“Here, Monsieur Villois, have this man brought to the cabin,” said Conyngham, and the half-frightened spy was ushered in by two grinning French sailors.
“Now, sir,” said Conyngham, “you shall learn all about it. Sit down.” He motioned the spy to a seat and then, looking at him fixedly, continued:
“For the last three weeks you have dogged my footsteps; you have tried to overhear everything that I have spoken, and you have eavesdropped at windows and doors when I was in company with other gentlemen. You have a companion here who claims to be a very learned person, and always goes about with a book under his arm, wearing big spectacles. Last evening you met on a bench at the end of the park that leads to the street of the windmill, and you said—” Here to the Englishman’s horror and surprise Conyngham detailed a long conversation that had taken place—word for word he had it. At last he was interrupted.
“But you could not have heard this; there was no one nigh us,” said the Englishman, and then he added quickly, “I see it all. That villain has betrayed me. What do you intend to do with me?”
“I intend,” said Conyngham quietly, “to tell you all you want to know, and to set you on shore at the proper moment. The first and most interesting point, I suppose,” he continued, “would be, What is the destination of this vessel and when does she sail? That is easy. She sails to-night—in fact, in about two hours. Her destination is nowhere in particular. At present she is the property of a French firm of merchants, and is a peaceable, unarmed lugger. In about six hours, if the wind holds fair, she will be purchased by the United Colonies of America. She will be signed and receipted for outside of the jurisdiction of the French Government. Her name also will be changed, as well as her character.”
“You will be pirates?” gasped the spy.
“Not in the least,” was Conyngham’s return. “If that question should ever arise, it could be settled with little trouble. Now,” he concluded, “you know as much as you would like to, I am sure.”
“And are you going to set me on shore?” asked the Englishman incredulously.
“Not yet, my friend,” was Conyngham’s reply. “I still have use for you.”
Just at this moment the cabin door opened and the tall man who had stood at the gangway entered. The darkness of his complexion and the straightness of his black hair betrayed the fact that he was of Spanish or some southern extraction. But the English that he spoke was pure and without accent, as it had been proved, also, was his French.