De Rothan's face grew dusky.
"God—you great fool—how did it happen?"
"Keep your big words to yourself. He and a man of his were in hiding. They knocked me on the head and had me on my back before I could take aim with a pistol. Then I was marched down to the sea by a lanky devil of a peasant, and left there to find the boat. They promised to have me hanged if I said a word, and didn't jump the Channel. I put out, and managed to sneak in and land again in the marshes—to save your neck—see! A lot of gratitude you seem to show me."
De Rothan stood resting his hands on the back of a chair. He did not speak for some seconds.
"Jerome, you have done me a service. I shall not forget it."
The sea-captain finished his grog, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He glanced at the windows that were going grey with the dawn.
"Time to make a run for it. The game is up."
De Rothan's forehead was one fierce frown.
"No, by heaven, it is not! I have these dispatches to recover—and to cut out Mr. Jasper Benham's tongue."