His tone was all humility, all subservience, nevertheless it was firm to the point of being hard. But my last card, the card upon which I was depending, was yet to be played.
“Will you do me the honour to step aside with me, Chevalier?” I commanded rather than besought.
“At your service, sir,” said he; and I drew him out of earshot of those others.
“Now, Saint-Eustache, we can talk,” said I, with an abrupt change of manner from the coldly arrogant to the coldly menacing. “I marvel greatly at your temerity in pursuing this Iscariot business after learning who I am, at Toulouse two nights ago.”
He clenched his hands, and his weak face hardened.
“I would beg you to consider your expressions, monsieur, and to control them,” said he in a thick voice.
I vouchsafed him a stare of freezing amazement. “You will no doubt remember in what capacity I find you employed. Nay, keep your hands still, Saint-Eustache. I don't fight catchpolls, and if you give me trouble my men are yonder.” And I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “And now to business. I am not minded to talk all day. I was saying that I marvel at your temerity, and more particularly at your having laid information against Monsieur de Lavedan, and having come here to arrest him, knowing, as you must know, that I am interested in the Vicomte.”
“I have heard of that interest, monsieur,” said he, with a sneer for which I could have struck him.
“This act of yours,” I pursued, ignoring his interpolation, “savours very much of flying in the face of Destiny. It almost seems to me as if you were defying me.”
His lip trembled, and his eyes shunned my glance.