“Exactly—a packet sealed with great splotches of red wax.”
“Ah!” The boy drew in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed and began to burn.
“Ten thousand pounds is a great sum,” and Fochard shrugged his fat shoulders. “But I am a Frenchman, and all Frenchmen love the Americans. For this reason I forego all hope of the profit that a great labor should bring me.” He grasped Ethan by the right wrist and placed the ring upon his finger. As he did so the men at the far table quietly arose and drew nearer, seating themselves at another table. Their watchful eyes never lost a movement of Fochard’s or Ethan’s; their heads were bent in an effort to hear what was being said.
“So,” said Fochard, in a low tone, “that is done, monsieur, and I am pleased.”
“Is this packet,” demanded Ethan eagerly, “what I suppose it is?”
“It is,” replied Fochard in a somewhat louder tone. “But guard the ring carefully; for it alone will bring you what you desire.”
And once more he repeated his instructions to the boy. The three listening men drank in his words eagerly, and when he had finished they paid their score and went out.
“They overheard what you said,” spoke Ethan.
“I know it,” smiled Fochard. “Since the time when I caught the Lascar in his attempt to leave France with the dispatch, he has been hounding me.”
“But,” said Ethan, “if you secured it from him why did he go to St. Mary’s Isle to see the Earl of Selkirk?”