“Good,” I answered. “I see that we shall get on, my friend. You were speaking a while ago of a Frenchman. Nay, do not give yourself the trouble of denying it. He is still here?”
“And if so, what then?” he said suspiciously, heedless of the sergeant’s threatening look.
“Only that I desire speech of this same gentleman,” I answered, “and I have ridden far to get it. In the first place, how many servants are there in the house yonder?”
He hesitated for a moment, then:
“There are but a dozen,” he replied.
“Are you sure there are no more?” I said sharply. “The truth, man!”
“I have told you,” he answered sulkily; “and the half of these are women.”
“Very good,” I answered; “that is sufficient. You will now lead us to the house, and—for I see that you have the keys—you will show us how best to gain an entrance.”
“I’ll not do it,” he burst out on a sudden, to my astonishment, for I had not given the man credit for so much courage. “I tell you I will take no part in it! I will do nothing that shall injure my ladies!”
“You are a fool!” I said tartly, for I was fast losing patience. Time was passing, and I was anxious to get the business over in order to dry my wet clothes, which clung to me with a chilly persistency. Moreover, I thought it more than probable that Cornet Graham would have already arrived ere this at the house, and, believing that some accident had surely befallen us, would proceed to execute his commission in his own way. In that case I had missed what credit there might be attached to the actual capture. “I have told you that it is with this gentleman I wish to speak. I have nothing to do with aught else.”