The Frenchman drew himself up to an erect position and saluted in military fashion.
"I do not, Sir," he replied promptly.
"Detail how you became possessed of them."
Every eye was turned keenly on St. Just, as though to read how far he spoke the truth.
Calmly and deliberately he related the circumstances; how that, having been imprisoned for so long, he had been offered his liberty, provided he delivered these despatches to a Buonapartist agent in London; how that he had not been given the least inkling of what was in them, nor any oral message for the agent. Then, mindful of Halima's injunctions, he went on to say that he had shown the papers to his wife, who had taken then to the Prime Minister. He could tell the Admiral nothing more.
There was a moment's silence, and then an elderly officer at the end of the table laughed.
The Admiral turned upon him sharply, "Well, Sir?"
The answer came with equal promptness and in a powerful brogue.
"My Lord, 'tis a foine wit the fellow has. But, be jabers, Oi, for one, will not be believing the truth. If the French fleet—bad cess to 'em—meant to sail from Cadiz, wouldn't they have kept it quiet; and would they have let this information fall into our hands, except for the purpose of misleading us as to their rale intentions?"
No one spoke audibly for a moment, but a low murmur went round, and it soon became evident that the old sailor's opinion had several supporters. One or two, indeed growled audibly:—