De Rothan looked half grave and half amused.
"Well, you have given me your news without miserliness. I return you news of my own. Villeneuve has got out of Toulon."
"What!"
"And has given Nelson the slip."
Durrell's face shone with sudden exultation.
"Man, is it true?"
"True as news can be. But listen to this. He has picked up some of the Spaniards, driven Orde's squadron out of the way, and is at sea. All England is in a sweat, and cursing. They know nothing. They quake in the dark."
"Yes—but Nelson?"
"Listen. This would be worth money in England. Villeneuve sails for the West Indies. Don't breathe it. He cuts himself loose, see—disappears. The English are left at blindman's-buff. Then the West Indies are harried. Nelson is lured thither. Back bolts Villeneuve, drives the blockading fleet from Brest, joins our ships there, and sails up the Channel with close on forty sail of the line. The straits are ours. Napoleon rushes his grenadiers across. After that—the deluge!"
Durrell stood and stared towards the sea with a look of exultation.