"I am not Baptiste—he is lying quiet in his grave on the shore of the Senegal river."
"Who, in the name of Heaven, are you?"
"Achille Graindorge—his cousin. I took advantage of our casual but strong resemblance to impose upon you—and—and get money—when in Hamburg—acting——"
"As a spy—eh?"
"Yes."
"Has she—has Paquette seen you since?"
"No—for she would at once have detected the cheat."
"And you know not where she is?"
"As I have Heaven soon to answer—no," he gasped out, and sinking back, shortly after expired, his last breath seeming to issue from the wounds in his chest. I had no pity for him, but felt a glow of joy in my heart, as I turned away, and crept—for I was unable to stand—towards the door of the villa in search of succour, the agony of my thirst and wounds being so great that I cared little whether the inmates aided or killed me.
However, the coincidences of this day were not yet over.