be dead inside a week, that’s all.”
“I’m to be Connetable of St. Heliers, and you’re to be harbour-master—eh?”
“Naught else: you don’t catch flies with vinegar. Give us your hand—why, man, it’s doggish cold.”
“Cold hand, healthy heart. How many men will Rullecour bring?”
“Two thousand; mostly conscripts and devil’s beauties from Granville and St. Malo gaols.”
“Any signals yet?”
“Two—from Chaussey at five o’clock. Rullecour ‘ll try to land at Gorey. Come, let’s be off. Delagarde’s there now.”
The boy stiffened with horror—his father was a traitor! The thought pierced his brain like a hot iron. He must prevent this crime, and warn the Governor. He prepared to steal away. Fortunately the back of the man’s head was towards him.
Carcaud laughed a low, malicious laugh as he replied to the Frenchman.
“Trust the quiet Delagarde! There’s nothing worse nor still waters. He’ll do his trick, and he’ll have his share if the rest suck their thumbs. He doesn’t wait for roasted larks to drop into his mouth—what’s that!” It was Ranulph stealing away.