“That,” said Kossuth, “is the chief spy, who appears to employ a considerable staff—among them a number of elegant ladies. My poor concerns must cost your government a good sum.”
Maynard was not attending to the remark. His thoughts, as well as eyes, were still occupied with the gentleman who had got out of the cab; and who, before disappearing behind the lilacs and laurels, was recognised by him as his old antagonist, Swinton! Captain Maynard did that he had before refused, and suddenly. He concealed himself behind the window curtain! Kossuth observing it, inquired why?
“I chance to know the man,” was Maynard’s answer. “Pardon me, Governor, for having doubted your word! I can believe now what you’ve told me. Spies! Oh! if the English people knew this! They would not stand it!”
“Dear friend! don’t go into rhapsodies! They will stand it.”
“But I won’t!” cried Maynard, in a frenzy of indignation. “If I can’t reach the head of this fiendish conspiracy, I’ll punish the tool thus employed. Tell me, Governor, how long since these foul birds have built their nest over there?”
“They came about a week ago. The house was occupied by a bank clerk—a Scotchman, I believe—who seemed to turn out very suddenly. They entered upon the same day.”
“A week,” said Maynard, reflecting. “That’s well. He cannot have seen me. It’s ten days since I was here—and—and—”
“What are you thinking of, my dear captain?” asked Kossuth, seeing that his friend was engaged in deep cogitation.
“Of a revanche—a revenge, if you prefer having it in our vernacular.”
“Against whom?”