“Certainly,” said the clerk. Then in low tones “There has been a curious exchange in saddles, Monsieur.”
“Saddles?”
“Yes. The saddle in your stall is, curiously enough, stamped with the arms of the house of Auersperg. How that military saddle came into the stables is more than the grooms can solve.”
“O,” said Maurice, with an assumption of carelessness; “that is all right. It's the saddle I arrived on. The horse and saddle belong to Madame the duchess. I have been visiting at the Red Chateau. I shall return in the morning.”
“Ah,” said the clerk, with a furtive smile which Maurice lost; “that accounts for the mystery.”
“Here are two letters that must get in to-night's mails,” Maurice said; “and also this telegram should be sent at once.”
“As Monsieur desires. Ah, I came near forgetting. There is a note for Monsieur, which came this afternoon while Monsieur was asleep.”
The envelope was unstamped, and the scrawl was unfamiliar to Maurice. On opening it he was surprised to find a hurriedly written note from Fitzgerald. In all probability it had been brought by the midnight courier on his return from the duchy.
“In God's name, Maurice, why do you linger?
To-morrow morning those consols must be here
or they will be useless. Hasten; you know what
it means to me.
Fitzgerald.”
Maurice perused it twice, and pulled at his lips. “Madame becomes impatient. Poor devil. Somebody is likely to become suddenly rich and somebody correspondingly poor. What will they say when I return empty-handed? Like as not Madame will accuse me—and Fitzgerald will believe her!... The archbishop! That accounts for this bold move. And how the deuce did he get hold of them? I give up.” And his shoulders settled in resignation.