“Oh, he may lose his position. You and I and madame may be worse off.”
“As to my position,” I said, “leave me out of the question. We shall all take risks.”
“Then I accept,” said Alphonse. “Monsieur has been most kind to my mother, and circumstances have always attracted me—monsieur will understand. What am I to do?”
“You are to examine the outside of Madame Bellegarde’s villa by day and at night—to-night—and report to us to-morrow morning. I have a scheme for entering it and securing the document we want, but of that we will speak when we hear your report. I have already ridden around the place. I am trusting you entirely.”
“No, monsieur, not quite entirely,” said Alphonse, smiling.
Merton understood this queer fellow as I did not, for, as I sat wondering what he meant, my friend said quietly: “No we have not told you where the papers are concealed nor what they are. And you want to know?”
A sudden panic seemed to fall on the valet. He winked rapidly, looked to right and left, and then cried in a decisive way, with open hands upraised as if to push away something: “No, monsieur, no. Circumstances make it not to be desired.”
From that moment I trusted the man. “Is that all, monsieur?” he said.
“No. I do not want you to act without knowing that we, all of us, are about to undertake what is against the law and may bring death or, to you at least, the galleys.”
“I accept.” He said it very quietly. “What other directions has monsieur, or am I merely to report about the house and the guards? It is easy.”